Because It's You (Carolina Rebels 2)

Her arms tighten around my neck for a brief moment, as if in response she’s telling me that I’m all she needs.

MY EYES OPEN, and I immediately want to close them. It’s Friday. I’ve been at Marc’s house since Monday night after his game. We’ve mostly been watching movies that are the farthest from Christmas that we can get. And now, it’s Christmas.

A kiss is pressed to the back of my neck. “You’re okay,” Marc whispers, sounding as if he’s still half asleep thanks to that sexy voice of his.

I’m glad we’re at his house. It already makes things a little easier. However, nothing has been mentioned as far as what we’re doing today and I’m nervous. But how Marc knows I’m nervous, I don’t know. “I know I am,” I mumble. I want to believe it anyway.

“No, you don’t. You’re fidgeting in my bed again, Elizabeth.” He tightens his arms around me. “We’re going to make today a good day. It’s already planned and written in stone. Can’t change what’s written in stone.”

At this, I roll over to face him. He grabs the back of my thigh and lifts it over his hip before resting his hand on my lower back, pulling me closer. We’re both naked and it’s suddenly distracting and overwhelming to feel all of him against, near, on, and brushing over me. He raises an eyebrow. It’s out of place between his bedhead, thumb brushing the skin on my back, and there’s not even a smile on his face. Why is there a quirked eyebrow?

Oh.

Right.

I was going to say something.

“What do you have planned, Marc?” My lungs seize. Are we actually going to celebrate? “I don’t want to do anything for Christmas. I can’t. Please tell me that’s not what you have up your sleeve. I mean, I’ve made some progress, but I can’t do that yet. He was a Christmas fanatic, and—”

“It still hurts too much,” Marc interrupts. “Have more faith in me, Elizabeth. It’ll be Christmas without the Christmas.”

“That makes no sense.”

He smiles. “It will.”

“Okay,” I say, giving in, dipping my head to press my face to his chest.

“One day,” he starts quietly, “we’ll be able to start new, simple Christmas traditions—something we can both handle while still enjoying it. Promise.”

My body seems to continue functioning as normal, but my thoughts have skidded to a complete stop. Marc just said a lot of things that I’m not sure I’m comfortable with, things I hadn’t thought of yet. Do I focus on the “one day” or the “start new traditions” part? Damn it. Marc is thinking about a future. With me. I haven’t thought about a future with him. Not even once. Hell, I haven’t thought about my own future since a month after Roger died.

What am I doing here with him? How can he already be thinking about a future? It’s too soon! I’ve been focused on the right now, on the right this very second, not the next moment, the next day, the next year. I like Marc, I do, but he can’t be thinking about a future with me! I don’t even deserve him! He doesn’t even know what I’ve done. What Sylvia thinks I should tell him “one day.” Marc has put up with a lot from me, but if I tell him about that, it’s going to completely change the way he looks at me, and I don’t want to do that.

I’m more of a handful than even I thought. I want him now, but maybe not in the future. I want to tell him about my life, want him to tell me about his life, but I don’t want to tell him everything.

Marc’s phone starts vibrating on the nightstand, which is closest to me since Marc has no qualms over a particular side of the bed. “Will you reach over and turn it off?”

“Turn it off instead of on silent?” I ask, leaning back to look at him.

“The only person I need to talk to today is you, so turn it off.”

I roll away from him. It pangs my heart to see that it says Francis instead of dad. It shouldn’t bother me because I know Marc is making his decision based on his experience, but I no longer talk to my own parents either, so I sort of know what it’s like. The only difference is my parents don’t attempt to call me.

Marc grabs my hip to turn me to face him again. “Hungry? I have an extravagant breakfast planned.”

“Then it sounds like you should get started.”

He grins, gives me a quick kiss, and gets out of bed. My gaze follows his naked body until he’s tugging on shorts and a T-shirt to cover his lightly tanned skin. I bet in the summer if he spends any time outside, his hair gets that much brighter and his skin’ll darken to make his hair look lighter still. Marc is hot in the winter, but I think I want to see what he’d look like after a week at the beach, too.

“Don’t stay in bed too long; I might need help,” he says over his shoulder before he walks out of the room.

I’m sure he just doesn’t want to leave me alone for too long. With a sigh, I get up to take a shower. Showers always make a person feel better, right? They do me, at least. I take my time washing, shampooing, shaving, and even just standing underneath the water. Once the smell of bacon starts to overpower the aroma of Marc’s body wash, because I didn’t think to bring my own, I figure it’s time to get out.

There’s a spread of food laid out on the bar. Bacon, sausage, biscuits, white gravy, grits, eggs, rice, ham slices, and hashed potatoes.

“Do you even know what grits are?” I ask Marc.

He turns from where he was grabbing two plates. “Sylvia told me about them and the gravy when I asked for ideas.” He scrunches his nose and frowns. “I don’t know about trying it, though.”