“Hey.” She smiles, looking up at me through her long lashes.
“Hey.” I step toward her, bringing my hand to her face as I turn it upward to kiss her.
She feels so delicate in my grasp, like a branch that I can easily snap between my hands, but she extends further, pushes deeper into me. It occurs to me that this is just the way Morgan is, despite the shit that has been thrown at her, she’s managed to keep her heart soft. She’s accepted this thing with me as temporary, something that won’t lead to anything serious down the road, and yet she gives herself to me so openly that as her mouth molds against mine and her tongue dances alongside mine, I feel myself being consumed by her. With that thought, I pull away, breaking the kiss slowly, not really wanting it to end but with the knowledge that it must. As it is, the only thing I’ve done every waking hour since we got back from our trip was count down the days, hours, minutes until I could have her again and now that I’m here I wish I could just sweep her off to her bedroom and have my way with her right now.
“I kind of want to stay in,” she whispers against my lips.
“Yeah?” I kiss her once more. I can’t help it. This time, I withdraw so I won’t fall into the trap. “You dressed like that and you don’t want me to take you on a date?”
“I dressed like this for you and you already saw me.” She shrugs. Her stomach growls loudly enough that I hear it and her face goes bright red. “I guess I am a little hungry.”
I chuckle. “Let’s get something to eat and then we can come back here and you can let me do wicked things to you.”
“Hm.” She reaches up and kisses me. “How wicked?”
“Honestly, Morgan, if you don’t stop doing this, you’re going to starve.”
“Fine.” She laughs, pulling away and walking toward the kitchen to grab her purse. “Let’s go down the street. There’s a wine and cheese place that has good tapas.” She pauses, looking up at me wide-eyed as she locks the door. “Did you make a reservation somewhere?”
“I did, but I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” I’d called in a favor and made a reservation at a new restaurant that had a line out the door, but I didn’t really mind losing our spot.
“No, let’s go where you had planned. I feel bad canceling just because of my overactive libido.” Her stomach growls again. This time, we both laugh as she pats it. “And obviously I really am hungry.”
* * *
“I’m surprised you don’t have a car,” she comments as we ride to the restaurant.
I’d hired a driver for the night, because the last two times I ordered a company to pick me up they canceled and I was late. I didn’t want to take chances tonight.
“I do have a car.” I glance over at her. “It’s parked at my parents’ house.”
She laughs. “Do you ever drive it?”
“Sometimes. Usually not in the city. I live within walking distance to everything I do, and when I can’t walk there, I’d rather take the train or be dropped off. It’s more convenient.”
“Hm.” She sighs. “I kind of miss having a car. I got rid of mine before college because I knew I wouldn’t use it here. I mean, parking itself costs more than a mortgage.”
“I’d venture to say you’re doing pretty well for yourself.” I wink at her.
“Not enough to pay for parking every day.” She smiles. “Besides, there’s the ordeal of dealing with this.” She points at the street around us. “If I’m sitting back here, I’m okay with it, but actually driving in it might give me a heart attack.”
“Do you see yourself living here forever?” I reach for her hand and thread my fingers through hers. I hadn’t noticed how much I enjoyed holding a woman’s hands until I started holding hers. Something about the way her small fingers fit inside of mine feels comforting.
“I guess so. I mean, I’m not sure I want to live here forever. I think I’d want a house with a yard to raise my kids in,” she says. “Nothing big, but definitely a place for them to play outside.”
Her words hit me right in the chest. I hadn’t expected her to talk about kids, but I guess I can see it. I can picture her living in that house and watching a couple of kids as they go crazy in their yard. Maybe this is the part where I tell her I can’t have kids? Maybe this is my out, where it all ends, where she sees that even if I wanted to make this official and stick around forever, I could never give her the dream she’s built in her head.
“Anyway, who knows what the future will bring? I always thought I’d have kids by now and I don’t even have a boyfriend.” She lets out a soft chuckle.
“Twenty-four-year-olds don’t often talk about having kids these days.”
“Twenty-five. I had a birthday after we met, you know,” she says. “And I guess if that’s the case, twenty-five-year-olds don’t often talk about being engaged at twenty.”
“Ah, the drunken engagement.” I bring her hand up and kiss it. “Do you regret it?”
“I mean, the guy turned out to be a real asshole.” She laughs as she says it, but I find no humor in it. A real asshole who slept with her mother was what he turned out to be. Based on that alone, I want to kick his ass. The car slows and stops in front of the restaurant. She gasps as she looks outside. “This is where we’re going? There are like a billion people in line. Also, we could’ve totally walked here.”
“It’s a good thing I made a reservation.” I wink. “And if you want, we can walk back and burn off all the things we’re about to eat, but you’ll be burning a lot more calories tonight.”
