Because It's You (Carolina Rebels Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  “Just haven’t met the right person.” The way he looks at me makes me think that he thinks I might be the right person. I need another margarita.

  He’s so delusional.

  But very, very hot.

  I’M STARTING TO think alcohol and Elizabeth don’t mix. The rest of dinner goes well as we talk about nothing in particular. Every so often, the conversation returns to Roger, her late husband. Sometimes, it’s like he didn’t die at all with how she speaks of her life after his passing, and sometimes, it’s like she’s okay and moving forward.

  She leans into me as I walk her to the front door of her house. She downed too many margaritas. Her words started having a touch of a slur halfway through the second one.

  “I don’t know why, but I think I like you, Marco Polo.” She places a hand on my stomach as she falls into giggles.

  “I think I like you too,” I reply. “Where are your keys?”

  She hands me her purse. “In there.”

  I rifle through the middle section before finding them. “Which one?”

  “If you figure it out, I’ll let you kiss me.”

  There’s only three keys, one of which is for a vehicle. “You’ll let me?” I ask, sticking the first one into the lock. It’s a winner.

  “Yep, a good night kiss.” She notices I’ve opened the door. “Yay! Kiss me, Marc.” She tilts her head back and waits, actually sounding excited.

  I give her a quick peck since she’s drunk, but the moment I go to pull away, her arms have somehow managed to wrap around my neck and she’s pulling me back down to her. “Elizabeth,” I whisper, pulling away enough to say that much.

  “Hmm?” Elizabeth tries to move into the house, dragging me with her.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I was last time, too,” she reminds me.

  Fuck. I hadn’t thought of that as a comeback. She sticks her tongue back into my mouth and damn, she’s clouding my judgment. It’s a struggle to remember why we shouldn’t do this. Cold hands have slipped underneath my shirt.

  “Please.” Her beg is quiet. “You free me.”

  My eyes fly open at that, only to find hers open as well. They seem so crystal clear.

  “I didn’t regret last time, believe it or not,” she adds.

  It’s as if she gives me a moment to let her go and when I don’t, she reaches around me to close the door. Elizabeth’s lips touch mine and they’re full of a hunger so clear, it’s like she’s been deprived all this time. All thoughts cease to exist. With the first kiss, I had full intentions of walking away. But with this kiss? The only thing I can do is follow Elizabeth wherever she wants to take me.

  We become a fumble of hands and tongues and kisses. I don’t notice anything about her bedroom. Last time, we were fully clothed and now, we’re naked. My senses are focused entirely on her. Soft skin, loud moans, and hot kisses. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s not. I’m just not sure I care anymore. Elizabeth wants this and I want to give it to her. No has left my vocabulary where she’s concerned. I can’t help it. This woman is impossible to resist.

  Wiggling wakes me up. I keep my eyes closed because I’m wondering what Elizabeth’s reaction will be. She said she wouldn’t regret it. I don’t know if she’d rather I left last night or not. After one orgasm was reached, we were on the quest for the next one. After the fourth, we collapsed and I’m not sure which one of us fell asleep first.

  Elizabeth has turned toward me because my hand was resting on her stomach and now it’s on her back. The worst thing that could happen is she regrets it. Her fingers trail over my chest for a moment. Her forehead just barely rests against mine and I hear and feel her exhale.

  “Marc,” she whispers just as she pulls away from me.

  I let my eyes drowsily open and give her a small smile. She doesn’t look as if she regrets it, but I can tell those thirty-thousand-foot-tall walls of hers are back up.

  “Time for you to leave.” She doesn’t sound regretful, upset, sad, or anything. Her voice is completely bland. That’s worse than her regretting it, I think.

  “Lizzy!” Sylvia’s voice yells from another room. Just like that, Elizabeth truly locks up on me. “Did Marc’s truck break down or someth—”

  “Don’t come in!” Elizabeth shouts. She moves further away from me and makes sure the sheets are securely covering her.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her.

