by Sarah Skye
Morgan’s chest heaves as she takes a silent breath and looks away for a few seconds. Her hold on my hand doesn’t budge though.
“I get it now,” she says before turning back to me. “I get why you were so detached and messed up when you were with Lily. And Harmony. I mean, if I had your parents, no question I’d be a monster.”
I reach over to tuck a loose chunk of her hair behind her ear. “Monster, huh?”
She bites her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
The corner of my mouth quirks up. “I know. And besides, no way you could ever be a monster. You’re too kindhearted. Nothing and no one could change that. Ever.”
I cup her face with my palm. She leans into my hand, humming softly. Then she presses her eyes shut tight and shakes her head. I stroke my thumb across the impossibly soft skin of her cheek.
When she opens her eyes, they shine bright with tears. She blinks, and one cascades down, disappearing as my skin absorbs it.
“Morgan. Don’t cry, please. They’re not worth it.”
“No, but you are. You deserve better than what your family gave you, Marco. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be cared about. I’m so sorry they didn’t give you that.”
My heart absolutely shatters. The shake in her voice, the obvious emotion in every word she speaks. She’s crying—she’s feeling—for me.
I don’t think about it, I just pull her to me. She comes willingly and tucks her head under my chin, her arms around me. Something strange is happening. It feels like my chest is either going to burst or fold into itself.
It’s as comforting as it is terrifying. But there is no doubt. I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about Morgan.
Gently, I lean away and lift her face in my hands so I can look at her. There are a million things I want to say.
Thank you for caring about me.
Thank you for standing up for me in front of my family.
Thank you for staying by my side after learning what I come from.
Thank you for letting me into your life when it would be a million times easier to ditch me.
But words fail when I look at her. All I want to do is kiss her.
So I do.
16
MORGAN
Marco’s lips brush mine. They’re cold and dry, but still so goddamn soft that it gives me chills, especially when his scent hits my nose. He brushes my mouth again, gently, asking for permission.
Yeah. Hell yeah, he has permission.
I part my lips, and that gentle touch becomes a toe-curling pressure as he captures my mouth. Long fingers slide from my jaw up into my hair and wrap around the strands at the back of my head. My breath hitches, and he growls. A little tug on my hair, and I emit an entirely involuntary moan.
Wow. Who knew I liked that so much?
Both our eyes open at the primal noise that just vibrated my vocal cords. Marco’s saucy one-eyebrow look is even better this close up, and I can’t help but giggle as I roll my eyes, all the while keeping this kiss going. His dark eyes crinkle. Just for a second, our mouths break the seal when he flashes a dazzling grin.
But then his lips are on mine again, and his tongue is playing with mine again, and holy hell, we forget about laughing.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer until he shifts and eases me onto my back on the couch. One of my legs plants on the floor while the other knee lifts, opening wide so he can fit between them. His weight settles on me, and even though he’s nearly a whole foot taller and easily seventy-five pounds heavier, it is absolutely divine. Like he was built to fit against me.
Don’t be silly, Morgan. He’s no yin to your yang, goofball.
I brush the thought away. Who cares about thinking when this feels so good? When his stubble scratches and contrasts with the wet glide of our mouths this deliciously? When I do not remember the last time I had a kiss like this? When I don’t know if any kiss had me this level of hot?
And, damn, am I hot.
I realize suddenly that I’ve begun rocking my hips against him. His hands are planted by my shoulders, and I’m dying to have them on my body so bad that I arch my spine in a shameless plea. Marco hums and scrapes his teeth against my bottom lip as one hand answers, coasting in a slow teasing journey from my throat down to my breast. He pauses on my heart until I mumble an “Mm-hmm” and thrust again. One of those very capable hands swishes over my nipple, and I decide it was a good call to wear the lace balconette today.
“Marco.” I break the kiss long enough to gasp his name.
