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“Well don’t.”
I plop the bag of ice on top of his ankle, earning a stiff grunt, but I don’t give a shit. “Forget it.”
After tucking the pack inside one of the layers of the bandage, I push to stand, only to be halted by his hand snapping around my wrist.
“Wait.” Marcus’s deep sigh slides along my arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. “I’m sorry, okay?”
I yank my arm from his grip with a frown. “If I’m nosey, then you’re equally touchy.”
Sparring words with him is a surprisingly cathartic outlet for my contempt, but instead of firing off another smartass remark, he stutters my defenses with a laugh.
“I’m not used to people,” he says. “Normal people, that is.”
I can’t tell if he’s saying this because he’s been caught off guard, or if he’s acting.
Because that’s the thing with actors, and the obvious reason I won’t ever trust one. How could I ever know which version of him was real when they lie for a living?
“Normal,” I scoff. “That’s cute, considering moments ago you thought Idruggedyou.”
My quip softens the corners of his eyes. “Tell me something unnormal about you, then.”
Rule number two of journalism: Never get personal with the target. Emotionally or—I flick a glance to the edge of his lifted shirt—otherwise.
“I don’t think I will.”
“No?”
I must be losing my mind to think he sounds breathy. But he swivels toward me, carefully lowering his hurt foot to the floor so his knees are on either side of mine.
We’re not touching. Hell, I’m not even that close to the man, but I’m struggling to keep my cool as I say, “Think I’ll let you wonder.”
Three hard knocks sound from the front door, startling me.
“Fucking Christ,” Marcus groans in a rush.
I stare at where I’ve kicked his ankle and my mouth pops open. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!”
A stern, female voice says, “Heather, you in there?”
“Penelope,” I gasp.
“Great. Now you’ve done it.” Marcus flops back onto the couch with his eyes screwed shut as I scurry to unlock the door.
When I swing it open, she’s vibrating with anger that is far too personal for them to be estranged.
“Where is he.”
For a tiny moment, I’m afraid I may have made a mistake in texting her.
Is Penelope Marcus’s secret woman? I thought maybe it was the one he was with at Ernesto’s, but is it possible he’s playing them both?
Curling my lips between my teeth, I point in his direction like a tattling child.
“What the hell were you thinking, Marcus?” She whops the side of his head while I stare, speechless.
“Pen, hear me out.”
But she charges on before he gets a chance to state his case. “I’m gone for a few hours and already, you’re sneaking over here, trying to get in Heather’s pants.”
