Page 3 of Mending Our Chance

2 Felicity

The flush on my cheeks still had to be bright red. I can’t believe that fool showed up. I didn’t know who to be more upset at: Marcus or my own traitorous body. I hadn’t seen him since grad school and the last six plus years had been spent convincing myself that I hated his guts. But just like that, he had shown up in my life again.

His presence still had that same effect on me, one I was loathe to admit. As I stalked into the warmth of the mercifully heated building of my academic office, I paused in the vestibule, breathing hard despite the January cold I had just escaped. My shoulders were shaking as I set down my leather book bag. How had he dared to show up in my city, at my college, right in the middle of my very own classroom?

The bastard!

These emotions might not have been all Marcus Bower’s fault, but damn him to hell nonetheless. I had thought there was something more to our relationship when he was a Marine stationed near San Diego almost seven years ago. I had been an idiot. I’d let down my guard and given him everything. And it had left me burned, right before his departure. He’d left me wanting what I couldn’t have. Pissed at his life choices, which didn’t include me, I had been even more pissed at myself. Apparently, spending six and a half years telling myself I hated him and burning away the memories of our time together had been an ineffective exercise. Those memories and those feelings hadn’t been eliminated, merely buried deeper. And now that he had appeared in my life, if only for a moment, the desire and the old longing had sprung to the surface again, and my traitorous body still reacted as it once had. I was hot and tingly all over.

He is here, in my city. He wants me. Yes, his motivations were business related, but my mind was teasing me with dirty thoughts. Ghost kisses and the memories of his touch were trailing over every inch of my skin, no matter that I was fully clothed with added layers of winter gear. It was enough to make me want to scream. I shouldn’t crave his touch this badly.

I squeezed my eyes closed and lifted a hand to my mouth, biting down hard. Chewing on the tender flesh around my thumb was better than letting loose the scream of frustration that threatened to overpower me.

When my eyes opened and I could safely blink without fear of my tears ruining my mascara, I glanced at my watch. Shit. I had to leave now if I was going to make my aunt’s version of happy hour especially given I still had to stop home to change. My black blouse and trousers would never do for “aperitivo”—the time honored cultural tradition that my aunt maintained.

Picking up my book bag, I turned around and walked back outside. The cold slammed into me, but my rage kept me warm.

I stomped past the buildings, paying no attention to the icy patches on the sidewalks. It was a miracle I didn’t fall. At the edge of the street, I raised a hand and hailed a cab. It passed by me without slowing.

“God dammit, not today!”

But the cab driver didn’t care that I was waging an internal war. Thankfully, the second cab driver was much more gracious. After slamming the door—harshly enough to make the cabbie jump—and barking out the address, I sulked back into the seat, feeling horrible that I was acting like such a bitch. Just because Marcus is back, doesn’t mean I have to destroy everything in my path.

But did he have to look so damn handsome in that grey blazer? His attempt at professionalism had been laughable. When he had tried to impress me with his scant knowledge of business, I had wanted to tease him, even pinch his cheeks until my teasing earned me a good romp in the sack where he would try and show me who was boss. A hysterical laugh escaped my throat at the memory of his typical response. The cabbie frowned at me in the mirror. Biting my lip to still the sound, I focused on my anger. I’m better than this. Pull it together. Remember that he’s gone—you sent him packing today. He was, however, still somewhere in my city.

But all the mental cheerleading did nothing to calm me down. My aunt was assuredly going to notice. And then I would really have some explaining to do. Both of my hands flew to my face. I scrubbed up and down, not caring about what it did to my makeup. No tears, he’s not worth them. Holding firm to that statement, I regained a level of composure on the journey home.

I jogged up the building’s stairs to the door of my apartment and dropped my briefcase on the entry table. Then I rushed into my room to complete a fast wardrobe change and hurried back out onto the street to hail a fresh cab.

