His struggle, his pain, and his uncomfortableness were so clear. I’ve never seen Marc seem so unlike himself as he appeared to be when he was talking about his father. Part of me realizes, or thinks, that it only seemed unlike him because he keeps that part of himself locked away. Anyone who could have such a negative impact on someone as wonderful as Marc is obviously a bad person and anyone who could do anything bad to him deserves me to hate him. Marc doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve me either. I mean, with how crazy and uptight I am, and considering I’m a piece of work. He deserves better than me. Way better. Not to mention the things I’ve done.
Marc groans low in his throat, turning his face inward so it’s pressed against my breast. His lips lift into a smile a split second before he lifts his head. “Hey, you’re awake.” His cheeks brighten with a dash of pink and I wonder if it’s from being caught at smiling into my boob. God, he’s beautiful.
“Yeah, I’m awake.” I let my hands fall from his hair, one resting on his shoulder, the other on his arm over my ribs. “Why are you sleeping on me?” I blurt out.
Is that a flash of vulnerability that crosses his features? Or am I seeing things? Marc shrugs. “I wanted to see what it was like to switch places with you.” Then he grins and and covers my body with his, pressing his mouth to mine with a kiss that is all too brief. “Plus, it allows me to easily do this.” This...this is why Marc is both a good and bad idea. One little motion, one action, one sensation of his hardness between my legs is all it takes for me to stop thinking and want to spill all my secrets, want to hand myself over to him on a silver platter. What’s worse is it doesn’t even have to be sex that does this to me.
It could b
e hearing his voice. When he takes my hand, reassures me, or places his arm around my neck and pulls me close. It could be how he seems unfazed by whatever I throw at him and how he’s ready to catch whatever it is. Hell, anything he does could be something that makes me want to wish I could forget, wish I was stronger, and wish I could really have him—something I’m not yet convinced of despite what’s happening between us.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Sylvia’s coming over.”
Marc’s fingertips caress the edges of my mouth. “Why is that upsetting you?”
“Because I was ignoring her too and because I’d rather listen to your game. When am I seeing you again? Tomorrow?”
He shakes his head. “We have a game in Pittsburgh. Last road game until after Christmas.”
Damn, that stupid holiday is creeping up faster and faster. I need to go shopping. I may not spend Christmas with my family, but I still buy them gifts.
“Can—” Marc stops, seemingly thinking better of his question.
“What?” I push.
He stares into my eyes. For a moment, it makes me uncomfortable. He trails his fingers down the side of my face. “Keep in mind,” he starts softly, “that I don’t do Christmas with anyone either.” One quick deep breath and then, “Can I spend it with you this year?”
Does he just come up with this shit on the fly? Like shouldn’t these kinds of things be well thought out and planned and not launched on someone within minutes of waking up? And why does he have to look so hopeful? Why do I want to say yes when I know it’s going to be a disaster waiting to happen because I can’t even talk to my own family on Christmas and I’m supposed to spend it with Marc? It feels wrong and right all at the same time and that shit is fucking confusing and I hate him for asking.
My life shouldn’t be this hard. Marc shouldn’t have a bastard of a father who did whatever he did to make his only son want to spend the holidays alone and without his family. This shouldn’t be such a hard decision.
“Why in the hell are you smiling?” I snap. It’s more of a smirk, but there’s a small smile there none-the-less.
“Because you’re getting riled up, panicked, and whatever other emotions are running through your head. Yes or no, Elizabeth? Both are complete sentences. Neither require explanations. It’s up to you. You know what you can handle and what you want. All I wanted was to ask and get an answer. So, what’s it going to be. Yes or no?”
I gulp. “How festive would we be?”
He shrugs. “Up to you.”
Crap. He’s giving good answers. That’s bad.
“Taking too long, Elizabeth,” he pushes. “Yes or no?”
A million fucks run through my mind as I whisper, “Yes.”
Then he has the nerve to smile! He kisses me so softly and with such emotion, his tongue sliding into my mouth making me lose my breath. If I hadn’t already said yes, his kiss would’ve made me. “Thank you,” he murmurs against my lips. I can’t help but wonder what I’m giving to Marc by agreeing to this insanity. That almost makes me happy to be doing it already.
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I have some time before I have to leave.”
“Are you trying to make my day even better?” He grins. Just as fast, it disappears. “Or are you trying to say I’m a really quick lay?”
A laugh pops out before I can stop it. “The first one, but a little of the second might not be a bad thing. We’re wasting time by talking.”
He’s suddenly out of bed and I immediately miss the feel of him. Marc pulls me to the side of bed, lifts me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes, and says, “We’ll save time in the shower.”
“Why couldn’t I have walked?”