“Yes, ma’am.” One of the guys salutes me as they all stumble down the stairs back to the awaiting SUV.
“Do you need help?” The last thing I want is for one of these guys to fall and break their ankle and not be able to play. Not that it’d be my fault, but I don’t want to take the heat.
“We’re good.”
They’re all laughing by the time the doors of the vehicle slam shut.
“Someone drank too much.” I follow Marcus into the living room as he collapses onto his back on the couch.
“You drank too much,” Marcus fires back.
There’s a smile on his face as he throws an arm over his eyes.
“Is that supposed to be one of your bad jokes?”
“What do you know about bad jokes?”
I drop down onto the coffee table across from Marcus. He flips onto his side to stare at me. Brown eyes meet mine. Even though they’re glassy and red-rimmed, it doesn’t make the stare any less potent.
“I was told you tell bad jokes over pancakes.”
He smiles. The smile that captured my heart back in college.
“The worse, the better.”
“I may have even been invited.”
Another lazy smile that sends my insides swimming. “Well, if the girls want you there, that means you have to come.”
“Oh, really?”
I cross one leg over the other and watch as Marcus’s eyes trail the movement.
“Don’t make me disappoint them. Disappointing them is the worst feeling in the world.”
“Would it disappoint you if I don’t come?” I whisper.
“I’d deserve it.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Marcus sighs, shutting his eyes.
“Marcus?”
I’ve lost him. His breathing turns deep. Too many drinks at this late hour and he’s passed out.
Grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch, I throw it over Marcus and drink my fill. It’s been years since I’ve gotten to look at him. Really look at him.
He looks the same. Except knowing what he’s been through now, I can see the age lines on his face. The faint traces of gray along his temples. It makes him even sexier. And damn it, I can’t help what I do next.
I press a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t want to disappoint you, Marcus. Not anymore.”
Marcus lets out a sigh, his eyes opening the smallest millimeter. “I don’t either. It’s my biggest regret. A mistake.”
“What was a mistake?” I ask.
“Walking away from you seven years ago.”
