Sin With Me

24

I jump out of bed and stand livid at the side, my hands clenched to fists, my pulse thundering in my ears, glaring daggers at him. “Get out,” I say, deadly soft, “right now.”

“Grace—”

“You had no right. No f*****g right to look at that.”

His eyes are big, dark, and full of something I’m horrified to recognize as pity.

He says, “I get it. Why you do what you do. Keeping people out, pushing them away. It’s a defense mechanism. It’s self-preservation—”

“So help me God, if you say one more word I’ll pick up that letter opener on my dresser and stab you to death with it.”

“Grace,” he says softly, his eyes pleading with me. “I know what it’s like to always be alone.”

“You don’t know anything, Marcus,” I say bitterly. A hot prick of tears stings my eyes. “Now get dressed and get out of my house.”

He purses his lips, looks at me for a while, and then declares, “No.” He leans back against the headboard, his arms behind his head.

I almost scream I’m so frustrated and furious.

I whirl around, stick my hands into my hair, close my eyes, and count to ten. Then I count to ten again. Finally when I’m more calm, I cross my arms over my chest and say, “All right. Go ahead and say your piece. But at the end I’m still going to throw you out.”

There’s a long pause, as if he’s carefully choosing his words. “I saw that binder the first time I came over here, a month ago.” Mother. Fucker.

“I didn’t say anything because I knew it wasn’t my business. I hoped you’d eventually talk about it, thought maybe . . . after we’d been together a few times and had such a connection, I guess I hoped you might feel safe with me. We’re, like, exactly the same person, Grace. Except I have a dick.”

My voice is hollow when I answer. “We met at a s*x club, Marcus. There is zero chance of this ever becoming anything other than what it is: meaningless sex.”

“It isn’t meaningless,” he protests.

I turn to look at him, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “It is to me.”

His nostrils flare. “You’re only saying that because you’re angry with me.”

Suddenly I feel so tired I just want to lie down on the floor, go to sleep, and never wake up.

I sit on the edge of the mattress and take Marcus’s hand. “No. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. It’s not you. And I know that sounds like a total cliché, but it isn’t you. I can’t have that kind of connection with anyone.”

He pulls me against him, tucks my head into his shoulder, and winds his arms around my body. Against my hair he says, “You could have that kind of connection with someone. And he’s right here.”

“Oh God,” I groan. “You have a bigger v****a than I do, buddy.”

My head jiggles up and down as his chest moves with his laughter. “Are you calling me a girl?”

“No, I’m calling you a cab.”

His arms tighten around me. He whispers, “Are you sure? For sure for sure?”

When I answer, “Yes,” without hesitation, Marcus sighs.

“You’re s**t for my ego, lady.”

“You’ll survive.”

We lie together for long moments, just breathing. The room is warm and quiet. Beyond the bedroom windows, I hear a dog barking somewhere outside.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything as lonely in my entire life.

Finally Marcus stirs. I look up into his face. He says, “Technically we still have one night left.”

“Oh.”

He chuckles. “Try not to sound so enthused.”

“It’s just . . . it sort of feels like we already broke up. Adding one more night so we can just break up again seems redundant.”

Still chuckling, he kisses me on the forehead. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Yes. More than anything else, that I do know.

He suggests, “Maybe we could go to the movies. Or something that feels not like a breakup but like an ‘ex-fuckbuddy who got friendzoned’ outing. No s*x, just hanging out, for our last night together. What do you think?”

A light bulb blinks on over my head. “Like a housewarming party?”

“Sure. That works. Maybe you could introduce me to some of your single girlfriends,” he teases, but I’m too distracted to reply.

Brody did say I should bring Marcus to his party. He also said I should wear something that would let him know, definitively, one way or the other, what I’d decided to do about us.

Us. Like that’s a thing.

I start to get excited. This could be a perfect solution all the way around! I’ll bring Marcus on our last date to the party of a rock star, where there will undoubtedly be several hundred hot, single women milling around like piranha, ready to bite, and I’ll wear a red dress which will signal to Brody in no uncertain terms that there is not and never will be anything between us, and I won’t have to talk about it with him.

Well, isn’t that all wrapped with a pretty bow.

Feeling much better, I sit up and look at Marcus.

“Okay. Housewarming party it is. Pick me up at three thirty. And wear something hot, I want to make sure we pick out a good replacement girl for you.”

As I trot off into the bathroom to take a shower, I hear Marcus’s amused laugh behind me.

He’s going to be just fine.