4. CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Leighton

" W akey, wakey, sleepyhead."

I blink at the morning sun blaring into my eyes. Rylan opened the blinds while I slept. That's what ripped me from my sleep.

The bright light hurts, so I put a hand over my forehead to block some of it.

Then I see her. My best friend sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at me. Her blue eyes shimmer. Her long black hair rests in a braid down the front of her body.

Fully awake and ready to take on another summer day in her pink sequin bikini and a smile stretching across her face.

Except something's not right. Even in my half-asleep state, I see her grin is somewhat off. A little wider than usual.

I shake my head internally. There's nothing off about Rylan. Not a mean bone in her body. She must be overly excited to spend those last days of freedom together. To be around her dad.

Of course.

My God, sneaking off to Marcus's bedroom has finally caught up with me. I'm being paranoid over nothing. Nothing at all.

"What time is it?" I rub my eyes, sitting up against the headboard.

"Almost noon." She bounces on the bed.

"Noon?"

I'm way less excited. Actually, I'm horrified.

My mouth gapes and I snatch my phone off the nightstand. I had an alarm on for eight and I snoozed it.

Fuck.

A month from now, I would lose my job for sleeping in. Worse still, it's the weekend. Marcus is home. He knows Ry and I will start a new job soon. That I should start waking up at a decent hour. He'll think I'm this lazy, irresponsible person.

A kid.

My shoulders slump, lips pinching. "I wish I wouldn't have overslept."

"Why? It's not like I was alone. Dad and I watched true crime shows downstairs." Rylan rolls her eyes, giggling. "You didn't miss out on anything other than Dad repeating his speech of ‘See, Rylan, there's no such thing as the perfect crime. They always get caught.' He's sweet, but sometimes, he can be so boring. I mean, why does he keep repeating it?"

"No idea." I fling the covers off my body and twist to get out of bed .

To start the day. At fucking noon.

Rylan shoves her hips in front of me, grabs my wrist, and blocks my movement.

Confusion clouds over me. "Ry?"

"You'll go brush your teeth and whatever soon enough." Her grip on my wrist tightens by an increment. Or I might just be imagining things. Her smile remains fixed in place, her voice sweet and loving. "We need to talk."

Oh, no. Panic clutches at my chest. There's not a drop of blood left in my face.

My paranoia isn't paranoia, after all.

Our friendship will end, and it's my fault.

Years of skipping rope and pajama parties. Of doing homework side by side and standing up to each other's bullies. Of going to parties in college and cramming for exams. Of taking turns in making yet another cup of coffee.

They'll be wiped out because I'm a horny, infatuated asshole.

She knows, yet here she is, my adorable friend, trying to calm me down. Even hurt, she plans on kissing our friendship goodbye in the nicest way possible.

What have I done?

"Uh… Is everything okay?" I can't bring myself to apologize, although I should.

Sorry for watching your dad jacking off. For coming when he talked to some invisible girl. One I'm painfully jealous of, if I'm being honest.

I should apologize, but I'm frozen .

"Of course, everything's fine. Except…" Her voice trails off, her smile faltering.

"Ry…"

Anything I say won't fix this, so I don't even try.

A hug might help, so that's what I do. I push against her, rise to my knees, and give her an awkward one-arm hug.

"He's going to ask you out." A tiny groan escapes her at the end of the sentence. "I've been so stupid not to see what was right fucking there."

Marcus Kingston? Asking me out?

"No." I draw back, holding on to her shoulders with both hands now that she's released mine.

Her expression is as if she's fighting to hold onto her smile. She's torn, and I feel her pain deep in my bones.

"No one's asked or thought of asking me out," I reassure her. "Besides, it's you and me forever. We're moving to New York next month. I'll have too much fun being your roommate to date anyone."

Unless your dad really insists. Then, I'm sorry, Ry. I'd run into his arms like a freight train. But you realized that last night, didn't you?

