CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MARCUS

After that night, we make love in one form or another every night. Alice has a two-story house, so we stick with mine other than occasionally having dinner at hers. The weather holds and we’re able to meet at the park for lunch together almost every day.

I relax into the relationship and the more I learn about Alice, the more convinced I am that I’m the luckiest man on the planet.

When we’re not in bed together, we spend our time putting together the Porsche brick model I got her, watching TV shows and movies, and checking out the area”s seemingly unlimited number of restaurants.

Which is how I find myself one Saturday afternoon watching the hostess like a hawk as she steers my wheelchair. I don’t like my chair being out of my sight. Since I’m dependent on it for mobility, I can’t be faulted for my nervousness.

Alice wanted to eat at this little diner and since it had a ramp, I couldn’t find a reason to refuse her request. If I had known it was all booths, I might have protested. But now we’re here and it’s too late.

The hard red vinyl bench seat isn’t doing my ass any favors and I push up with my hands to try to find a more comfortable position. After a few squirms, I realize it’s pointless.

My only hope is that the service is quick, and I can get out of here and back into my chair before my back and shoulder muscles seize up from the added strain.

“You are going to love their club sandwiches,” Alice comments happily as she pulls her chocolate milkshake over and takes the straw between her pink lips.

It makes me think of the way those lips were wrapped around my cock only a few hours ago.

She stops slurping and narrows her eyes. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Thinking dirty thoughts,” she hisses under her breath, while her eyes dart around, making sure nobody is listening in.

The place is pretty packed, and the noise level is high, so I doubt anyone can hear a thing. I could probably raise my voice and talk loudly about how much I loved her giving me a blow job and nobody would bat an eye.

I wouldn’t risk Alice’s ire, though. Especially since it might cost me my blow job privileges.

“You’re doing it again.”

I laugh and pull my glass of water over. “I can’t help it. When I’m around you, those dirty thoughts come naturally.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can see by the way her lips are quivering that she’s fighting a smile. I’d call myself a dirty old man, but our age difference has never been a huge deal, so I don’t want to be constantly pointing it out to her and make it an issue.

Our sandwiches come and I have to admit, Alice was correct again. They are good.

We eat our lunch and talk about a few work things, including an upcoming retirement party for one of her coworkers.

A man walks by and then stops and pivots around to face our table. “Alice?” he says, with a wide grin on his face that I don’t like one bit.

Her blue eyes travel up to his face and she smiles, before wiggling her way across the seat and standing up to give him a hug.

I sit there and silently fume as I watch this guy put his hands with a little too much familiarity around her and hug her tight.

She turns to me, and I can’t help noticing the way the guy keeps a possessive hand on her arm.

“Marcus, this is Troy. Troy, this is Marcus.”

Troy nods and holds out his hand, just barely out of my reach, making me lean across and brace myself on the table as I shake his hand.

Troy’s bright blue eyes roll as he grins at Alice. “You gotta teach this guy some manners.”

She laughs and shakes her head, sending her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. “Marcus is disabled, so he can’t get up to shake your hand. He’s not being rude at all.”

It hits me like a punch in the gut. I’m not rude, I’m disabled. Is this how she excuses my less than stellar behavior?

Troy’s expression morphs, and he crouches down until he’s eye level with me. “It was very nice to meet you, Marcus,” he says slowly, putting emphasis on each word. “Enjoy your lunch, okay, buddy?”

I grit my teeth as he pats my arm.

Rising to his feet, he turns back to Alice. “Kevin and Anders are having a party next weekend. You should come. We haven’t seen you in ages, Alice.”

Her gaze darts to me and she frowns. “Oh, I don’t know if we can make it.”

“Come on, Richard isn’t going to be there.” Troy glances at me briefly and grimaces. “But they have loads of stairs, so I don’t think your friend would be that comfortable.”

My eyes bounce between the two of them and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach widens and I feel like I’m standing at the edge, about to fall in at any moment.

“Then we won’t be coming,” Alice says and sits down, giving me a sweet smile.

That smile usually eases my mind, but not today.

Troy stares down at Alice for a moment and then straightens up to his well over six-foot height. “Well, another time then. Nice seeing you again, Alice.” He tosses a dark glare my way and stalks off.

That guy was a prick, but someone like him is who Alice deserves. A strong and healthy man. She shouldn’t miss out on things or be limited because of him.

And that’s what I’d be. Nothing but a dead weight, holding her back from her friends, parties, and just about anything that a wheelchair can’t access.

“Nice guy,” I mutter.

“He’s one of Richard’s friends,” she says slowly.

I stare blankly at her and finally ask, “Who the hell is Richard?”

Bright red fills her face, and she bites down on her lower lip before whispering, “My ex-fiancé.”

Nodding, I grab my water and finish it in one long gulp. The remainder of my sandwich, I leave. My appetite is gone.

It takes the waitress longer than I like to locate my wheelchair, which adds to my anxiousness, and when I go to transfer myself into it, my fist slips on the vinyl bench and my shoulder bangs painfully into the table.

Alice gasps and is around the table in a flash. “Marcus, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snap, waving her away and hauling myself into my chair. The throbbing in my shoulder tells me it’s going to be hurting for a few days. “We should never have come here,” I snarl, straightening out my legs and getting my feet on the footrest.

I unlock my brakes and prepare to get turned around and leave when Alice grabs my chair and jerks me to the side.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

My shoulders relax slightly at her apology. Until I realize she’s not apologizing to me but rather to the couple that is squeezing by us and trying not to look at me. As if by not making eye contact, they won’t catch whatever weird condition I have.

I’m stewing over that and trying to keep my mouth shut when Alice jerks me again and begins pushing me out of the restaurant.

Halfway down the ramp, I grab the handrims and jerk us to a stop.

“Marcus?”

Staring straight ahead, I growl, “Don’t fucking grab my chair.”

“I-”

Cutting her off, I snap. “I’m not some baby that you need to wheel around, Alice. I’m a man who has been getting around just fine without your help for years.”

“I didn’t.. I didn’t realize,” she stutters, sounding close to tears. “I’m sorry.”

My head pounds and my motions are jerky as I push my way down the rest of the ramp and over to the car. My shoulder cries out in protest when I transfer into the driver’s seat and again when I take apart my chair and put the pieces into the back.

But none of that hurts the way it did to have her treat me like I was a piece of luggage she could haul around.