Page 53 of Fool's Gold

Marcus stares intently at his cell.

“What’s the matter? You disappeared on me. Which means you missed one of the best scenes I’ve ever done,” I taunt.

He refuses to break his attention away from the screen. And when I lean over to see what he’s looking at, he angles it away. “I’m busy.”

That’s all I get? Two words?

The terseness of his voice takes me by surprise, and the pit in my stomach deepens. “Too busy,” I counter. “You’ve been ignoring me more and more lately. You’re like a ghost on the set. Is something wrong?”

I wasn’t sure if it was a tactic to keep the others from figuring out we were fucking, but newsflash, they already knew. Everyone does. And if they aren’t one-hundred-percent certain, then they suspect it.

Marcus refuses to look up from whatever he’s doing on his phone. “I can’t always be around to hold your hand.”

That’s all I’m going to get out of him.

Not like this is anything new, either.

The last few days he’s said a handful of words to me and nothing more. Nothing unless he’s between my legs, grunting until he brings us both to orgasm.

“Come on.” I poke him in the side, and it’s like digging my finger against a piece of iron. “I know something else you can hold. I want to feel your hand on me and your fingers sliding—”

He shrugs me away. “Didn’t you hear me say I’m busy? Please. I need to focus.”

Busy.

The gruffness hurts, like an electric prod right against my heart. Fine, if this is the way he wants to play it, then I’ll stay away from him.

I push myself to the opposite seat and draw the seat belt across my chest.

Half of me wonders if it makes any sense to feel this hurt. It’s not like this is new behavior from him. Marcus has always been moody.

Once, he refused to speak to my father for an entire week after they bet on a poker game and Marcus lost. It’s just his way. His asinine, childish way.

The silence is ridiculously heavy, though, and the entire drive home is a lesson in endurance. Especially since this is not the first time he’s been a complete asshole. I thought things would smooth out once we slept together. It’s easy to let ourselves go when there are no barriers. But when we put our clothes on, things take a turn for the worst.

“You’re going to have to work on your tone,” I tell him as I dog him through the house.

“My tone isn’t—” he starts.

“Not my business, I know.” I jog to keep up with him, but he’s always a step ahead. “Because nothing is my business. Except you’re making it that way by being a prick.”

This isn’t the right time to confront him, especially considering my vow to stay away from him. Seems I broke it quickly.

“You might use your words like a weapon, but you can’t talk to me the way you do.”

“And here I thought your problem was because of me not talking to you,” he calls back from down the hall.

I grit my teeth, setting my jaw stubbornly. What a fucking ass. “If I did something wrong, then tell me. Man up and talk to me about it. Nothing is going to change unless you use your words. You talk to me like I’m the child, but in this case, it’s you. A grown-ass child.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why are you acting this way?” I’ve got to take it down a notch. Screaming at him won’t help.

He’s a tornado around the kitchen, slamming the door to the refrigerator and practically swatting the espresso machine across the acres of countertop.

We always did our best talking here in this space.

“I’m not going to fuck you again,” he says, bracing his hands on the countertop. He draws in a heavy breath, his gaze fastened on the backsplash. “Do you hear me, Empire?”

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