Her lips press together, her eyes slam shut. I watch with mounting anxiety as her chest expands when she sucks in air.

"You're right." Rylan's face lights up once more. Any memory of her near-breakdown is a memory of the past. "This isn't your fault. I have no idea why I've been taking it out on you. It's just that he keeps going on and on. Leighton this , Leighton that , let's find Leighton an organic café in Manhattan before the move. Or Italian, Leigh loves Italian . What about me? What about finding spots that I'll like? I thought he liked me."

While Rylan looks at me with a sad smile, realization dawns on me.

Milo freaking Bauer.

I'll have to sit the bastard down again. Explain to him that he and I will never happen.

He graduated from pre-med, for fuck's sake. Getting this into his skull shouldn't have been such a struggle.

Ugh. Men. Or scratch that—fucking doctors.

The one I want treats me as though I'm nothing but his daughter's best friend. The one I don't hunts me down as if making me his wife is his life's mission.

"You know him." I cover up for the jerk. "He's being friendly, that's it."

Rylan stares at me, her eyes expecting me to continue. She needs me to plant hope where there isn't any. Eager for me to tell her he's been confessing his eternal love for her to me behind her back.

Lying in order to cheer her up would only hurt her in the long run.

"Leigh?" She bats her thick eyelashes.

A little white lie, though, shouldn't be this bad.

"Well, I've been meaning to keep this a surprise. Just last week, Milo asked me to find pizza places for you." I squeeze her shoulders. "Since we're friends. Same as he did when he asked you."

"For real?" Jumping off the bed, she shrieks. "He did? "

"Yes, but shh." I follow her, clamping her hand over her parted lips. "Your dad isn't exactly his biggest fan."

She peels my hand off her mouth, flashing me her teeth. "He pretends Milo doesn't exist. There's a difference."

It's true. I can't remember the last time Marcus greeted Milo. Oh, wait, he has. Two weeks ago, he grunted at our old classmate's direction. That's it.

"Dad can't hear me anyway. He's gone to town for grocery shopping. In any case, he'll learn to love Milo." Rylan nods emphatically. "My dad and my husband will simply have to get along. The three of us will be stuck together for life."

Her dad. Who'll be back soon.

And I'm still here with my morning breath.

"He has?" I ignore the stuck-together part. "I said I'll go grocery shopping. Ry, I feel worse than before."

"No, it's cool, really. Chores are his thing, remember?"

Oh, I remember. He hardly lets me clear the dishes, and insists on doing my laundry while I stay over. It's embarrassing as fuck, but the man's relentless.

"If he'd let me pay for staying here, I would feel better about it."

"Leigh, you care way too much about what my dad thinks." The corners of her lips stretch, stretch, stretch. What's with her today? "In a month, we'll be doing all the chores and paying all our bills. Let him spoil me by spoiling you."

"He's been spoiling you vicariously through me for years , Ry."

"Seriously, it's nothing." She waves me off. "Let's go out to the pool. It's beautiful outside. "

She's right. When I'm lounging in the sun, everything's better.

"I'll wait for you downstairs." Rylan's halfway out the door. She stops, turns, and leans her shoulder against the doorframe. "My goal is to get sixty laps in today and then we'll hang out. Deal?"

"Deal." I join her in the hallways, heading to the bathroom. "See you in a few."

"See ya." She races down the flight of stairs, light and carefree as ever.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm sliding open the glass door and stepping outside to join her.

I have a white summer dress over my white bikini. White-printed flip-flops on my feet. A towel under my arm. With sunscreen lathered on my skin, my oversized round sunglasses on, and my pink hair in a bun, I'm set for a lazy afternoon in the sun.

Then I remember yesterday and how I forgot to hydrate. I should go back inside the house and get both of us ice water. That, and the watermelon we cut into a container yesterday.

Dropping my towel on the nearest wicker lounge chair, I shimmy out of my dress and spin to go back inside—

"Oh!"