  “He’s here?” Sylvia’s voice screeches. There’s a brief silence and her voice is on the other side of the door when she says, “Marco?”

  “Polo,” I reply loud enough for her to hear me.

  Elizabeth bursts out laughing despite herself. I can’t help but smile.

  “Oh my god!” Sylvia shouts. “I need to see this for myself. Please let me open the door, Lizzy.”

  “No!” Elizabeth yells as she calms down. “What do you even want?”

  “I wanted to know how the date went. Obviously, it went well. Right?”

  Those hazel eyes connect with mine briefly, full of conflict, before she looks back at the ceiling. It’s almost as if I can see those walls doubling up and growing higher. “Make her go away,” she says softly.

  “Sylvia, go home,” I demand. “If Elizabeth wants to call you later with any juicy details, she will. Otherwise, leave her the hell alone.”

  It’s quiet for all of a second. “Did he just tell me what to do?”

  “Sylvia!” Elizabeth yells, fully annoyed with her now.

  “Okay, okay. I’m leaving.”

  Nothing is said until we hear the door slam. Elizabeth’s hands are resting on her chest and they’re trembling. I know what that means. She’s starting to think too much. I grab one of her hands and give it a squeeze.

  “You’re okay.” I almost asked if she was okay, but I’m hoping that by rephrasing it, it’ll help her.

  “I don’t know what to do about you,” she admits quietly, squeezing her eyes closed.

  “I don’t know what to do about you either.”

  She turns her head and cracks a smile. “That makes me feel a little better.”

  “Good.” I give her a quick kiss. When I turn to get out of bed, I finally see the clock. “Fuck,” I curse under my breath.

  “What is it?”

  “Practice starts in five minutes; I’m going to be late.” Which means I’ll most likely be benched from the game tonight. We have a job and unless it’s a family emergency, there is not much leniency for tardiness. I grab my pants and realize my phone died. It’s probably unlikely I would’ve heard my alarm anyway.

  “What happens if you’re late?”

  “Won’t play in the game tonight.”

  “Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry.”

  I have one leg in my jeans and about to step into the other when she says this, so I hop to turn around, especially since she sounds genuinely remorseful. “Why? It’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it?” she asks, sitting up and pulling the sheets to keep her covered. “If I had’ve let you go home, you wouldn’t be late and missing a game.”

  I button my jeans and carefully zip up the fly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Elizabeth nods, so I turn to find my shirt. When I snatch it from the floor, she whispers, “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. This is twice I’ve slept with her and we’ve only had one date. This is uncharted territory for me. “We can keep going and see what happens, or you can cut your ties with me now.” Please, don’t do that. I’ll get down on my knees and beg.

  She doesn’t say anything. She only looks down at her lap.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Just go,” she says without looking at me. “I don’t know, and you’re already late.”

  I place my knee on the bed, place the tip of my forefinger under her chin, and tilt it upward. Without enough thought, I tell her what I’m hoping is all she needs to hear. “I don’t want a wo
man to watch me do my job, whether in the box or on TV. I don’t want a woman to discuss hockey with. You can control the pace. Hell, we can be friends if that’s what you’d prefer. Either way, I have the strength to help you carry your baggage, if you’d let me.”

  Her eyes well with tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s so much more than what you already know.”

  “I don’t need to know what’s in the bag to carry it, Elizabeth.”

  She takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t seem as if she’s going to say anything.

  I lean down and press a firm kiss to her forehead. “Push some furniture in front of the door after I leave in case Sylvia is out there, waiting to come back.”

  Elizabeth laughs. “Good idea.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She nods, and with that, I leave. By the time I go home, change, and make it to practice, I’m ridiculously late. It’s so worth it, though. Elizabeth intrigues me in so many ways. She’s obviously struggled with the death of her husband, and I’m not sure how to navigate this path with her because in no way do I want to do or say something to upset her in that regard. But she also seems to be full of contradictions.

