The next few days settled into a rhythm that felt both familiar and dangerously charged.
Marcus wasn’t avoiding me, not deliberately, anyway. The job site had hit a snag with a commercial build downtown with a tight deadline, weather delays, and a crew short two men after one quit and another got hurt.
He left before dawn most mornings, came home long after dark, and was exhausted. He’d crash on the couch so he wouldn’t wake me climbing the stairs, showered downstairs, and be gone again before I stirred.
It wasn’t rejection. It was work. It still sucked.
The space it created between us only sharpened the tension.
I spent my days packing and going room by room, boxing memories I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep. Mom’s old recipe cards, photo albums from holidays I barely remembered, the chipped ceramic mug Marcus used to drink coffee from every morning when he was still married to her.
Every creak of the floorboards made me look toward the door, half-expecting him to walk in early. He never did.
I needed air and noise that wasn’t the echo of my own thoughts.
So on Friday afternoon, I texted Sarah and Kiara. I hadn’t seen my former high-school friends in forever, but I knew they were still local. I suggested drinks at Fried Pickles. They responded instantly with emojis and plans to meet at seven.
I left Marcus a note on the counter letting him know I’d be out late with a couple friends and not to wait up.
The bar was a town favorite and smelled like spilled beer and fryer oil. The jukebox still took quarters, and Sarah and Kiara were already at a high-top in the back, waving me over like I’d been gone for decades instead of a few years.
“Lilaaaa!” Sarah pulled me into a hug that smelled like vanilla and tequila. “You’re finally back.”
“Still in transition,” I laughed, sliding onto the stool. “Helping pack boxes and trying not to lose my mind.”
Kiara leaned forward, eyes glinting. “And still living with the hottest stepdad in the history of stepdads?”
My stomach flipped. “Kiara.”
“What?” she grinned, unrepentant. “I’m just saying. Marcus is stupid hot. Always was. Remember senior year when he picked you up from that party in that black T-shirt looking all pissed and growly? I swear the entire porch forgot how to breathe.”
Sarah snorted into her drink. “She’s not wrong. The man is built like a tank and looks like he could bench-press a truck. Are you sure you’re not tempted to… accidentally trip into his lap while he’s fixing something?”
I forced a laugh that felt thin. “You two are ridiculous. That’s weird.”
Kiara wagged her eyebrows. “I know you don’t care about the divorce.”
She wasn’t wrong. These were the two I confided in after I found out. I was all for people not being with someone they weren’t happy with. And that went for my mom and Marcus.
But I didn’t know all the details until Marcus told me.
Coming back home felt bittersweet.
They kept going, joking about his forearms, and that low, gravelly voice that used to make us all freeze when he told us to quiet down at sleepovers. Every word landed like gasoline on embers.
They had no idea the man they were drooling over had already had his fingers in my pussy and made me come until I could walk.
The truth sat heavy in my chest. It was hot and conflicted, but most of all… intoxicating.
After spending hours with my friends, I finally got home around eleven. The house was dark except for the kitchen light. Marcus was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing grease from his forearms in the sink. He looked up when I walked in, his eyes tired, but they softened for half a second when they landed on me.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey.” His voice was rough from the day. “Have fun?”
“Yeah. Sarah and Kiara say hi.”
He gave a quick nod, shut off the water, and dried his hands. “They still talk too much?”
