“You don’t even know me,” I say, which is a terrible argument but it’s the only one my brain can produce on such short notice.
“I know enough.” He shifts, and suddenly we’re leaning in closer, without either of us actually moving. Magic. “I know you’re funny. Smart. Self-deprecating to a fault. I know you hide when you’re scared but you showed up tonight anyway. I know you smell like lavender and something, a bit like lemons. I know I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Vegas.”
Oh God.
Oh no.
He doesn’t know what his words are doing to me. He doesn’t know how badly I want him right now.
“That was five years ago,” I protest. “We were drugged.”
“I know. I thought it was just the GHB. But then... I couldn’t stop. Even after... even after I married... my wife.” He pauses, and there’s something raw in his expression. Guilt, mixed with... unimaginable desire. “I’m not good at this. I’m out of practice. But I’m trying... trying to be honest with you.”
Honest. He wants to be honest.
I should be honest, too.
I should tell him I’ve thought about Vegas approximately eight thousand times.
I should tell him I’ve been avoiding Ethan’s invitations specifically because I was terrified of seeing Marco again.
I should tell him that sitting here with him feels like coming home and jumping off a cliff at the same time.
Instead I say, “You’re doing fine.”
“Am I?”
“You made a guy leave without being aggressive. You’re not domineering. You complimented me because I’m... unscripted. That’s at least a B-plus.”
Because humor is my coping mechanism.
His smile melts me inside. “I’ll take a B-plus.”
The bartender comes by to check if we need anything. We shake our heads. The bar is starting to empty out. I check my phone. Almost midnight.
How did that happen? How did so much time pass without me noticing?
“I should probably go,” I say,not moving.
“Probably,” Marco agrees, also not moving.
We sit there in our booth, neither of us leaving. The air between us feels heavy with unspoken regrets.
“Come over,” Marco says suddenly. “Just for one night. So I can forget everything. And so I can remember. What could have been.”
My brain does that thing where it just stops braining.
What could have been.
Come over.
One night.
I wish he wasn’t so hot.
I wish he was less attractive, less charming, less the whole package.
Single dad, billionaire chef, with sad eyes and sexy hands.