She laughs as we step onto the sidewalk. I walk over to the driver and let him know I’ll text him twenty minutes before we’re ready, but that we may just walk back. Once we’re inside, the hostess escorts us to a table in the back of the restaurant. Not wasting any time, we order wine and bread the minute we’re in our seats and peruse the menu quickly.
“Let’s just share things,” Morgan suggests. She glances up at me. “Is that okay? Do you share food? I just realized I kept taking food from your plate in Vegas and I didn’t even ask.”
I chuckle because it’s true. “I wouldn’t have had sex with you if I wasn’t okay sharing food after that display.”
“Sorry.” She covers her blush with her menu. I reach forward and lower it. She’s still blushing when she meets my gaze.
“I would love to share food with you.”
Her face lights up in a way that has me sucking in for air. I sit back in my seat and thank God when the waiter comes back with the bread and wine. Morgan doesn’t even let the basket hit the table before she pulls out a sourdough roll and starts tearing it.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Honestly? I’ve been trying to figure that out all day. I think breakfast.” She frowns, popping a piece of bread into her mouth. “I think I skipped lunch.”
“Not very responsible,” I say.
“I know.” She takes a breath. “I feel better already.”
During dinner, the conversations seem endless. We talk about everything from my upbringing to hers and how unlikely, yet unsurprising it is that Devon made it to the NFL. She tells me where they were when they found out he was being drafted. I tell her how I was on my honeymoon at the time. I feel like I can talk to her about anything and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way because she hasn’t stopped and doesn’t shy away from things that would make another person embarrassed.
“Long story short, my mother made me do some very shady things growing up,” she says. “But honestly, now that I’m an adult, I guess I kind of understand her a little better. I would never make the choices she made, but I can see where things went wrong and how she became this ghost of herself so quickly.” She smiles, a sad look in her eyes. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was in her prime, before the drugs and everything else. She was such a badass.”
“I think you’re pretty badass yourself, so it’s not difficult to believe you’re a product of another badass woman.”
&nbs
p; Her smile stays intact, but her expression, if possible, turns sadder. I find myself wishing I could take all of that sadness away. We change the subject and finish eating and drinking our wine. Once the check is paid, we get up and make our way to the front of the restaurant hand in hand. A rush of wind smacks us as I pull the door open.
“It got even colder,” she comments, wrapping her arms around herself.
Instinctively, I drape an arm around her and pull her toward me. The ease of it all gives me pause. When did this become instinctual? When did having her in my arms begin to feel second nature? As we walk past the line of people waiting outside the restaurant, a figure steps in front of us. It takes me a second to realize it’s Paola. I feel my footsteps get heavier as I walk in her direction. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The look in them is murderous. I grip Morgan a little tighter.
“Bennett Cruz,” Paola says, narrowed eyes taking me in before moving to Morgan. “And who would this be? You’re more presentable than the last whore. I’ll give you that.”
I open my mouth to defend Morgan, to tell Paola to shut the fuck up, mind her business, and go continue to spend all of her divorce settlement money. Instead, Morgan’s laugh breaks through the night before I get a chance to say a word.
“You must be the crazy ex-wife,” Morgan says, tsking. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to see him move on, but remember that the reason I’m in his arms tonight and you’re standing in line, pissed off at the world, is because you landed the perfect man and you stupidly threw him away.”
Paola blinks. She can’t seem to think of anything to say to that. I can’t either. Amusement bubbles up inside me and escapes in the form of a loud, barked-out laugh. The sound makes Paola pissed, judging from the way her expression morphs from horrified to pissed off as she takes turns glaring at me, then Morgan.
“Enjoy him,” Paola says. “You’ll get sick of him the minute you realize his job is the love of his life.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Morgan says, tugging my hand so that we begin to brush past Paola. She looks over her shoulder one last time. “If they do let you into the restaurant, order the scallops. They’re to die for.” That makes me laugh hard again. I squeeze Morgan’s hand. She glances up, biting her lip. “Sorry. I kind of get carried away when I feel attacked.”
“No, that was . . . that was great,” I say, still laughing. “Paola’s allergic to shellfish though. She wouldn’t die if she eats them, but I know to her that sounded like you threatened the fuck out of her.”
“Oh, my God.” Morgan’s eyes widen. “I would go back and apologize, but I don’t appreciate being called a whore.”
I lean down and kiss her as we walk. “You’re scrappy.”
“You learn a thing or two from escorts.” She smiles.
“Do you think your relationship with your mother is salvageable, after what she did?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs heavily. “My first instinct is always no, and when I saw her I thought definitely not because I’m still pissed off, but honestly? I don’t know. She’s my mom. I guess there will always be a part of me who wishes things could be different. I’m not holding my breath though. It’s not like I’ll ever count on her for babysitting or anything.” She lets out a quiet laugh that breaks my heart.
“I can’t have kids.”
She blinks up at me. “What do you mean?”
