“It’s a hard no to the ladies of London,” I tell him.
“Dover,” Marshall corrects. “I’m afraid my meeting with the young ladies will be cut short. Once we’re through, I’ll walk them across the street and hand them off to the Chemically Deluded One.”
“Whoa, I’m not into chemicals, Dudley,” Ellis is quick to protest.
“That’s right,” Marshall says. “You prefer the devil’s lettuce.”
“You better believe it.” Ellis laughs as he walks backward. “And don’t get any funny ideas. I’m not sharing my treasures with anyone.”
Marshall narrows his eyes my way. “And yet I’m forced to share mine.”
Heat creeps up my neck because that comment is loaded with about seventeen different meanings, none of which I want to unpack in front of Ellis.
“Your treasures are your business,” I say carefully.
“Are they?” Marshall’s smile is pure sin. “Because it seems like everyone has an opinion about how I should manage my assets.”
Ellis inches back. “Dude, I think I need to be a little more high to understand this conversation. I’m off to find some normal people to invite to my blowout.”
“Good luck with that,” I call after him. “Normal people are in short supply around here.”
“Tell me about it,” Ellis shouts back, disappearing into the trees with the kind of enthusiasm that suggests he’s already planning this evening’s pharmaceutical adventures.
Marshall turns his full attention back to me, and I can practically see his fiery wheels turning.
“So,” he says, stepping closer, “about that vision.”
“Nope. Not happening.”
“You said yourself you need to see the future.”
“I said IwishI could see the future. There’s a difference.”
“Is there? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you have a perfectly viable option right in front of you.”
I take a step back, hitting the rough bark of a pine tree. “Marshall, kissing you is like taking a psychedelic and toying with my sanity. Every time I do it, I see things that make my head spin for weeks.” Not to mention what it does to the rest of me.
“But you see the truth.”
“Sometimes. Other times, I see completely random nonsense that has nothing to do with anything.” But I definitelyfeelthings.
“And sometimes,” Marshall says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my knees melt on cue, “you see exactly what you need to see.”
He’s close enough now that I can smell his cologne mixing withthe forest air, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. There’s something hypnotic about Marshall when he’s like this, nothing but focused intensity and supernatural magnetism.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper.
“Most of the best ideas are.”
“Logan will kill you.”
“The Pretty One will understand that desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Gage will never forgive me.”
“Jock Strap isn’t speaking to you anyway.”
That hits harder than it should, and Marshall must see something in my expression because his own face softens slightly.
