Page 6 of Mark & Don't Tell

Maybe I’m broken.

Three

DARIA

Downtown Norfolk is beautiful this time of year. The late summer breeze sweeps between the buildings, carrying the scent of the sea along with it. I scurry along the sidewalk and meet up with Jane outside of the TowneBank. Like me, she’s in heels and bundled up in a coat, despite the heat. The packet of information included a suggested dress code—basically close to nothing—and while I have plenty of cute bras and thongs, I opted to wear a more conservative burgundy teddy, made of silk, over the black set I picked out.

“I brought two minis,” I confess as I stop in front of Jane and shove a cheap bottle of tequila into her hand. It’s all I could afford. We might be here to represent our marketing firm, but they’re not paying for drinks, and I can’t afford a fifteen-dollar cocktail, so cheap liquid courage it is.

“Thank fuck. Rent is due soon and I’m struggling.”

“Girl, preach.” I uncap my tequila and try not to think about how my fridge is almost empty and that I may not be able to buy groceries for a few days.

One lesson I’ve learned the hard way? Going to college doesn’t always mean you come out making good money. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not making minimum wage, but between student loan repayments, rent, groceries, and my bad habit of buying new clothes from discount stores, it’s a paycheck to negative bank balance to paycheck situation.

Why be poor and badly dressed when I can be poor and look hot as hell?

The American Dream, am I right?

Even if I cut back on the clothes, I’d still be struggling to make ends meet. I shouldn’t complain, though. My life is a lot better now than it was when I was growing up. My dads had good jobs, but with Mom’s gambling problem, she spent money faster than they could make it, and our electricity got shut off more than once.

“Cheers?” Jane waggles her eyebrows and holds up her plastic bottle.

Right. Sex club. Focus on that and not how much life sucks.

“To maybe getting laid?” I ask and tap my bottle to hers.

“Maybe? Let’s make it happen, baby.” And with that, she takes the shot.

Bottoms up, I guess. I wince as the liquor burns down my throat and settles into my stomach like a bad idea. A fresh wave of nerves flutter through me, and I take a steadying breath. “Shall we?” I ask with more confidence than I feel.

I don’t really get nervous, but as Jane and I push through the doors of the lobby and step onto the marble floor of the first level of TowneBank, my pulse jumps, my body thrumming with excitement. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex.

Jane drags me toward the elevator, and I laugh. I study my reflection in the shiny black doors. I left my blonde curls loose and opted for smoky eyes and pale pink lipstick. There’s no trace of my lavender scent, thanks to the pill and lotion. Forty-eight hours without my scent? I kind of hate it.

I don’t know how Quinn hid hers for so long. I’m already desperate for the scent suppressants to work out of my system. My scent is my security blanket. It’s part of who I am. A little too much, a little too loud. Intense. Beautiful. Alluring.

Okay. Maybe I’m the only one who thinks the last three, but if you don’t love yourself, who will?

When doors to the elevator slide open, Jane and I get in, pressing the button for the lower level. The tequila is warm inside my belly, and as the doors begin to close, Jane releases a tiny squeal of excitement. My own pulse flutters in anticipation. A big hand slides between the doors before they can shut all the way. The emergency stop kicks in, and the doors glide open, revealing quite possibly the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

Six feet tall, strong jaw, dark eyebrows, and full lips that are sure to be soft. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, Timberlands, and his dark top stretches across his muscled chest. But it’s the tattoos peeking out of the neckline and running down his brown arms that catch my attention.

I’m a sucker for tattoos, and on him, they’re like fine art. From the line work alone, I know they probably cost a lot. They’re not the cheap kind of tattoo you get on a trip with friends; they’re intentional, well thought out, and seamless.

His rich brown eyes widen in surprise at finding the elevator occupied. He glances at Jane first, quickly dismissing her. The mystery man has no scent, and neither do I, but I’m suddenly desperate to know how we might smell together.

That’s the sort of trouble I’m trying to avoid.

Then his gaze collides with mine, and I can’t breathe. His eyes pierce through me, like they can see every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done, like they can see the worst of my damage. My thighs press together as his attention slips down my body before his gaze slowly lifts to meet mine again. Only, this time, they’re burning with desire. A hungry sort of need that calls to my own.

Though I’m still wearing my coat, it’s form-fitting, my curves obvious, and he seems to be the type that knows how to appreciate them.

That gives me a boost of confidence.

I lift an eyebrow, pointedly looking at his hands, which are still keeping the doors open.

He narrows his eyes on me, almost as though he doesn’t like being told what to do, but steps inside the little space. The moment he’s inside, the air changes, electrified by his presence and threatening to scorch anyone who gets too close. Because I have no sense of self-preservation, I have an overwhelming desire to step closer, to orbit around that intensity to see how hot I’d burn.

---