“Morgan.” His voice is rough and gritty, and when I open my eyes his pupils have eclipsed his irises. “You are so—”
But we finish that thought with another long kiss as he teases my nipples, switching from one to the other and back again. The way he reads my need, as if he can tell when I’ve had enough on one side and am craving his touch on the other, is almost uncanny.
My underwear is going to dissolve. I can’t take much more of this.
I rake my nails down his shirt. It’s damp with sweat—I’d noticed he’d been running, and honestly, it just made him sexier and even better-smelling. His pecs and abs twitch at my touch, but I’m not stopping. I reach his waistband and slide my hand over his sweatpants. His hips.
His… not-hard cock.
My hand stills at the same time Marco freezes. Our eyes open, and he pulls back. A pink flush paints his striking cheekbones.
“Sorry.” His eyes close as he exhales the word and hangs his head. “Fuck. I am sorry.”
I realize I’m still groping him, so I snatch my hand away before I become an official pervert. “No, um, it’s okay. Just, well, I…” I have no idea what to say.
Marco pushes off me and sits on the couch. He covers his face with both hands, but not before I see that those pink cheeks have become a full-on blush. Even with his face covered, his neck is stained red, too. “No, don’t. It’s not okay, it’s pathetic. I’m here making out with the hottest woman I can imagine, and I’m letting some ridiculous run-in with my family get to me? Totally pathetic. I kept hoping I’d, uh, perk up before you noticed. But then of course just thinking that added pressure that made things worse. Fuck, Morgan. I am so sorry. I mess up everything. They’re right. I told you that already. Just didn’t think I’d fuck up fucking, too.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. Meanwhile, my heart shatters for him.
I yank his hands away from his face and take a firm hold of his chin. Those dark eyes are a well of shame and self-loathing that I don’t need intuition or aural vibrations to read. He cuts his gaze away, but I won’t have it. I give his chin a little shake. “Look at me, dammit.”
“I really don’t want to. I’m not sure I can, to be honest. I’m so fucking embarrassed. You can go, really. It’s cool.”
“It’s not ‘cool,’ and I’ll go if you want me to in just a second. But first, we’re going to clear some things up. Look at me, dammit.”
“Bossy,” he breathes, and both our lips twitch.
“Sometimes.”
I finally get his gaze on mine, even though it cuts away every few seconds. A little squeeze on his jaw seems to be the only way to bring him back. I wet my lips and take a shaky breath.
“Can you stop with the self-deprecation? What we put out into the world, we manifest. So if you say, ‘I’m a loser who ruins everything,’ then guess what? That’s what you’ll be. And if you say, ‘I’m a person who’s trying to break old patterns and heal some deep Chiron wounds,’ then guess what?”
“I’m not sure, because I have no idea what that means.”
I bite down on my lips, but the giggle escapes anyway. “Chiron is the wounded healer. It’s an astrology reference from Greek mythology. Chiron energy is about healing our deepest soul wounds. But anyway, my point was, what—”
“What I say, I become.”
“Exactly.”
With another deep breath, I release my hold on him and pal
m his cheek instead, stroking softly. Marco’s brows tick up. He blinks rapidly, but he’s not avoiding my gaze anymore. My voice softens as I say, “And as far as your, um, mood right now goes, shut the hell up, Marco Woodruff. There is nothing to apologize about. You just had an incredibly traumatic altercation. Tossing those feelings out the window that fast isn’t reasonable. Honestly, it makes me hate you even less to see how authentically you’re working to process your emotions.”
Those dark brows arch a little. “You hate me even less now? Really?”
I laugh and touch my forehead to his. “Just a little bit. Calling me the hottest woman you can imagine gets you a few points, too.”
My face heats to echo those words, but Marco cups my cheeks in his hands now and presses a gentle kiss on my mouth. “You completely are. You’re incredible, and I hope you know it.”
I shrug. “I’m just the best me I can be, every damn day.”
His jaw slacks a little at my words. “That’s a good mantra. I should steal it.”
