Page 23 of So I'll Know
Except I actually do, and I’ve met her before. But I’m not about to tell Marcus that. Or that I’ve had a threesome with his sister’s boyfriends. I don’t think that’d go over well.
Marcus stands and walks ahead of me into my living room. “Yeah, younger stepsister.” He sits down on the couch and flicks on the lamp.
Like the rest of the room, my couch is part of a misfit collection—mismatched curtains, bookshelves of differing heights and styles, a soft green shag carpet. I hardly ever buy anything new, but it’s not just because I’m frugal. I’m careful about what I’ve curated over the years. I like to think of my style as eighties meets grandma chic.
I carry a lot of emotional baggage that bleeds into everything I own. After my parents died, I spent a year in the foster system before my aunt took legal custody of me. At first, I thought I got lucky. My foster parents seemed nice. But I quickly learned that having me around was just a show of kindness to fatten their social reputations. I was largely ignored and spent hours every day in their basement. The only bright side was that they had a VCR and let me watch old movies, includingThe Brave Little Toaster. I cried every time I watched it because how could you not? The plot is pretty muchToy StorymeetsHomeward Bound. And I swore to always save used, discarded items because I didn’t want them to feel sad anymore. I knew what it was like to feel unwanted.
I walk to the kitchen and pick up T’s bowl while he continues to cry, each meow more pathetic than the last. “You would think I starve him from the way he acts.”
Marcus chuckles, and the sound lights me up inside. I pour T’s food and put the bag away, suddenly wondering what the heck I’m doing.
Marcus is in my apartment. He’sinmy apartment. How long is he going to stay? Do I have anything for him to eat or drink? What if Ineed to use the bathroom? The walls are paper-thin. Oh my God. He’s going to hear me pee.
My hands tremble as I take a deep breath, close the cupboard, and turn, running directly into Marcus’s hard chest. My breath catches in surprise as I take a step back and stare into his chocolate eyes, unable to blink or breathe. I want to scrape my fingers across his stubbled jaw. He smells like the woods.
“Sorry,” he rumbles. I swear his voice penetrates my body all the way down to my dick, which immediately takes notice. “I was just getting a cup of water.”
“Normal guests just ask,” I whisper.
“Right. I-I didn’t want to inconvenience you while you fed your cat.”
“The cups are next to the sink.”Why is my voice so hoarse?
My hand drops to my hip. I really want to touch the scar, but the waist of my jeans is in the way. I rub the spot anyway, feeling some relief from the pressure of my finger.
Marcus nods but doesn’t move, and his gaze follows the movement of my hand. I freeze, my fingers trembling.
“Are you okay?” He frowns, reaching for my forearm, but he stops before we touch.
“I . . .” I stare at his mouth.
I want to kiss you. I want to wrap my legs around your waist as you lift me onto the counter and rut against me like we’re starring in a porno.
“I’m fine,” I squeak and slide aside, cocking my head at the cabinet. “Like I said, glasses are there next to the sink.”
“Right, yeah.” Marcus moves past me and grabs a glass, then walks to the sink and fills it from the taplike a psycho.
“There’s filtered water on the fridge door, you know.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “I didn’t realize you were such a priss.”
“Tap water is gross. Period. Me being a priss has nothing to do with it.”
“So you admit you’re a priss?”
I narrow my eyes at him. Others have called me high maintenance, but I’m not about to admit that to Marcus Conner.
He shrugs and takes a long drink, and I shudder, but still watch his Adam’s apple with interest as he swallows. I grab my water bottle from the sink, fill itfrom the fridge, and walk back to the living room, dropping onto the couch. Marcus finishes his glass and then follows, sitting down next to me. His thigh touches mine, and I never realized how small my couch was until this beast of a man sat on it with me.
I clear my throat. “So what’s going on at your apartment?”
Marcus rubs the back of his neck. “There was a flood.”
“A flood?”
“Yeah, I don’t get along with my washing machine.”
“Don’t you have, like, a butler or someone who does your laundry for you?” I’m only half joking.
