Page 74 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
As he bent to pick up a fallen fork, his T-shirt stretched across his back and shoulders, revealing the contours of his muscles, or as Cherry had once called them: the Great Gordon Chisel-fest. The epithet had seemed like hyperbole at the time, but right now, it was apt. Also, the seams in his jeans lined up precisely where they should.
“For the record,” Marlowe said, letting her gaze linger, “you don’t need professional help to pick out jeans. The ones you’re wearing fit you really well.”
He twisted around as if he was reminding himself which jeans he had on.
“Babs let me have them. They’re left over from season three, but thanks for noticing.” He held up a hand. “Don’t say it. I know. Occupational hazard.”
“Actually, this time I was just looking.” She bit her lip, flushing at her unexpected burst of candor.
As he tossed the fork into the utensil basket, his eyes lifted tohers. For a long moment he simply looked at her, reading her expression, her body language, maybe even the accelerated rate at which her chest was rising and falling. She returned the look from her spot by the sink, where she was rinsing a wine glass. He took the glass from her hand, set it aside, and turned off the tap. Then he lifted her by the waist and set her on the counter, wedging himself between her knees and cupping her face in both hands.
“I’ve been thinking about this since I woke up alone in your bed on Thursday.” His eyes got all twinkly as he tipped his forehead against hers.
“Same,” she said, forcing herself to focus. “Though I’ve been thinking about a lot of other things, too.” She found the belt loops at his hips and pulled him closer. If she was going to have this conversation, she wanted as little distance between them as possible.
“Things like…?” He nuzzled her nose, her temple, her cheek, her ear, every little bunt soft and slow.
She drew in a breath, preparing for the worst.
“Like I got a design job. In New York.”
He inched away, offering her a conflicted smile, mostly happy but also sad.
“Congratulations,” he said. “It’s what you want to be doing, right?”
“It is, and you helped me embrace that, but…” She twisted one of his beautiful copper-penny cowlicks around her finger, watching it spring back into place. “It means giving up my apartment here and leaving L.A. once my job onHeart’s Dinerends.”
“Leaving for good?”
“I don’t know. Not necessarily.”
“Okay.” His brows dipped and she could almost see him workingthrough everything she’d talked out with Cherry, about extra expenses and opportunity costs. “And until you leave?”
“I don’t know that, either.” She trailed the back of her hand down his stubbled cheek, marveling yet again at how soft it was. “I’d like to keep seeing you, but you said it yourself. Casual only works if it’s what both people want.”
His brows dipped again. “Does this feel casual to you?”
She shook her head. “I kind of have a habit of getting attached.”
“Not a habit that requires a ten-step recovery program. In fact, I believe it’s often considered an end goal.” His lips brushed hers as his brows finally lifted. She draped her arms around his neck and let a hand slide up into his soft waves. He kissed her again, just as featherlight, while busily studying her eyes as though he could read the complicated workings of her heart in a look, and maybe he could.
“Distance didn’t work for you last time,” she murmured against his lips.
“Different relationship. Different circumstances.” He planted another kiss on her lips before inching away again. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m thrilled you’re going back to New York, but in this industry, it’s all distance. Next year I might be on location in Moscow or Mongolia. Your next TV gig could take you to Vancouver for six months. Staying connected takes effort but the question isn’tCan it work?It’sDo you want it enough to try?” He traced the curves of her ear without breaking eye contact. She leaned into his touch as she let his statement sink in. He was right, of course. She’d been asking the wrong questions for the past few days. This was the one that mattered. “I can’t know for sure how either of us will feel by the time you catch a flight east, but right now, my answer’s yes, and in a few weeks, there’s a damned good chance it will still be yes.”
She kissed him for that, though she couldn’t quite share his certainty.
“Even if we only see each other in private?” she asked.
His kisses and caresses came to an abrupt halt. He backed out of her embrace, running a hand down his face and rubbing at his jawline in that way he had, as if motors in his mind were running fast and furious and he was trying to still them. She leaned toward him, aching to retract her question and assure him she’d adjust to his lifestyle. After all, judgment from strangers was no worse than what she’d endured from her ex, her parents, her boss, and a slew of professional critics. It was more scathing, perhaps, but also meaningless, invented, based on half-truths. Over the past few weeks, she’d built up enough confidence to excise Kelvin from her life, and to restart her design career. Surely she could leap this last hurdle. And yet… the assurance wouldn’t come.
She was still searching for words when he held out a hand. She placed hers in his. She liked that he made a habit of offering instead of taking. She also liked that he hated small talk and he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for. She probably even liked the third thing he was self-conscious about, the one he hadn’t yet revealed.
“You can’t hide from the public completely,” he said. “The producers hired you to build buzz. If nothing else, they’ll book you—or more likelyus—on a few appearances in December before your episodes stream. Sanaya went over all of that with you, right?”
Marlowe nodded, running her thumb over the back of his hand.
“She also said it wasn’t the official PR I had to worry about.”