  She’s uptight and gives me a hard time, but then, there’s a side of her that just seems to let loose and give in to me. She doesn’t want to even entertain a date, and then we’re on one and she’s pulling me into her bedroom. She’s genuinely conflicted, and the only thing I know to do is keep asking for some time with her.

  “Marco!” Scott shouts.

  “Polo!” Tommy Alderson yells back.

  Practice is now over and I’m walking into the training room. Coach just finished letting me know I was out of the lineup for tonight, which is what I expected. Scott is watching me with narrowed eyes, so I walk over to him. He stands upright and folds his arms over his chest.

  “What?” I finally ask when he only stares. “Is this about Elizabeth?”

  “Yeah. I just want to let you know—”

  “Not to hurt her because she’s your sister-in-law, yeah, I knew that.”

  Scott’s eyes widen. “She told you that?”

  “Yes, and she talked about Roger some.”

  “She said his name?”

  “I know what his name is, so obviously. What’s the big deal?”

  Scotts shakes his head in disbelief. “She hasn’t said his name since he died. Lizzy doesn’t even talk about him; it was almost like he never existed to her.”

  “Are we talking about the same Elizabeth?” Because she had difficulty at first, but for the most part, she spoke with ease, especially if she was wrapped up in a memory.

  “Did she tell you anything else?”

  I frown with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t know if she talked about anything else with you is all. Just be good to her, okay?”

  I nod, but all I can think about is how I hope she’s good to me. I can’t say I’ve ever dated a woman with such a heavy past before. I’ve certainly never been as invested this early on either. The good thing is the biggest curveball has already been thrown at me. Knowing what she’s struggling with will help me while I help her.

  After practice, I text her. We’re leaving for a game Tuesday and will pretty much be gone for a week. I want to see her before I go. She doesn’t text me back until hours later. I’m sitting in the team’s box, watching the first period happen without me, when she responds.

  Elizabeth: What are you planning to have us do?

  Me: Dinner with Noah and Meredith for sure. After that, who knows.

  During the intermission, she texts me back.

  Elizabeth: Well, okay. What time?

  Before I can text her an answer, my phone is lighting up with a call from my dad. My entire body tenses. I ignore his call. There will be more to come, I’m sure. I turn my phone to silent and slip it back into my pocket. Fuck, I was so wrapped up in Elizabeth I didn’t even think about the harsher consequence of missing the game tonight.

  Even with my phone on silent, it’s as if I can still feel it blowing up with either messages or calls. It’s bound to be one or the other, or both. It seems that no matter how far away I get, how old I get, or how often I ignore him, my old man doesn’t ever leave me alone. Ignoring him is always my number one priority. It’s taken years to even get myself to a point where I felt somewhat comfortable ignoring his calls.

  My body is on autopilot for the rest of the night. I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about the game. I don’t bother stopping by the box to see Meredith, even though I told her I would. My truck is my priority. It’s not until I’m home that I pull out my phone to check the damage, but my search is interrupted by a phone call from Elizabeth.

  I hesitate before answering. “Hey.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  My muscles lock up even more. “What makes you think something’s wrong?” I drop my keys on the end table and lie down on the couch.

  “You’ve been like a pest when it comes to me and then, suddenly, you don’t respond with a time for when you’re picking me up. At first, I thought you were probably busy doing whatever it is they make you do when you’re benched, but then enough time had passed for the game to be over and still nothing from you. So, I figured something might be wrong.”

  Despite the shit storm brewing in my head, I grin. “You were worried about me.”

  All of two seconds pass before she scoffs. “No. Actually, I was hoping I’d come off a little crazy so you’d leave me alone.”

  I laugh. “You could be certifiable and I’d still want to date you.”

  “Sounds like you’re the one who is certifiable,” she grumbles. “Are you okay?”

  “Way better now.”