“Steal away. Start right now.”
“Thanks. But right now what I really want to do is hear you moan again. I might not be on my game, but I could spend the whole afternoon making sure you’re satisfied.” He smirks and flicks his tongue out to skim over my lips. I catch my breath and part them for him.
“Would you like that, Morgan?” Each word of the question is punctuated by a little lick that has my insides on fire.
“No.” God, just saying it is torture.
Marco startles and pulls back. “No?”
Now it’s my turn to facepalm and blush. “No, but yes. Yes, god, yes I would. But this isn’t the right time. You need to process and heal from this afternoon.”
“My face between your thighs sounds like the best kind of therapy.”
I groan and smash my face into the sofa cushion. “No, it doesn’t. It’s escapism, and you know it.”
“I hate you too, you know.”
“I know. I’ll leave.” I sit up and adjust my twisted shirt, then get to my feet with the world’s deepest sigh.
But Marco clasps my wrist before I can walk away. “I can process with you here. I, uh, I know this is lame, but I’d rather just sit here and watch TV with you than have you leave. Will you stay?”
The way my heart puddles in my chest tells me we may be in some real trouble here. But at this moment, I don’t care. In fact, I wrap my arms around the trouble and the gooey feeling inside me with both arms as I plop back down on the couch and grab the remote from the coffee table.
“Pass me that pizza,” he says once I’ve picked Crazy, Stupid, Love as our movie to watch.
“Promise you’re processing?” I ask once he’s chewing on a cold slice.
He throws his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. “Swear it.”
I stay at Marco’s until late. I’d likely have slept over if not for the reminder on my phone that makes my stomach dip: tomorrow is brunch with the girls. So, I kiss him good night and fall asleep alone at my place. The next morning, I roll out of bed still all warm and fuzzy from our snuggly night together. But that just means that little butterflies linger in my abdomen while I get ready and hustle to meet Lily and Harmony. On the drive, I do a little processing of my own.
Marco is essentially Lily’s and Harmony’s enemy #1, but they don’t have the whole story. Neither of them ever mentioned his family, which tells me they aren’t aware of the dysfunction that I bore witness to yesterday. Just the memory of the looks on their faces, of the way they spoke to him, turns my stomach. He is no hero, but he’s got shit he’s working on. So, yes, he’s a straight-up villain to both of my girls, but that’s an old chapter. It’s taken me some time to believe it, but he really is different, really is changing, now. They don’t have to fall for him again—in fact, I’d rather they leave that to me—but they’re both people who know a lot about growth and change.
So maybe I just don’t tell them for now and let this play out.
I sit down at our table and take a cleansing breath, determined to focus on wedding talk and all things girly and fun. It goes well until:
“My parents are trying to inflate the guest list,” Lily groans, shaking her head. “I keep telling them I’m not inviting Dad’s entire firm to an orchard wedding, but Mom is laying it on thick.”
Harmony hums in understanding. “Just tell them the venue is small and suggest they host a cocktail party after you’re back from your honeymoon.”
“Perfect idea.” Lily lights up at the suggestion, which sounds good to me too even though I know nothing about such difficulties.
“Who are they trying to invite?” Harmony asks. She and Lily grew up together, and their parents share a social circle in the swanky suburbs. I sit back and sip my mimosa. This is part of the conversation that I can’t contribute to, not that I mind.
Lily rattles off a list of names, to which Harmony hums and nods. But she ends with, “I think the only country club members they don’t want to invite are the Woodruffs.”
She and Harmony both roll their eyes and make retching noises. I cock my jaw. “Who?” I ask like I don’t know.
Lily shakes her head, still rolling her eyes. “Marco and his family.”
“Ah.”
Harmony jumps in. “Actually, from what I hear, those are basically two entities these days. I heard that Marco and his family aren’t speaking. According to my mom, apparently there was a huge blowout between them at The Hound And The Wolf a couple months ago, and they’ve been on the outs ever since.”
