Marcus
Who the hell is Kevin?
I stare at the ssage thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard but not typing. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t fucking care. But I do.
Kevin.
She didn’t say he was anything to her. She didn’t say he was a friend. But just...Kevin. The na sounds significant sohow and I am not sure I like it.
I swipe a hand down my jaw, pacing the length of my penthouse like it’ll help burn off the frustration building in my chest.
I drag a hand through my hair and stop in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights bleeding into the dark like veins of gold. Sowhere down there, Rebecca is at a dinner party—laughing, maybe. Smiling. Letting soone nad Kevin sit too damn close.
My jaw tightens.
I don’t have the right to be angry. I have no claim on Rebecca. Heck I even told her I am not into her. But now the image of her next to so well-mannered, predictably charming "Kevin" is eating alive.
I scroll back through the ssages.
I am having dinner with friends.
Friends. Plural. Harmless.
But then—
...and Kevin.
Just Kevin.
Not my friend Kevin. Not Sara’s cousin Kevin. Just a na. No context. No definition. Which ans she knew I’d wonder. Knew I’d question it.
Smart girl.
She knows how to get under my skin.
I toss my phone onto the couch and go pour another drink, but my hand is shaking. This isn’t like . I’ve handled negotiations with people twice my age and twice as dangerous without blinking. I’ve broken up with won and forgotten their nas an hour later.
But Rebecca?
She’s still here. In my head. In my chest. In the fucking way I can’t breathe right now.
I sit down, elbows on knees, staring at the untouched drink in my hand. Ice crackles softly.
Is she really just going to sleep with one night and forget about ?
What if Kevin is kind? Stable. Safe. Everything I am not.
My phone dings again, making jump.
Rebecca: "Kevin is my blind date. Sarah decided to play Cupid."
I stare at the ssage, my pulse thudding louder than it should.
Blind date.
I sink back into the couch, the leather creaking beneath , and read the ssage again. Then again.
She didn’t have to tell . Didn’t have to answer at all. But she did.
Did she tell because she thought it would bother ?
My thumb moves before I can stop it.
Marcus: "So you’re really giving this guy a shot?"
The three dots appear. Then stop.
Then appear again.
I hold my breath like an idiot. The silence stretches long enough that I begin to think she’s changed her mind.
And then—
Rebecca: "Maybe. He’s... nice. Easy to talk to. And very handso."
Handso? She is going to go for so random loser because he is...handso?
Maybe she’s trying to get a rise out of .
My grip tightens around the glass until I’m afraid it’ll crack. I set it down before I do sothing stupid.
Too late for that.
Because everything about this night is pulling sothing out of I didn’t want to admit existed.
Jealousy. Regret. Want.
I pick up the phone again.
Marcus: "That’s what you want? A guy who’s "nice"?"
Three dots.
Rebecca: "Maybe, lol. Anyway, I better pay attention to my date now. Nice talking to you, Marcus. Goodnight."
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard again.
But what the hell would I even say? Don’t fall for him because I might want you again.
No. That’s not how I operate. That’s not who I am.
I drop the phone beside and rake both hands through my hair.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
The ice in my drink has lted. The city stretches out before , glittering and unaware. Down there, she’s finishing dessert and probably smiling at Kevin like he’s already got a shot.
And here I am, drowning in silence, still feeling the echo of her skin on mine like it was yesterday.
Because here’s the truth:
I’ve never wanted soone the way I want Rebecca right now.
Let her think it’s goodnight.
But this isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
I call Tammy.
Tammy answers on the second ring, her voice clipped and businesslike. "Yes, Marcus?"
"I need you to call Tiffany’s," I say, ignoring the way my heart double-hamrs at the words. "Tell them I want them to make sothing special."
There’s the briefest hesitation on the line, then her tone smooths to velvet. "Marcus. I am off the clock."
I tap my knee, restless. "Sorry. Just... make it happen, Tammy. Please. I will pay you for overti."
Tammy sighs.
"Fine," she says. "What kind of jewelry?"
I exhale and give her directions. "Don’t tell anyone about this," I instruct her.
Tammy hums on the other end of the line. "Sure, sure." She pauses, "You don’t usually do sentintal gifts."
"It’s not sentintal," I snap too quickly.
Another pause. "Right. Totally business. A man commissions a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry from none other than Tiffany’s on a Saturday night and says it’s a secret. Sounds very professional."
I rub my temple. "Just do it, Tammy."
Her sigh is lighter this ti, laced with sothing like amusent. "Fine. You’ll have a design sketch by morning. Anything else?"
"No."
A beat.
"Goodnight, Marcus."
"Yeah," I mutter, "goodnight."
I hang up and set the phone down again. Lean back into the couch. Stare up at the ceiling like maybe the answers are up there, hiding in the cracks.
What the hell am I doing?
I don’t chase. I don’t second-guess. I sure as hell don’t get jealous over blind dates.
But here I am, moping around.
Because the truth is...I didn’t expect her to get under my skin the way she has. One night with her, and now my entire world seems gray without her in it.
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