I exhale slowly. “For months, I blamed myself when my ex cheated on me and left. I kept thinking that I somehow fell short. If only I’d been good enough, sexy enough, pretty enough, he would have been happy and stayed. I kept asking myself what I could have done differently.” I shrug defeatedly and try not to tear up. “Eventually, I realized how stupid that was, but right now, looking at your face, I’m really afraid that I might like looking at it a little too much, and maybe I’ll somehow become that pathetic version of Ginnie again.”
“You’re afraid,” he says in a deep low voice, “that I’ll make you weak?”
Not weak. Just blind. Blind to my own needs and blind to his true nature. “You’re the sort of man women wish for.” And by women, I mean me. “It would be really hard not to try to do everything and anything to have you. And keep you,” I add.
He blinks those blue eyes at me, but there’s no emotion.
“I really wish I knew what you were thinking right now,” I say quietly, feeling more vulnerable than I’ve ever allowed myself to be with anyone.
“I’m thinking your ex sounds like an asshole and I’d like to pay him a visit.” He cracks a little smile. Its effect on me is instantaneous. Heat.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Marus. Marus Prospero.”
“Nice to meet you, Marus.” I smile at him and let it sink in. Mr. Wish has a name, and it’s Marus. Sounds just like him, too. Strong. Masculine. Uncommon. I’ve never heard it before.
“Okay, Marus.” I sigh with relief. This feels like a big step. Maybe because now he officially feels real to me.
“Now tell me why you changed your wish to five million dollars.”
“I—I…” I don’t want to rat out the lady at the Rose’s Garden Thrift Store. She said to make my wish and move on. So I did. And I hated doing it. “I asked for money because it’s what I want.”
“We’re done here.” He starts to leave.
“I thought you’d be happy. No more games.”
“Is that what you think? That I’d be happy to watch you move those beautiful lips and tell me another lie.”
He knows I lied just now. Wait. My stomach dips. “Beautiful? But-but,” I stutter.
“But what, Ginnie? Does it shock you that a man might compliment your lips?”
“No. They’re nice lips, I guess. I just don’t understand why you’re complimenting them.” If he’s attracted to me, he sure as hell hides it well. For the record, my little confession just now about my attraction came with zero expectations of reciprocity. I told him because I wanted to face my fear. I need to feel strong again, not terrified about how I feel. But I never expected him to say he felt anything back. I mean, yeah, sure, I hoped, but I didn’t expect.
“I’m far more intrigued,” he says, “by the words coming out of your lips, but, yes, I find them very beautiful along with the rest of you. Why do you think I’ve been sticking around? Because I like your brand of coffee?”
My coffee is the cheap crap from a can I get on sale. So, yeah, the answer is, “No.”
I look at him, trying to comprehend how everything turned on a dime. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve been bending your rules and coming around because you want to date me?”
He walks around the counter and comes closer. The proximity of his towering body ignites heated, sinful pinpricks through my breasts and between my legs. My body’s awareness of him is confounding. And addictive.
“I wouldn’t use the word date,” he says, his voice low.
“No?” My heart gallops, and my face flushes.
“What if,” he steps in a little closer, speaking slowly, “I told you that you’re not the only one with a wish? What if I said that I’m here because there’s something about you I can’t walk away from even though I tried?” He raises his hand and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “What if I confessed you’re not the only one who’s tempted to do anything and everything?”
My core heats, and my heart feels like it’s strapped to a shooting star.
“As long as it’s what you really want,” my words are just above a whisper, “and not because I told you that you’re attractive or you think you’re just fulfilling some wish—”
He bends his head and kisses me.
I freeze. My lungs start pumping and my brain starts spinning. His lips are warm and full and soft like silk pillows, all surrounded by bristly whiskers. I don’t kiss him back at first. I can’t. I’m afraid, because I actually did fucking want this, and it’s better than I imagined.
I move my hands up his chest, my fingertips floating over the firm slopes of his pecs. I can only imagine how good he looks under his shirt.