Page 54 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Holy hell,” Marisa said, squinting and waving her fingers in front of her face in mock offense. “It looks like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles convention. All that’s missing is the . . .”
She scrolled down farther and abruptly stopped when they were both assaulted by a collage of what Alec could only describe as aggressively toned pansies in shades of McDonald’s Grimace purple and that electric blue raspberry color one could only usually find in convenience store slurpy dispensers.
“Ah, there it is,” Marisa said, nodding sagely. “For a second, I was worried we weren’t going to see any Leo or Donnie representation.”
“I was always partial to Splinter myself.”
“Hmm. I’m not really getting rat sensei vibes from you.”
Alec shrugged. “Well, you haven’t seen me attack a frozen pizza yet while Hugh’s breathing down my neck. It makes you appreciate the kind of patience that rat had for mealtimes with animals. It was a wonder Splinter got fed at all.”
And just like that, her smile returned in full force. Unfortunately, his chest didn’t even have time to expand from the joy of seeing it before it deflated.
Because a text from Brennan popped up on the screen, and he wasn’t able to swipe it away fast enough before Marisa read it.
“Am I allowed to ask what that’s about?”
Alec pocketed his phone and started walking them through the parking lot, letting Hugh freely sniff now that they were away from people. “I’ve got an offer.”
“From Argentina?”
“Aye.”
“Is it something worth considering?”
“Honestly? I’d be foolish not to consider it. They want me to coach, though, and they’ll pay me well for it. Far better than I can reasonably hope to get out of Great Britain or any other team that would have me as a player.”
He briefly filled her in on the details of what he was coming to suspect might very well be his reality once the season was over. After he’d gone through laying out all the terms, he wasn’t sure what he expected to see on Marisa’s face. Pity, resignation, perhaps some eye contact avoidance, especially given the verbal lashing Phoebe had handed him in front of Marisa. Instead, what he got was a stony look of determination.
It was the same look she wore when she’d instructed him to meet her at Sal and Enzo’s, where they initially mapped out their battle plan for how they were going to sort through all of this mess and persevere.
God, had it only been a few weeks ago, if that?
It seemed like he’d been devotedly following his general’s orders ever since he’d marked her at the cocktail party and bothered to listen to his curiosity for once.
“Sounds like your heart’s not in it, Alec.”
He shrugged. “Not sure whether I have the luxury of?—”
The backward tug on his arm was the only indication that he had been mindlessly moving down the walkway. Alone. However, the vise grip Marisa held his wrist in was anything but mindless. Nor was the stern, rather drastic slant of her brows, or the shards of accusatory shame dancing in her eyes she seemed about ready to slash him with.
“Sounds like your heart’s not in it, Alec.” The words were slow to come, with each syllable stomping its emphasis into the frigid pavement. But his name landed like a crater and had her voice wobbling with the sheer force of her insistence.
“No,” he admitted. “My heart’s not in it.” There. He’d confessed his fear, and the unfortunate reality that Phoebe had shone a spotlight upon for Marisa to see and judge. “I wish I could be as brave as you, sometimes,” he whispered, scratching at his scar so his free hand had something to do other than punch out the nearest car window. “I don’t think I can live with the scrutiny of my choices the way you can. It seems like a learned skill that a brute like me could never have much of a knack for.”
“You’re wrong.” Marisa moved closer and kicked her chin up with practiced precision, as if it were the blade by which she held all other threats back. “Choices are options. Sometimes they’re favorable, and sometimes they’re nothing but dilemmas, but they don’t have to be permanent. Sometimes, they just need to be a stopover on the path you’re meant to take later on.” She slashed her eyes down at Hugh, but Alec didn’t miss the sheen that had begun to form there. “I wasn’t meant to be a librarian, and I’m sure as shit not meant to be a cater waiter. I’m not meant to be a disappointment or another failing business owner who can’t get her life off the ground. I’m not meant to be any of those things, but that doesn’t mean I avoid choosing them if I have to, if I know that those choices, incredibly sucktastic as they may be, will eventually lead me toward my goals. And that is the business I stand on.” She brought the shimmer back to him, her eyes like warm chocolate with enough bitterness to give the sweetness backbone, and he wondered why he ever bothered thinking he could fake this.
Because there wasn’t a chance in hell he could. Not anymore. And maybe he never had.
Alec cradled Marisa’s head in his palms and kissed her, wrapping himself in whatever beautiful, drugging essence she possessed. He smiled against her surprise, especially as her lips softened and she wrapped her hands around his neck, molding her body to his, somehow making him feel lighter despite her added weight. Rather than fighting for every extra hour he could have with her, he finally let himself wonder what it would feel like to just . . . be.
It was strange and not entirely comfortable just yet, but he desperately needed more.
Alec moved to deepen the kiss, not giving a ripe fuck how many teenagers had stopped to gawk at them, when Marisa groaned into his mouth and pulled away.
He liked it not one bloody bit.
“Get back here. I haven’t decided whether I prefer the blueberry flavor on your tongue more or the peppermint. I have many more choices to make. General’s orders and whatnot.” He dipped his head down, chasing her mouth, and was rewarded with a half-hearted feint on her part.
