Page 34 of Tied Up in Riches

“That’s the spirit.” I deadpan. Is she really that against the idea of us spending time together?

“It’s not you . . .” she assures me as if she’s a mind reader. “I promise. You’re great. Perfect boyfriend material, too, I’m sure. It’s just . . . my mom.”

“Is she that bad?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

“Do you want to do this?”

“I have to do this.”

“I don’t have to join you.”

“No. That’s not the part I don’t want.” She chews on the skin at the edge of her thumbnail. “Okay. Let’s do it. Thanks, Marcus.”

“That’s what I’m here for, babe.” I wink.

“No.” Her pretty pink lips flatten as she shoots me a death glare.

It’s impossible to fight my grin. “Text me the flight details, Brooke.”

Chapter fifteen

Marcus

Eyes fixed on the leather luggage tag attached to my suitcase sitting in the hallway, I swirl the ice in my scotch glass from where I sit at the kitchen table. How the fuck did I get myself into this situation? Apparently my need over the past five years to think through every part of my plan before I initiate it went straight out the window when Lexy suggested I be Brooke’s fake boyfriend last week.

I keep telling myself I don’t know what changed, but I am a certified genius, and denying it is only driving me more insane. It’s Brooke. It’s everyone, really. It’s all of the people closest to me finding the person they want to spend their life with. I’m not jealous. I’m fucking ecstatic for them. I’m not alone. If I make time in my busy schedule for them, my friends or family are always there for me. While I’m happy to work them into my free time, I want to find that person I’ll drop anything for–the one I’ll be willing to schedule everything else around. There’s this nagging fucking feeling constantly in the back of my mind that maybe Brooke could be that person.

I can’t pinpoint why I feel that way, but the thought is there. I’m constantly questioning if I know enough about her to have feelings for her. I’ve only known her for a month, but I wonder if she’s been working her way into my life since long before we met and without her knowing. I’ve been listening to stories about the adventurous, loving girl from Thailand through Maci, on repeat, for the better part of a year. Some of them are from their time together and others are reiterations of phone calls at the kitchen table with Maci and Dean.

Maybe she was a hazy image in the distance that didn’t come into focus until the day I met her with tears streaming down her beautiful face and realized that all I wanted to do was comfort her. I’m always there for my friends when they need it. I’ve talked Dean off more than one emotional ledge before he and Maci got their shit together. I’ve helped Maci work through her own doubts. Lord knows Cooper and Sophie would probably still be playing a relationship version of chicken if I hadn’t slapped sense into them. But they all came to me. I somehow became an unspoken voice of reason even though comforting someone has never felt natural to me.

But when I saw Brooke wiping the tears from her eyes, masking her sadness with a joke to introduce herself, I spent the next twenty minutes racking my brain for something–anything–that would make her feel better.

Since then it’s been every little thing that intrigues me.

The way her hair curls around her face after she gets back from a run.

How calm she looks when she’s sitting criss-cross in my workout room in her elephant pants during a meditation–making me wish I could find peace in an unproductive moment.

Her pink lips pressed to a wine glass as she takes a sip, smiling at something Maci has said.

How quickly she thinks on her toes even when I force her into an unfamiliar situation.

Her confidence even when she’s not completely sure about something.

The way nature seems to ground her and how I could have done that hike with her ten times over. That extended amount of time I went without thinking about work . . . it’s proof there is something about her I should hold on to.

The way she looks at the stars–like they are what makes life worth living–makes me want to slow down for the first time.

I swear she’s looked at me a few times like that–when she thought I wouldn’t notice.

A few weeks ago, when that waitress gave me her number, it piqued Brooke’s interest. I’m confident about that. I’d like to think it’s because she was curious for personal reasons, but girls tend to be curious for no fucking reason at all.

“Dude.” Dean’s voice startles me and I pull my gaze from my luggage in the hallway to where he’s standing next to the table, hands pressed into the back of the kitchen chair. He’s staring at me like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to get my attention.

I sit up straighter in my seat, the ice clinking against the side of my glass as I swirl the amber liquid and stare into it before looking at him. “What’s up, man?”

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