“Dad was more of a Zeppelin guy,” he said, clearing his throat. “The Who. Pink Floyd. Bob Dylan. Creedence.”
“Really? I would’ve thought The Monkeys,” I replied sarcastically.
Mark barked out a laugh. “Oh, they were top ten, for sure.”
We discussed different bands we liked, both old ones and new, while I fed the baby. By the time I’d buckled her back in and was climbing into the front, we’d moved onto movies.
“Back to the Future was ahead of its time,” he said, pointing at me.
“Was that an intentional pun?” I asked with a laugh. “Plus, there’s no comparison. How you could think that Back to the Future is even close to being as good as Dirty Dancing is beyond me.”
Mark scoffed.
“That was a movie that dealt with social issues—”
“And was sexy as fuck,” Mark cut in.
“Well, yeah,” I drawled. “Patrick Swayze was fucking delicious.”
“Jennifer Grey,” Mark said, smacking his lips. “When she’s in those shorts, dancing down that little bridge thing? Damn.”
“That does it for you, huh?” I asked with a laugh. “Cut-offs and a pair of white sneakers?”
“If you hadn’t noticed,” he said, turning his head to give me a look. “I had a type.”
“What?” I practically screeched. “I don’t look anything like Jennifer Grey—before the nose job or after.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean your face.” He shrugged.
I snickered as I realized he was right. In my late teens and early twenties, I had been shaped like Baby in Dirty Dancing.
“Well,” I said with a shrug, “too bad I couldn’t fit in those cut-offs now if someone paid me.”
“Fuck,” he spat with a huff. “Kill me if you’re ever shaped like that again.”
“Hey,” I said, a little confused and offended.
“Cecilia,” he said, his voice deepening, “you’re ten times sexier now than you were then. Jesus, I want to bite your ass every time you turn your back to me.”
I choked a little on the spit in my mouth.
“Too much truth?” he asked in amusement.
“No,” I wheezed.
“Good.” His hand came across the seat and gripped my thigh, and I was acutely aware of how close his pinky was to the seam of my pants. “Just so you know, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you—not even when you’re putting on a pad the size of a diaper just to prove a point.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but I shrugged.
“I want to see a red mark the shape of my hand on your ass,” he said, his eyes on the road. “I want to put hickeys on the insides of your thighs. I want to feel your tits against my face as I’m fucking you. God, I want to fuck you so bad, my teeth ache.”
Chapter 18
Mark
I snapped my mouth shut and waited for Cecilia to put me in my place. We may have cleared the air back at the beach house, but we were far from a place where I could tell her I wanted to leave hickeys on her goddamn thighs. The back of my neck grew warm with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, but I refused to back-pedal. Not when I could see Leo’s bike a few car lengths ahead of us.
Fuck, I hated that guy. I’d be lying if I said that spelling out exactly what I wanted had nothing to do with the douchebag. His presence reminded me of every insecurity and fear I’d had as a kid. He’d been the chosen one. The one who’d always fit in. A natural born leader. A complete fuck. And, he’d had Cecilia, at least before she’d realized that I’d fucking worshiped her.
Knowing that they hadn’t gotten back together after I’d left didn’t lessen my hatred. If anything, it made it worse. I hadn’t tried again because I’d thought she moved on. I hadn’t gone back on my hands and knees and begged for her forgiveness because I was angry.
Cecilia still wasn’t saying anything and I risked a glance at her.
“Are you marking your territory?” she asked, fighting a smile as she tilted her head to the side.
God, it was fucking annoying that she could still read me like a book.
“No,” I lied.
“Good, because you know he’s with Lily,” she chuckled a little. “You know, my sister. And if that wasn’t enough, I didn’t want him when he was single.”
“I can’t want you because you’re you?” I dodged. “Why’s it gotta be that I have some ulterior motive?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what it sounds like.”
“Oh,” she sang, throwing her hands up in the air. “Put me on the defensive. Good move!” She dropped her hands. “It’s not going to work, though. We saw Leo and you’re suddenly all fired up to—to fuck me.”
“Been a while, sweetheart?” I teased. “Can’t even say the words?”
“None of your beeswax,” she shot back, making me laugh. “I can say the words. You want to put hickeys on my thighs,” she said, jokingly drawing out the words. “You want to spank me.”
She was joking, teasing me, and I still couldn’t help but get hard at the words coming out of her mouth.
“You want these big, new breasts in your face while you’re fucking me,” she said, leaning back against the seat. “Which is odd, because if I remember correctly, it was all about the doggie-style with you when we were teenagers.”
I huffed out a surprised laugh and looked at her. “It was any way I could get you when we were teenagers. Usually, that meant we were outside, and I didn’t want you to have to lay on the ground, so missionary wasn’t my go-to.”
“Oh,” she said, crossing her arms over her big, new breasts. “Well, that’s actually kind of sweet.”
“Mmhmm,” I hummed.
“We’ve gotten off track,” she said. “Why now?”
I tried to think of a way to change the subject, but by the stubborn set of her chin, I knew she wasn’t about to let it go. Instead, I went with honesty. “We’re almost to Eugene,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “And you’re gonna be surrounded by family and the club, and I know you.” Her hand covered mine on her thigh, and she slid her fingers between mine. “You’re gonna start talking about how I don’t need to be there. That you’re safe. That I should get back to my life.”
“You know it’s true,” she replied quietly.
“I don’t know it’s true,” I said, tightening my fingers around hers. “I don’t know what the fuck is true right now. All I know is that they’d have to drag my ass away from you at this point, and I wouldn’t make it easy for them.”
Cecilia didn’t say anything, so I left it at that. I considered telling her that I didn’t just want sex from her, but I dismissed it. She already knew that. It had never been just sex with us, not even when we were two horny nineteen-year-olds with a lot of time on our hands. At the risk of sounding like a complete fucking sap, our connection was about more than that. We’d understood each other in a way that other people didn’t—the every-other-weekend kid that never felt like he belonged anywhere, and the misunderstood brat that acted out because she felt like no one saw her.