“Except that it doesn’t,” Marcus says, eyeing the ring. “He could have surprised you without dumping you.”
The worddumpingmakes me flinch.
“Let me see it,” Marcus says.
“See what?” I ask, even though I know what he wants is in my palm. I take a step closer to him, stopping because he’s blocking the door.
“The ring.”
“Have you ever heard of the wordplease?” I taunt. But I’m standing too close, and I’m the one who pays for it. I am aware of him. His gaze, the warmth radiating off him, the head’s difference between us. He must feel it too, this restless vibration. The feeling that we’rebothstanding too close.
Suddenly, I’m thrown back to last July, to loud music and a summer dress, my then-favorite lipstick and warm, thick evening air. He swallows as he looks down at me, and I can’t tear my eyes from the way his throat bobs.
In just that one moment of distraction, Marcus snatches the ring from my palm. I am furious. I swipe for it, but he raises it over my head, holding it up against the light.
“It doesn’t look fake,” he says.
“Marcus, give itback!” I say as he easily moves it out to the side, away from me again. I lunge right. He holds it out left. I spin out to the left. He holds it up over his head. All out of options, I jump as high as I possibly can, knocking into his chest. He is so caught off guard that the movement sends us tumbling backward.
Marcus hits the ground with a loudoomph, and I fall onto him.
And then the world fades.
Six
Someone grumbles. It sounds like my bed. My bed is grumbling.
No, not my bed. My couch, maybe. But it’s harder than that. A park bench? There’s a board underneath me that is moaning as I shift on it, trying to get more comfortable. It is solid and warm but in a way that is familiar and nice and feels—
“Oh my God!” I shout, as I jerk up and away from Marcus Riddick. Marcus is my bed, my human park bench. “What the hell are you doing, you jackass human?”
Holding me to his chest is what he was doing, but before he can try to make up some explanation, I’ve catapulted several feet from him.
Marcus sits up, slowly and stiffly. “What amIdoing?” he asks, creaking like old furniture. “You’re the one who slammed into me.”
Instead of pointing out that none of it was intentional, I scramble even farther away from him and push up from the ground to a standing position. I’m mad that I just had to tackle him to the ground to get something that rightfully belongs to me, and even madder that theDo Not Tackle Marcus Riddickalarm bells did not go off in my head before I jumped him. And now I’ll never be able to wipe the memory of the feel of his body from my mind.
Speaking of my mind, what the hellwasthat?
It’s almost like I fell, blanked for a second, and then woke up basically cuddling with him. But it’s not like I hit my head oranything. It was more like a sneeze. A consciousness-losing split-second sneeze. Maybe I fell asleep for a microsecond. But I’m not about to admit that to Marcus.
“Where is the ring?” I demand, even as a flurry of muffled laughter sounds not too far from us. “The next time you take something of mine without my permission—”
“I didn’ttakeit. I just wanted to see it.”
Not moving from the ground, Marcus holds out his palm. “You’re…really going to wear it?” he asks, voice soft.
I take it from his hand, careful for our fingers not to brush. “I am.” I make sure to sound more certain than I feel as I put the small circle back on my ring finger.
“I’m going back downstairs. Please wait five minutes before following me,” I tell him.
“Five minutes?” Marcus protests. “Am I supposed to have food poisoning?”
“Not my problem. Have chickenpox, for all I care,” I say, moving toward the door of Jason’s room and then…I freeze. “Marcus?”
Because right as I’m standing there, the door of Jason’s room starts to wobble. No, not wobble—disintegrate. One time, at a sleepover at Amber’s house, I got so wasted I felt like the ground was moving. Maybe someone spiked Mrs.R’s punch. I wouldn’t put it past the soccer team, but as I whirl around to look at Marcus, he is staring open-mouthed at Jason’s closet door to my right.
“What…the fuck,” he half whispers, half growls.