Once inside, I pulled out my essential makeup kit and began touching up my smeared face. As I brushed powder across my cheeks, I stewed. I reminded myself that Marcus hadn’t wanted any strings when we had started our relationship. Remember that you also didn’t want strings, I chastised myself.

But that was when we first met. I was the idiot who thought I could change him. He was the one who convinced me that we needed to be an item. I was the one who had decided we needed to be more, my mind argued.

It was ironic. I had been against casually dating him but in the end I had fallen in love with him. I’d believed that if I gave him all of me, that there was a chance that he would change his mind and want to remain with me. All the evidence back then had made me believe the changes Marcus was making in his life were to keep us together. Even as he told me we had an expiration date, I was narcissistic enough to believe I could make him reconsider. And then you went and gave him your v-card—all to try and keep him.

I had thought that if he’d had all of me, then got to know the real me, he would change his mind and want to stay with me. But it hadn’t worked. I’d found out the hard way that he wasn’t the kind to stick around and fight for a relationship. He had told me from the start that our time together was short. I hadn’t listened to him and all my efforts had amounted to nothing. And giving him my virginity had left a foul taste in my mouth, even years later. I hate his guts.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the seat for the briefest of seconds. A flashback of bronzed skin covered in sweat arose in my mind. Christ!No! There was one thing for certain: I was never sleeping with Marcus Bowers again. My naïve ideas about sex might have grown up, but I still didn’t casually sleep around, and even though I might hate him now, I hated myself more for still wanting him. There was no way I could hide the feelings that were still locked tightly away in the deepest parts of my chest. This lust wasn’t rational. What was wrong with me? I took a breath and opened my eyes. Remain sane, Felicity. Don’t let him affect you like this.

My handbag vibrated. I reached inside it for my phone, grateful for the distraction until I saw it was a text from my aunt. I wasn’t late yet, but it didn’t stop her from being snippy that I wasn’t there already. I glanced at the time and noted that I had five minutes to make it to the restaurant. I was at our table in under four.

Auntie Gi was even paler than the last time I had seen her, which was Sunday at Mass. The last four days had clearly taken a toll on her and I could see that this evening wouldn’t last long. She would stay for one drink and maybe I could coax her to eat something light, but that would be the extent of our evening. Cancer was a bitch.

I moved forward and plopped a kiss on her cheek. “Zia, it’s good to see you.” As I sank into my chair, I quickly dropped my gaze to the menu even though the happy hour specials were always the same, and we would be drinking red wine regardless of what else was on special. I didn’t bother to raise the fact that Zia shouldn’t be drinking, there was no way she would listen.

“You look dreadful,” she snapped.

I could say the same thing about her, but I knew how sensitive she was to the issue. “It was a long day,” I admitted. “There were no new leads for a consulting gig either.” I kept my eyes lowered, not wanting to see the disappointment in her face. It was not a lie given Marcus’ little proposal was not a lead.

“You’re flushed.” Auntie Gi reached out her manicured fingers and let them linger on my forehead. “You’re not warm. Something made your day more interesting than mine.”

Blinking hard, I faced her stare. “But Dr. Banks was supposed to call you with the results. That would have made for an interesting day, surely?”

“He said I could be a candidate for the experimental trial, yes,” she admitted, much to my relief.

My heart did a little skip! This had been the news we had been waiting for weeks to hear. Yet, instead of acting as excited as I was, Auntie Gi was narrowing her eyes and needling me with her interrogation. “You’re avoiding the question, Felìcita. If I didn’t know any better, this nervous energy radiating from you can only mean that you’re seeing someone.”

Gianna Saccone was not a woman to be brushed aside. She had derailed my attempts at diverting the subject, plus she had seen right through my façade and exposed the maelstrom that was raging within me. My brain rifled quickly through possible responses: spare the sick woman the drama of my personal life or confide in the only relative who I remained speaking to? God forgive me, but my selfish nature won the battle.

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