Page 55 of The Spare
“It reminded me of you. Successful, handsome, calculated, a little morally questionable. Major Edmond Dantès vibes.”
My heart dipped. She called me handsome. With her, I was a man starved but would live on the breadcrumbs she dropped.
“Morally questionable?” I scoffed. I was a fucking saint. I hadn’t bent her over her desk, even though it was all I could think about.
“I’m only teasing. You may bark, but you don’t bite. Not me, at least.”
I might.
I was beginning to think the references she’d toss into conversation were meant for me. They were always obscure, like she meant to keep them from anyone else in the room who might catch on.
She stacked the deck so only I could win.
Win her. All I had to do was play.
“Edmond Dantès was a lunatic,” I mused. Great story, not one you’d want to happen. He didn’t get the girl, either. Not the one he wanted.
“It's a work of fiction, not a biography. But it can teach you something.” Her hand brushed over the leather binding and my fingers. Electricity skittered up my arm.
“Teach me what?”
She knew, to some degree, how I felt about her. That knowledge lit an intrigued spark in her eyes. “Running from things doesn’t work. They might catch up.” She walked to the couch, grabbing our glasses on the way.
“Who says I’m still running?” My voice dropped low. “Maybe I’m chasing something.”
She glanced up but didn’t say anything.
We settled on the couch, watching TV with wine and a short struggle for the remote. Sloan sat beside me, leaving no space between us, her legs draped over mine. Her head rested on my chest, occasionally popping up to take a sip of wine or change the channel. Neither of us acknowledged it. We let it be.
She scrolled over to the entire Fast and the Furious movie collection and started it from the beginning. “It's thrilling,” she mused. As if that were the reason. She didn’t pull her eyes from the screen for even a second.
For the record, I was not jealous, but I was not interested in indulging her fast car kink. Not right now, at least. I grabbed the remote. “No.”
She turned. Her hand pressed on my chest to push herself up, “Fine, you pick.” She laid her head back down, and I found myself running my finger along the length of her neck. I had no idea what movie I picked. Instead, my thoughts were consumed with what to do.
It was pretty fucking clear what was going on. I needed to make the decision and act on it.
I’d never taken so long to make the wrong decision.
I stupidly decided to wait till the end of the movie. By the time it was half over, so were any chances of anything happening tonight. Trying not to take the fact that she fell asleep on me too personally, I picked her up to put her in her bed—alone.
She stirred briefly, and then settled when I laid the blanket on her.
“Marcus?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. Her eyes opened to meet mine. I was frozen in place. She let out a deep, tired exhale. “Are you chasing me?”
I swallowed hard. Technically, no, I was supposed to be figuring out how to be her friend. But every muscle wanted to crawl into bed with her. “Am I allowed to?”
She nodded and smiled. Her eyes closed again. “I’m not running. Just waiting to be caught.” She turned over and drifted back to sleep. I didn’t regain control of my mind or body for another minute. I got lost in watching her sleep.
I left a note on the kitchen counter before I left.
I owe you dinner
* * *
I spent most of the following morning waiting to hear from her. I woke up early to distract myself so I wouldn’t think too much while lying in bed. I worked out and got to the office early to keep my mind occupied. I was reduced to someone who constantly checked their phone for a text.
Around 9 a.m., I got the text I was waiting for.