  Elizabeth is silent for a few beats. “So, something was wrong.” Another few quiet seconds. “Was it my fault? Because you missed the game?”

  “No,” I interrupt. “It’s not your fault, Elizabeth. How was your day?”

  “Just so you know, I see you’re trying to change the subject and I’m allowing it.” She takes a deep breath. “It was okay. I think Sylvia was parked down the street because she was here about five minutes after you left.”

  “She didn’t bother you too much, did she?”

  “Have you met Sylvia?”

  I laugh. “Sorry.”

  “She acts as if you’re my new boyfriend. I think she’s been hit more times than you probably have.”

  “She only wants to see you happy.”

  That, apparently, is the wrong thing to say.

  “If one more person says that to me, I swear, I’ll punch them. I’m not unhappy, Marc! I’m not! Why—”

  “Elizabeth,” I sternly interrupt, causing her to immediately fall silent. “Are you happy? Truly, bursting at the seams, smiling every day, and feeling as if you aren’t missing anything in life kind of happy? Because that’s what Sylvia means.”

  Her voice is much softer now. “I know she means well, but I’m tired of hearing it. That’s all I meant. Not to mention, I am happy, Marc. Could I be happier? Sure. But my life doesn’t completely suck just because it’s not how I thought it would be.”

  “You have to admit, I’ve made it better, haven’t I?” My voice is full of confidence. Her slight pause tells me she wasn’t expecting me to say that, but she laughs. That’s all I wanted to do.

  I TALKED TO Marc for hours before he finally hung up with me. I felt a little guilty when I realized he had practice early the next morning and a game that night, but he said he got there on time, so I didn’t have to worry about being the reason for him being benched twice in a row. That’s the only hockey-related thing we’ve discussed, too.

  He called me last night as well. We talked for hours again. I can’t even say what we talked about. A bunch of nothingness. Any time things got too serious, Marc would say something to make me laugh and that was that. I never did find out what was wrong with him Saturday, though.

  And n
ow, I’m running around, trying to get ready for our date before he gets here. I’m not so sure about having dinner with his friends, but I don’t think Marc would throw me to the wolves. It does help that I’ve met both of them before. Not that I really talked to them. God, where are my keys?

  There’s a knock on my door.

  Shit. Marc is here!

  “Come in!” I shout as I’m rifling through my purse for the third time. I hear the door open. “I’m not ready. I can’t find my keys, and obviously, I’ve had them because I needed them to get home from work and get into the house, but now I can’t fucking find them!” I screech, annoyed with myself.

  “Um, Elizabeth?”

  “What?” I huff and lift my head to see him holding my keys.

  “You left them in the door.”

  My shoulders fall. “I’ve been looking for them for fifteen minutes.”

  He waves me over and sticks the key back into the door. “Grab your purse and let’s go.”

  I do, and it’s odd to watch him lock up my house for me. Marc hands the keys to me, slips his rough hand in mind, and pulls me to the truck. It’s then that I realize why I’ve enjoyed talking to him on the phone so much. Over the phone, Marc can pass as a new friend. We simply seem like friends who are learning about one another. That’s it. Friends, which is something I can deal with.

  But when he’s here, he holds my hand. He opens the door for me. Before I can get inside, he tugs on my hand to make me face him. My heart goes from walking to running when he grins.

  “Hey.”

  That’s it.

  That’s all he says!

  I swallow hard. “Hey.”

  He leans down, my heart feeling as if it’s running a marathon with every second, and presses a soft, gentle kiss to my lips. Then, he smiles. “Just wanted to give you a proper hello.” He motions to the truck.

  With a shaky hand, I grab the handle and lift myself into the truck. Gah, why can’t it just feel as it does over the phone? Why does he have to make me nervous? Why do I have to freak out about liking him? Why do I not even want to admit that I sort of like him? Marc makes me think and feel too much when he’s here in the flesh.