Page 64 of Rules to Love By

Marcus shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Talk to me.”

Marcus glared at him. For some reason, that demand made him furious. “No one ever cares what I have to say,” he said through clenched teeth. “So why should I?”

Why should I tell you being around you makes me feel… something. I don’t even know what.

“Because I’m not no one. I’m me. You chose me, at least for a meal and a night. You’re still here. Why?”

Marcus shifted his glare to the hand on his leg and ground his teeth.

Eli moved his hand.

The release was… awful. Marcus wanted the touch back. He glanced up to find Eli watching him, even as he carefully cut off a small section of pancake and put it in his mouth.

Once he was done chewing and had swallowed his mouthful, Eli lifted both eyebrows. “Still here,” he said, voice so calm Marcus wanted to punch him. And move closer to steal some of that calm for himself.

His only move was to curl his fingers tight around the seat cushion, like he needed that grip to hold himself in place.

“One of the reasons guys seek me out,” Eli said as he turned his gaze back to his plate, “is because they want to feel safe. Even if it’s only for a few hours. They can be whoever they want with me, and they know I’m not going to hurt them. Physically or otherwise. It takes a lot for most guys to admit they want that.”

“Safe.” Marcus crumpled the seat cushion.

“Sure.” Lifting one shoulder as he cut up his food, Eli kept his eyes turned to his plate. “Maybe my not being the most attractive guy in the room adds to that.” He paused, like he was weighing something in his head, then shrugged again. “You brush it off when I say this, but you are gorgeous. Beauty can be intimidating.” He finally looked up, a crooked expression on his face. “When you walked into the restaurant last night, I just about chickened out. In that split second before you saw me sitting there, I thought I had the time to disappear.”

“Why would you?”

“Because I thought, what would you ever see in me? No one sees past the extra pounds, the ambiguous skin tone, the social awkwardness.”

Pent-up steam pushing through the surface gurgled out of Marcus in a soft, semi-hysterical chuckle. “What makes you think I don’t have all the same hang-ups? The not-being-white-enough I get. I don’t even know for sure where the brown skin comes from, but there it is. I suppose it makes me exotic or some shit,” he explained when Eli tipped his head to one side and peered at him.

“What do you mean, don’t know where it comes from?”

Shrugging, Marcus tamped down on his unruly stomach. At least explaining his messed-up family was a distraction. “Both my parents are white. My dad’s side of the family can trace itself all the way back to Jolly Ol’ England, according to Aunt Iris.”

“And your mother?”

He shrugged again. “Who knows. I remember she had the thickest black eyebrows and a million miles of curly black hair. But I also remember holding her hand, and we were not the same colour. Aunt Iris had one picture of my father, and he was just as white as Iris and Johnathan.”

“So somewhere in your mother’s family, then.”

“I suppose. They say these things can skip generations, right? Like red hair or something? If I had to guess, I would say someone emigrated from India or Pakistan or someplace like that somewhere along the way. Aunt Iris tried to find out, but apparently, it can be damn hard to find anything if just one person doesn’t keep any paperwork.”

“And your mother didn’t?”

Marcus grimaced. “Most days she didn’t even know which kid was which.” He shook himself. “And anyway, I was seven when I was taken out of that, and I had Iris, so whatever. Moving on.”

Eli nodded. “Moving on.” He took another bite of his pancakes, and for a few minutes, all they did was sit quietly while Eli ate and Marcus watched him.

After a bit, Marcus found he could pull in a clean breath, and his stomach had settled. He sipped his coffee, not sure he was up to pancakes again quite yet. “You always talk about your hook-ups this much?”

“I did mention socially awkward, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Setting his cup back on the table, Marcus wrapped both hands around it. The warmth was comforting. “For the record, you’re more attractive than you think you are.”

“I know what I am, Marcus. It’s fine.”

“You’re exactly the size and shape you’re supposed to be. Trust me. Looks aren’t everything.”

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