Page 91 of Destined To Fall

“Right, yeah. Okay.”

“Anyway, I’m starving. What’s going on with dinner, Marcus? Are you feeding us or what?”

“Well, that depends. Is pasta okay?” He looks to Jeremy for a response, not needing one from me.

“Yeah, fine by me. Viv?”

“Oh, he knows my love of all things Italian. The starchier the better.” I chuckle, and Jeremy shakes his head.

“I don’t get you sometimes. We sweat our asses off tonight, and you don’t even blink at the calories or the carbs.”

“I blink, just in a food coma’d stupor.” I grin, making him chortle.

“I thought you smelled salty before,” Marcus says, coming up behind me, a little too close—inappropriately close.“Delicious, as per normal, but sweaty.”

“Shush,” I say with a well-placed shove, putting some much-needed distance between us.“I didn’t have time to shower.”

He raises his hands in surrender, then picks up a bulb of garlic and tosses it at me.“Chop a few of them up, will ya?”

I grab a cutting board and a knife, but barely two seconds later, Marcus is bumping me out of the way with his hip.

“You really are useless in the kitchen, Vivi darling. How’bout you try boiling the water?” I glare at him and flip him the bird,but do as I’m told.“Are you guys, like, exercise buddies?” he asks nonchalantly, smashing the cloves with the flat of the blade, but his tone belies his curiosity. He’s dying to know who or what Jeremy is to me.

“Yes—”

“No,” I say at the same time as Jeremy’s resounding yes,“not really. We run sometimes, and I dragged him to Bollyx.”

“You still go to that class, then?”

“You’ve been?” Jeremy asks, bewildered.

“Bloody hell, no. But I remember Vee telling me about pulling her groin in a class.” Marcus laughs hard, and I cringe, remembering the pain. It was a brutal week at work, for sure.

“You’re such an asshat. It was agony, and I still had to function with it.”

“You worked with a busted groin?” Jeremy’s horrified expression would be comical if it weren’t for the underlying displeasure.

I shrug, shoving the pasta in the boiling water as Marcus sniggers, coming up behind me to add a hefty pinch of salt to the pot and toss the garlic in the simmering oil.

“She never quits or cancels.”

“I like money.” I shrug for the millionth time tonight.

I don’t know what else to say after Marcus summed me up so accurately. Neither does Jeremy, it would seem, though I’m pretty sure I hear a mumble from his direction. I pretend to help so I don’t have to look at him, but Marcus catches the blush before I can hide it and shoots me a‘what the fuck’look. I just purse my lips at him, basically telling him to eff off, and he sputters, snuffing out his laugh as he sucks in his lips, making him look so ridiculous I need to do the same to stop from bursting out.

Marcus clears his throat and announces dinner’s ready, then looks to me for guidance.

“Oh right. Table?”

The boys nod, and I grab a handful of cutlery, passing it to Jeremy, then grab glasses with one hand and the wine with the other. Priorities.

We sit awkwardly around my little table—possibly the first time anyone has even eaten at this thing—and make stupid small talk. Mostly about soccer, of course, and Marcus actually being able to cook.

“His mother is Sicilian. I don’t think he had much of a choice in the matter.”

Marcus chuckles, nodding his head.“Yeah, every time I got something wrong, my mother, and even my Nonna, would hit me across the back of the head.”

“Umm, more wine?”

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