Because It's You (Carolina Rebels 2)

“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.

“Elizabeth.”

I jump, startled because I didn’t realize he was in the car with me already.

“Stop thinking.”

“It’s your fault.”

He frowns, and I regret placing the blame on him. Marc backs out of my driveway. “Tell me what not to do to help then.” His voice is so soft, it nearly sounds broken. It’s like I hit him and screamed that it was seriously his fault.

Now, I feel worse.