Marcus's chest collides with mine. His voice engulfs me. Surrounds me. Sucking out every ounce of air in my lungs.

I nearly stumble back, but he's quick to balance me by grabbing my shoulders. My bare shoulders.

He's touching me. After yesterday …

Shame washes over me, hot and scalding. Except, he can't know what happened last night. His eyes were closed. The Sleep Token playlist he had on had to have muted out my gasps.

I was quiet. Bit my inner cheek as hard as I could to suppress the screams that rose in my throat.

"Leighton."

Even in a casual pale blue T-shirt and blue jeans, the man is painfully hot. His thick black hair is a bit ruffled, giving off these just-fucked vibes. His two-day-old scruff adds to his edgy look. He smells of sunshine and his virile cologne.

It's an effort to stop myself from running my tongue along his neck. Huge effort.

"Hey." He sounds warmer than the sun, despite his cold, assessing glare.

"I-I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Strong fingers rub my shoulders. I have to focus to realize it's actually happening. It does, though. Wow. "You couldn't have seen me coming, and—"

Oh, but I have.

"—I was the one who should've slowed down."

"No, you're good." Even though I'm no longer in danger of tripping, Marcus doesn't let go of my shoulders. The longer he's holding onto me, the more comfortable I get. The more my stomach flutters. "Really good."

That's why he's such a sought-after psychiatrist. The effect Dr. Kingston has on me with one look is staggering. From being a stumbling, mumbling mess, his smoldering eyes and composed tone have somehow put me back together again.

It's unfortunate he's the stuff my dirty dreams are made from. Otherwise, I might've considered going to see him. But that would open something worse than Pandora's box. A can of motherfucking worms.

"Am I now?" The temperature climbs rapidly at the change of his voice. At how his nostrils flare. "You think I'm good, Leighton?"

I lick my bottom lip. Can't help it.

My dirty mind colludes with my body against me, and I flirt. "Actually, I'm the one who's been feeling kind of bad."

His brow lowers a fraction, his fingers digging into my shoulders. "Elaborate."

"For, um, you know."

When Marcus tilts his head, he sets every nerve ending in my body on fire. That's it. One simple gesture and I'm willing to kneel right here, right now.

"I'm afraid I don't know." His voice is a rough whisper. The voice he uses on those nights he fucks his hand and jerks off to his doll . "Please, explain."

This moment is nothing short of monumental. It's one I'll make myself orgasm to when I'm far away in New York. Hell, I'll probably orgasm to it until the day I die.

My throat clenches. My tongue and heart are desperate to jump on the opportunity to flirt some more.

"For sleeping over." I sway toward him, and it's like his eyes darken in response. "Using up all the hot water in the shower sometimes. "

A shadow flashes across his handsome face at the mention of the shower. Marcus leans in, towering over me so I have to tilt my head up to see him.

"You're free to use the shower for as long as you'd like, Leighton." The way he says my name, it's as though he drags me to him. To his hard chest and his even harder erection. Yes, I saw that. Kind of impossible to miss. "You're more than a guest around here. I hope you realize that."

This is happening. This is actually happening. He's flirting back.

My brain short-circuits. Desire soaks through my very white bikini bottoms. I feel like I'm lost in space, but at the same time, I've never been so grounded.

Have never been so sure of anything like I am that Marcus Kingston wants me.

He's here, bathing me in his mysterious, fierce aura. His stare commands me to hold still for him. To relax for him. To submit to him.

I almost hear him order me to open my legs and be his good girl.

And while I haven't done it before, I'll do it. For him. Only him.

Finally, there'll be a use for the pills I've been taking. Other than regulating my cycle, that is.

"Does that mean I could stay a few more weeks?" I squeeze my thighs, sending a message that I get what we're doing here. That I'm all in.

"What it means is— "

"Hi, Dad!" Rylan's cheerful voice startles the both of us. "I didn't realize you were back."