Page 2 of Marked With Love


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I grow queasy. “Please stop talking about my sex life.”

“What sex life? I know you’re celibate. It’s all anyone can talk about these days. Eros Flynn, the genius painter who pours all of his passion onto the canvas. I didn’t name you Eros to have you live the life of a monk!”

“No one calls me Eros, Mom.” I finger my broken nose. Not since the fourth grade, at least. Peter Rozniak made fun of my name as we were getting off the bus. I punched him in the nose and then later that night, his sixteen-year-old brother came to my house and cracked me across the face with a bicycle pump. Mom wanted to call the police, but Dad wouldn’t let her. Later that night, he took me over to Pete’s house, and I stuffed eggs into all the holes of his older brother’s car. I don’t think he ever figured out why his car smelled like a whole football team held a farting contest in there, but he wasn’t able to get another girl to date him his entire high school career.

“I’m not calling you Jack. That’s boring. Now about this girl—”

“I’m actually going on a blind date tonight, Mom. With Matty. We’re doubling.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I nod enthusiastically. “In fact, I better go change. He’s going to be here soon.”

CHAPTER2

MORGAN

“I can’t believeBlake talked you into a blind date.” My grams chuckles. She’s finding this hilarious. At least someone is enjoying my predicament.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I still owe her for the whole getting her arrested thing.” I roll my eyes. I don’t think it even counts as being arrested. Imighthave punched some frat boy who was making catcalls at Blake. Of course, being my best friend, Blake jumped in, trying to break it up. We all ended up in handcuffs in the back of a police car. “It’s bullshit,” I mutter.

Those frat boys always underestimate what they are getting into with me. I think it’s the pink hair and the blue eyes. Blake has compared me to a feisty fairy before. Talk shit, get hit. At least that’s my policy when it comes to boys.

“She is being a bit hard on you about it. A lot of women enjoy being cuffed.”

“Grams!” I burst into laughter. We were cuffed for a total of about five minutes. Once the cops started running our IDs, I was uncuffed the second they realized who my father was. I couldn’t say I was surprised. My father’s name carries a lot of weight. At least the name he inherited. It was my grandparents that really made what some would call the family’s legacy.

I have no clue if Dad ever heard about the incident or not. We don’t chit-chat much. He and Mom stay in their fancy high-rise in the city while I stay on the Hoffman estate with Grams because she is awesome and doesn’t have a stick up her ass like the rest of my family. It’s just the two of us here, and Alfred, of course. It’s not really his name but he lets me get away with calling him that. He’s our butler. Alfred sounds so much cooler than Stewart. I started calling him that a while back, and now it’s stuck and no one calls him by his given name.

“Lady Blake has arrived,” Alfred says, entering the kitchen. I’m sitting on the kitchen island, my legs swinging back and forth. I went out of my way to do my makeup and even styled my hair for this blind date. I figured if I am going out, I might as well get dolled up. Plus, I just got the pink ombre refreshed in my hair, so I kind of want to show it off.

“She lives here now. You don’t have to announce when she gets home, Alf.”

Blake and I had been roommates in college. We graduated a few months ago. I talked her into coming back home with me. When we first met, I was sure we’d never hit it off, but I suppose opposites do attract. She got a degree in business while I got what my mother referred to as a useless degree in fine arts.

I didn’t expect any other reaction from either her or my dad, though. They had a certain idea of what they wanted for me as a future, so anything that didn’t fit that was going to be a disappointment to them. But I had Grams’ support, and to be honest, that’s all that mattered to me.

Grams doesn’t lay out a lot of ground rules, but one is you must get a degree. She doesn’t give a shit what it’s in, but you get it, nonetheless. I think it’s even in the whole trust thing. I’ve known since I was ten I wanted to be a tattoo artist, but if college was the one thing Grams was asking for, I knew I would go.

“Alfred,” he corrects. I fight a smirk. He’s always trying to keep things so formal.

“Is that what you’re wearing?!” Blake asks, her eyes taking in my outfit.

“What?” I glance down at myself. I’m in black pants that have a million and one cuts across them and a buttoned-up shirt. It’s even tucked in. She told me the place we’re going to is nice, so this shirt should work. Meanwhile, my bestie is in a frilly dress, her blond hair in waves, reminding me of one of those porcelain dolls.

“Did you have that embroidered on your top?” Over my top left breast, the wordsdead insideare stitched in rather nicely, if you ask me. I know between my own pink hair and bright gray-blue eyes, my dark outfits can confuse people, but I don’t care to be labeled. I wear what I want.

“Juliette did it for her. I’ve never known a better seamstress than her,” Grams chimes in. “Her work is impeccable.”

“You heard Grams. Impeccable. Like me.” I hop off the kitchen island. Alfred grabs a cloth and wipes the spot I’d been sitting on.

“There is no time to change, is there?” Blake looks to Alfred. He shakes his head no.

“Security said Mr. Matty is pulling up the drive now.”

“Matty? That’s his name?”

“Don’t start.” Blake points one of her perfectly painted pink nails at me. “You promised.”

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