Page 29 of Hooked on Marshall

She stills at this. I just smile and brush my hand over her cheek. Her smile is small as she shakes her head.

“No one has ever made love to me,” she whispers.

I smile wider at this.

“Then it will be my pleasure to be the first,” I tell her.

Her entire body loosens, and I pull her toward me for another kiss. This time, I keep things soft and gentle. When she finally pulls back, she sighs and rests her forehead on mine.

“Is this crazy?” she asks.

“No,” I laugh. “I’d call it pleasantly unexpected.”

She laughs, too. Then she pulls back and slides off my lap. After I adjust myself, I take her hand and help her stand. Without being asked, she grabs her laptop bag and follows me tomy small dining room table that I’ve managed to clear of boxes so she can use it to work.

For the next hour and a half, she bounces ideas off me about how to connect the name to some of the food items currently on the menu, and some we could possibly add. Plus, we decide to create two different eating challenges, one with pizza and one with wings. Both of which are some of our best-selling items. She keeps track of all her ideas on her laptop, but I use my tablet to try and figure out some new cocktails.

“I think I’ll make a run to the liquor store so I can experiment and figure out what works,” I say to her. “Are you okay being a taste tester.”

“Sure,” she smiles. “As long as we have a decent dinner, too. I don’t particularly want to get drunk tonight.”

I’m sure I can guess why, but whether or not we make love tonight remains to be seen. Even so, I promise to bring back some takeout, too. I leave her with a sweet kiss and make sure I lock up. When I get to the liquor store, I buy more than I probably need, but once I start experimenting, I don’t like to be limited with my ingredients. After that, I head to a long-standing Italian restaurant to grab some takeout. As I drive, I realize I don’t know Lana’s tastes. So, I give her a quick call.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I say. “Will you eat Italian food?”

“Yes,” she says excitedly. “I love pasta and seafood but not mushrooms.”

“Got it,” I chuckle. “I should be home in about a half an hour.”

“Okay,” she sings. “How about I organize your kitchen a bit then?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I don’t mind.”

I agree and sign off. But I’m smiling like an idiot. Because something about Lana being in my home organizing my things feels so incredibly right. I chat with one of the bartenders while I wait, passing on having a beer since I’ll be tasting my own concoctions later. Once I have our food in hand, I head back home.

As I walk up to my door, I can hear Lana’s voice. She sounds upset. Not worrying about the box of alcohol in my Jeep, I rush inside and find her pacing the kitchen while on her phone. There are tears in her eyes, so I set down the bag and take her in my arms.

“Okay,” she sniffs. “I’m sorry.”

I hear a man on the other end of the line, and I pray that it’s her father and not Jonas. She apologies again and then a third time before she finally ends the call. Then she buries her face in my chest. I hold her close and just wait for her to explain. All the while my blood is rising to a boil as my imagination gets away from me.

Finally, after a shuddering breath, she pulls back. But she doesn’t look at me.

“That was my father,” she whispers.

“Okay.”

“Jonas…he just called their house and asked to talk to me.”

My entire body tenses and I curse under my breath. Lana looks up and places her hand on my cheek.

“I don’t want him anymore, Marshall,” she says quickly. “Please believe that.”

“I do,” I say with a nod. “So, what else happened?”

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