“A couple of months after we got married, Paola decided she wanted to start having kids right away. I was hesitant, but it was what she wanted and she was my wife. I was never home. I think in her mind, having a kid gave her a sense of belonging. Anyway, she was never able to get pregnant with me. The minute she started cheating, she ended up pregnant. Put two and two together.” I shrug.
“Have you been to a doctor?”
“No.”
“So you’re just assuming you can’t have kids. You haven’t actually had your sperm counted.” She shoots me a small smile that almost makes her look shy. “Maybe one day you’ll meet a woman who knocks you off your feet and you’ll want to start a family. I personally want to adopt.”
We’re almost at her building, but I feel the need to stop for a second and put a placeholder on this moment, because it feels important. She turns toward me and tilts her head to meet my eyes as I face her.
“This thing between us, it doesn’t feel casual.”
“Is this the part where you break things off?”
“This is the part where I tell you how much I enjoy having you in my life and want you to stick around.”
“Okay.” She smiles softly. “I just need to be sure that this won’t affect my job and what I’m doing at SEVEN.”
“It won’t.”
“Then, I’m not going anywhere.” She lets go of my hand and reaches around my neck, pulling me closer. When I press my lips against hers and feel her sigh against me, I’m sure this is the kind of happiness people spend their lives chasing.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Morgan
I sit up in bed, eyes wide when I look at the time and glance beside me to see Bennett sleeping like a baby—if babies were grown men who happen to be hot as hell and have an unattainable air about them. I begin to shake him.
“You need to wake up.”
He grunts. “Why? It’s Saturday.”
“Exactly. My brother’s coming into town today, remember?”
“Does that motherfucker ever play football?”
I laugh. “It’s a bye week.”
“Fuck.” He sighs heavily as he blinks his eyes open, and when he catches sight of me, he smiles. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Bennett. This is not the time to have sex, unless you want my brother to kill you today.”
He groans, sitting up in bed and swinging his legs over to stand up. “I can kick his ass easily.”
“Yeah, right.” I snort.
He looks over at me as he stands to his full height. “You don’t think so?”
“I mean, maybe?” I squint, as if I’m trying really hard to look at his incredible physique.
He grins, shaking his head as he heads to the bathroom. I sit back in bed, sighing. When he comes back out, he’s already half-dressed.
“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal for your brother to find out. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not scared he’ll flip out and start a fight?”
“I can handle it.” He shrugs a shoulder and starts buttoning up his shirt. I watch, enthralled, as each inch of his sculpted torso is hidden button by button.
“I don’t want him to give me a whole speech about how stupid it is for me to get involved with the owner of my dream company.” I stand up and head to the bathroom. “He wouldn’t be wrong, either. It’s probably amongst the stupidest decisions I’ve ever made.”
He’s so quiet, that I have to peek out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, to make sure he’s still there.
“Hold on, give me a moment. I’m trying to process the fact that you’re calling me a stupid decision.”
I laugh, spitting the toothpaste into the sink and rinsing. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How do you mean it, then?”
I walk back out of the bathroom and search his expression for some kind of tell that he’s just pulling my leg, but his brows are drawn in as if he’s trying to figure something out. I close the distance between us and grab the front of his now fully buttoned shirt.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I tug his shirt.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and flashes a brilliant smile. “I just have some things on my mind.”
His answer doesn’t really satisfy me, but I let it go because he really needs to get out of here before my brother gets here.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Nora wants me to start looking for a tux,” Devon says from the couch.
“I don’t know how you’re going to achieve your goal if you just si
t here, fixated on ESPN.” I look at the time on the microwave. “You’ve seriously been glued to that thing for two straight hours. Do all of your friends do this?”
“I’m not fixating on it,” he mutters.
“Yeah, okay.” I pick up the plastic plates with our PB&J sandwiches and walk over, handing his over as I fold a leg underneath myself and take the seat beside him.
“We need to talk about Mom.”
My chewing slows. “Why?”
“Because she’s coming to the wedding and Nora keeps talking about having kids, which means Mom would be around more often.”
That makes me laugh. “If you’re expecting Mom to be a model grandmother, I think you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“What’s your deal?” He lowers his now empty plate. I still have a sandwich and a half to finish. I focus on that, avoiding his gaze. “She had a really bad moment in her life, but she’s cleaned up her act. She’s been clean for almost two years now.”
“She said one.”
“Well, I pay a staff of people to check on her and it’s definitely closer to two years since I started doing that.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for her.”
“You told her you didn’t want her in your life.”
“That’s true.”
“Morgan.”
“What?” I sigh, looking at him.
“Why?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask her.”
“I did. She wouldn’t tell me so I’m asking you.” He raises his eyebrows. The SportsCenter theme song interrupts our conversation. He looks away from me and back to the television, and my attention follows. News about a new quarterback for his team flashes on the screen. Devon stands up quickly. “What the fuck?”
The Trouble With Love: New York Times Bestselling Author Page 13