Page 88 of Best Man Speaking

“Yeah,” I reply softly. I kind of want to stay more than ever. “I didn’t think to bring any clothes or anything.”

He throws his T-shirt at me, and I fumble as I catch it. “I’ve got you covered.”

My heart squeezes, and I smile gratefully, heading to the bathroom to slip off my dress and replace it with his overly large T-shirt. I lift the fabric to my nose, inhaling his scent before I leave the bathroom. I want to bottle it, to spray it on my pillow before I go to sleep each night, and keep it on my person at all times. It’d be like pressing my nose into the crook of his neck whenever I wanted.

Climbing up onto the bed, I feel young and inept in Marcus’s clothes after telling him I didn’t want to have sex tonight. My logical mind knows it’s a nonissue, but the feelings are there. Thankfully, a rolled-up pair of black socks hitting my shoulder breaks me from my inane thoughts, and I look at him in confusion.

“You hate having cold feet.”

It’s the most insignificant of statements, and yet my worries fade and my heart melts.

I’d gone so far from home to fall in love with life that it was only to be expected that upon returning home to the life I’d always known, I’d fall in love with him.

Again.

The recognition is like whiplash as it strikes through me, but the dread I’d assumed would accompany it doesn’t show up. Instead, the knowledge settles within me.

It settles me.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Marcus

Iclock Hallie pulling on my socks, a small smile gracing her lips, as I go to turn off the lights.

With the room dark, I slide under the covers, reaching out and pulling her into my side. Her warm body curls toward mine, and I’m only slightly disappointed that I can’t feel her bare legs against my own as she throws a thigh over mine.

“Is this okay?” I ask into her hair, needing to make sure.

She’d scared the shit out of me earlier, the way her body had frozen beneath my fingertips. I’d been worried that it was done between us. Had been afraid that she was going to call in our rules and end it all before the wedding had even happened, before I’d had a chance to fix things. But I’d trusted her when she’d said she needed to slow down, that she’d been overwhelmed. It’d been the right move for more reasons than she’d realized.

“More than okay. I want your hands on me,” she answers, her voice slightly muffled from where her face is pressed up against my chest.

I squeeze her hip gently in response and shift us both until my body is wrapped protectively around hers. Spooning, for God’s sake. There goes the snuggling rule again.

When Hallie doesn’t protest, I let the hand that’s on her hip travel beneath the edge of her shirt, my palm coming to wrap beneath her ribs, my hot skin on hers. With the extra contact, the extra warmth, her muscles finally give up the last bit of tension they were holding on to.

And my guilt grows.

It grows knowing that I’m the reason she’s so on edge. That it’s the way I treated her in the past that’s not letting her move forward now, with or without me. That it’s because I’ve been selfish with her, wanting her time and her body to myself without having to deal with all the old hurt between us, that she’s not okay tonight.

Hallie opening up to me—to us—last night cost her something I can’t easily repay, not without causing her harm in the process.

Because I might’ve tried to bring up the situation with her dad, but I haven’t pushed it, haven’t wanted to risk it. I’m a selfish asshole for having avoided it for this long. For having avoided it after realizing that thisthingbetween us wouldn’t end as easily as we’d intended it to.

Hallie’s soft and pliant in my arms when she speaks. “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t said anything about dinner. That you haven’t asked about my apartment or my plans…”

I’m silent behind her for a long time, my throat thick. “I’m curious about everything when it comes to you.”

“You are?” I shouldn’t be hurt by the quiet surprise in her voice, but I am.

“Of course.”

“Why?” she persists, albeit gently.

“Because what we’re doing, it’s more than any list of rules,” I reply, and while it’s not the detailed answer she was probably hoping for, it’s something. It’smore. “But I didn’t think this weekend was the right time for that.”

We’re in a king-sized bed with multiple pillows, and yet we’re sharing one. From not wanting to sit next to each other at a table to wanting to be close enough to share a single pillow with ease, that’s where we’re at. That’s how it’s changed. That’s how it’s more.

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