Lily shrugs. “Huh. Well, whatever. I just hope my mom doesn’t use that as a reason to invite Marco on his own.” She shudders visibly. “Mom and Dad always said that he was the best of the Woodruff family. God, what a rotten tree if that’s actually true.”
Harmony frowns, and I’m mildly relieved that at least she didn’t laugh at that.
“Actually,” I hear myself say, “I ran into Marco the other day on my way to a shoot.”
Big blue and big brown eyes turn slowly to me. Lily and Harmony’s faces are mirrors of surprise. “Oh?” they say.
I shrug. “Yeah. He looked different than I remember. I almost didn’t recognize him, actually. His vibe was super weird, too. Like, sad maybe?”
I’m half lying, half cobbling together truths here, but my heart is galloping. Why did you open your mouth?
“Let him be sad. it would serve him right if the universe beat him up for a while.” Lily winks at me, knowing she’s speaking my language there—and absolutely oblivious at the chord she just struck in my soul.
Harmony frowns again. “Now that time has passed, when I look back I just think about how fake he seemed. Like he was playing a character. I guess I was, too, to be honest. But I always felt weird around his family even though there was nothing specifically wrong that I could see. Maybe the universe really is beating him up for how he acted. Wouldn’t be the worst thing.” She sighs and shrugs.
“Who even cares?” Lily says. “He’s history. Good riddance.”
I twitch my lips into the closest thing to a smile I can, painfully aware that those same lips were sealed on Marco’s about twelve hours ago. My heart is racing, cracking—aching. What was I thinking? That they’d come to see what kind of a person he is now? That somehow this spark between us would grow to the point that I could ease them into the idea that Marco wasn’t the douchebag they remember? That I could bring him around, ever?
I can never, ever, tell them about us.
Which means there can’t really be an us.
But I can’t just walk away from him, either.
Universe, I’m gonna need some help here.
17
MARCO
When I answer the door and see Morgan, I’m smiling. And not just a small smile, but a-kid-on-Christmas-morning type of smile. That’s the level of excitement I feel when I see her.
I won’t lie, yesterday didn’t go how I planned, not even close. I thought I’d have
her writhing against my tongue on my couch, then we’d fuck on that rug she seems to like so much before moving to my bed, then the shower… pretty much every surface of my place.
One run-in with my family ruined all that.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed as hell that the hurt from my falling out with them seeped into my time with Morgan. And I’d be the world’s biggest liar if I said I wasn’t still nursing a bit of embarrassment from how I failed to perform when things were getting hot and heavy.
But in a weird way, part of me is glad about the outcome. Morgan saw me at my worst—at my most vulnerable—and didn’t seem the least bit fazed by it. In fact, she seemed endeared, drawn to me in a way she hasn’t before. And that hit me in the strangest way. It took a whole night’s sleep to figure out why. But now I know.
It’s because no one has ever stood by me like that. No girlfriend, no friend, no family member, no one. No one has ever seen me so broken and still wanted to stick around.
I showed her my worst self—limp dick, fucked up family, and all—and she still wanted me. She still cared.
That’s someone worth smiling like a fool for.
She walks in, shuts the door behind her, and hands me a small paper bag. “Something sweet for you.”
I open it and pull out a container of banana pudding from a local bakery. This smile has to be borderline maniacal, I’m sure by now.
“I know, I know. You’re not that into carbs,” she says as she flashes a shy smile.
“I’m willing to break my rules for you.”
I swear there’s a flash behind her eyes. It makes me pause. I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad reaction. But Morgan blinks before I can figure it out, then crosses her arms.
I lead her to the kitchen, where I’ve got espresso brewing. “Figured since I never got around to getting your coffee order yesterday, I’d make it for you today.”
Something in her demeanor changes as she gazes at the espresso machine. She freezes like I’ve just told her I think we should jump out of a plane with no parachutes. Again I’m thrown. Good or bad?