Page 28 of This Thing of Ours

Johnny shrugged and answered with a vague, “Finance.”

The brunette laid her hand on Marco’s thigh and leaned in closer, purring, “Sounds fascinating.”

Marco’s jaw hardened. “You like money?”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she floundered for a moment before admitting, “Well, sure. Who doesn’t?”

“Right.” He’d had enough. With a pointed look to the end of the booth, he said, “Excuse me.”

She looked startled for a second before making one last-ditch effort to keep him in the booth. Her hand slid farther up his leg, her nails grazing the inside of his thigh before finding his dick and latching on.

His hand shot down, grasping her wrist. Probably with too much pressure because she winced. “We’re done here.”

She nervously licked her lips and whispered, “Right.”

She scrambled out of the booth as soon as he set her wrist free. Marco’s phone pinged, and he pulled it from his pocket, reading it at the table and keeping the chick standing, waiting for him to exit the booth.

A frown marred his brow as he read the text, but he gave nothing away as he looked first at Frankie then Johnny. “I’ve gotta go.”

They both gave a nod, knowing business could intrude at any time. What they didn’t know was that text had nothing to do with business.

Marco made his way out to the car, got behind the wheel, and stared down at his phone. Then after fifteen long, agonizing minutes of debate, he finally replied to Gabriella’s text.

Yes.

Chapter Eleven

Sitting on thecouch, Gabby stared at her phone. It had been exactly one week since she’d last seen Marco. One week since The Kiss. That’s how she thought of it—capitalized. Such a monumental occasion deserved its own title. But Marco obviously didn’t feel the same. His absence had proved that. Had it been so awful he never wanted to see her again?

She excused away the weekend. Assumed he’d been busy working. That he and Nico were out searching for the men who had taken her. But then Monday, too, had ended with no word from Marco.

Gabby had gone back to school on Monday. With only a little more than a week left before winter break, she couldn’t afford to miss any more classes. After a full week of healing, her injuries were mostly disguisable with makeup, but when anyone asked, she’d told them she’d been in a car accident. Derek hadn’t been there to call her out on her lie. Not that she’d expected him to be.

Tuesday had turned into Wednesday which had bled into Thursday until finally, Friday had rolled around again, and she still hadn’t heard from him. And as she sat on her couch, staring at her phone, her thumb hovering over the keyboard as she worked up the courage to press a letter—any letter—she wondered whether it would seem desperate and pathetic if she texted him.

Already she wasn’t proud of how she’d gained access to Marco’s cell phone number—sneaking into her father’s office and retrieving it off his computer—and had promised herself she’d use it only in an emergency. She didn’t think missing him qualified as one.

Could she think of another pretext? Something that would be sure to bring him running. For the life of her she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t cause worry, so in the end, she settled on the simple truth.

I miss you. Do you think you can stop by tonight?

It took every ounce of her courage to hit the send button. Then she was forced to wait twenty long, stomach-churning minutes for his response. She expelled a shaky breath when his single-word reply dinged through.

Yes.

She jumped from the couch and cursed when she almost tripped over Fred who’d been sleeping by her feet. He yipped in excitement and followed her as she rushed to her bedroom. She was a mess. Why hadn’t she put the twenty-minute wait to better use? She had no idea how long she had until he arrived, but the thought of greeting Marco in a pair of yoga pants and yet another baggy shirt didn’t sit well. She wanted to look pretty.

Stripping as she made her way to the closet, she stood inside pondering what to wear. Nothing fancy or sexy, that would be too obvious. She settled on a tight, vee neck t-shirt that showed a hint of cleavage and a pair of worn, comfortable jeans that she knew made her ass look great.

Hightailing it to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. The bruises on her cheek had faded but were now a sickly green color with splotches of yellow. She grabbed her concealer and went to work, hiding most of it. She tackled her hair next, ripping through the knots with her brush until her—thankfully back to its original color after a hasty drug-store home dye job—locks shined.

She looked good. Not her best, but then, that wasn’t the look she’d been going for. She reached for her perfume then hesitated. Again, too obvious, but she did put on an extra layer of deodorant.

Back in the living room, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She paced a few minutes, turned on some music then, just as quickly, switched it off. She strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, and drank thirstily. She was nervous, her heart pounding so loudly, she could hear it echoing in her ears.

Fred had been following her in her escapades around the house, thinking it was a new game. She set her water down on the counter and picked him up, snuggling him close, feeling her heart rate return to normal as she rubbed behind his ears.

The knock on the door made her jump even though she’d been expecting it. Like when waiting for toast to pop, it’s going to happen, but it still startles anyway.

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