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“Thanks,” he said as I handed him the glass. He gulped it down, then wiped his mouth with his forearm before turning wary eyes on me. “Was…was that okay?”
“That was more than okay.” I pumped my eyebrows, which made him blush. “I haven’t come that hard in forever.”
“Tell me about it.” I reveled in his shy smile—as if he hadn’t just done filthy things to my cock a minute before. When his gaze darted to the clock on the wall, he frowned, and I knew the moment had come to an end. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“It’s okay.” I kissed him one last time, treasuring the sweet and salty taste of his lips. “Maybe someday we’ll have all night.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he mused as I walked him to the door, then stood watching him, my chest achy with emotion.
19
Delaney
By the time I got home from shopping for dinner, Marcus’s truck was already parked on the street. My stomach dipped like I was in grade school and had a crush. And I supposed that was sort of what this resembled, except more layered and way more complicated. What I’d done the other night by showing up at Marcus’s house and going down on him felt good—for him too, obviously—and that was all that mattered. To live in that moment. Wasn’t that what Harmony had said? I’d reveled in it all week, that was for sure.
It was a rainy day, so I expected to find Marcus in the garage instead of the kitchen when I came through the door with my grocery bag. But there he was, along with Grant, whose laughter rang out, both of them crouching on the floor near a can of white paint. Each was holding a paintbrush as they stared at the row of newly sanded cabinets near the sink. My chest squeezed tight at the sight of them together. The two guys I felt closest to. They certainly both consumed my every thought.
“What’s going on here?” I bent over to pet Ruby, who’d risen from her perch to greet me.
“Grant decided to help me paint,” Marcus said with a hint of a smile. “We’re just about done.”
“I can see that,” I replied as I made room for the bag on the table near a box of pots and pans.
“The white color makes everything pop,” Grant said. “I see now why you chose that silver-gray for the walls.”
I stiffened. “Wait a minute, didn’t you agree when we looked through the swatches?”
“Yeah, but I still wasn’t sure.” He glanced at Marcus, seeming a bit embarrassed. “It’s so different from what Mom would’ve picked.”
“I know it is.” My chest throbbed. “If you’d wanted to choose something that reflected more of her style, I would’ve been okay with—”
“No, Dad.” He gritted his teeth. “This is your house, so you should decorate it the way—”
“It’s our house, Grant,” I replied, wondering where in the hell this was coming from. “You have a say here too.”
“Do I?” He carefully placed his brush in the paint tray, a scowl on his face.
“Grant. If this is about curfew the other night—”
“Just…never mind,” he replied, his cheeks pink, likely because this was playing out in front of Marcus.
He was still pissed at me, though, and now it was spilling over into the weekend. The night I’d gone over to Marcus’s, Grant was late for curfew and didn’t respond after I texted him, which made me worry. We’d argued when he finally showed up, looking a bit out of sorts, which he couldn’t easily explain, and I’d grounded him for a couple of days. I resisted picking up the phone to call Jeremy’s parents and inquire about the rules until I remembered that curfew was on Grant and he’d be an adult soon enough. Besides, I didn’t know this kid’s mom and dad like I did Ellie’s, though they seemed pretty decent, and I would probably sound like an overprotective jackass, including them in my unfound worries. Christ.
“Anyway, Marcus knows what he’s doing,” he grumbled. “So if he thinks you chose the best color for the walls, then he’s probably right.”
“I definitely do,” Marcus said, warily meeting my eyes, and I cursed myself for putting him in an awkward position. “And your input on the kitchen island was great.”
“What’s the status on that, by the way?” I asked, hoping it was a good segue out of this uncomfortable conversation.
“I’m in the middle of staining it, and once the counters come in, I’ll drop it off.”
“Great,” I said just as Grant’s cell buzzed with a text.
He wiped his hands on one of the messy towels they were using, then went to his phone, which was sitting on the table. Smiling, he looked over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna…” He jogged upstairs to talk to one of his friends.
