Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(20)

“What are you doing?” I screeched.

“We should not be watching this film.”

Uh-oh.

I looked at his face.

He was looking at the tears on mine and he was not a happy man.

“Do you have a comedy?” he asked.

“This is a comedy,” I informed him.

“You’re crying.”

“That’s Southern for comedy,” I educated.

“We just watched a young woman with a young child die, her mother standing there watching as she passed after her daughter was taken off life support. That is not a comedy, honey.”

At that, for some stupid reason, I let loose.

“She got married to the man she loved. She gave him a baby. She had a momma who loved her. A daddy who adored her. Brothers who annoyed her but also adored her. Friends who thought the world of her. Her hubby was a lawyer who gave her a big house where she could make spaghetti in a big kitchen, even if she did pass out and slip into a diabetic coma in that kitchen. She had it all. She didn’t have it for long but she at least had it. And she appreciated having it. She knew what it meant. And she knew how precious it was. And she left this world with that preciousness held deep in her heart. So she’s good to wait with God until their time comes to join her because she entered those pearly gates knowin’ she left the world having everything she needed.”

Marcus stood by me sitting on the couch, staring down at me, and I felt his look like he wasn’t standing removed and staring at me, but like he was close, holding me in his arms like he loved me, only me, had forever, and would forever and always.

“That might not say comedy,” I pushed out in a whisper, trying to get past his look. “But Ouiser and Clairee are about to rip the lid off, sugar. You just haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

“Do you have a momma who loves you?” he asked abruptly.

I pressed my lips together.

He watched.

Then he bit out, “Right.” His gaze went from my lips to my eyes. “A daddy?”

“Marcus—”

Just at me saying his name, he got me.

That’s why he interrupted me and went on.

“Brothers?”

I shook my head.

“Sisters?”

I bit my lip.

“Right,” he repeated softly.

“Can we watch the movie?” I whispered.

In response, immediately, he sat next to me. He also stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and put his arm around me, pulling me into his side.

As I was curled into the corner of the sofa, my legs under me, my plate gone, my champagne in my hand, I wasn’t able to do anything but teeter more fully into him so he had all my weight.

I tried to pull away.

I stopped when he announced, “You move, Daisy, this once, right now, watching this f*cking movie, I won’t let you.”

Well, that was clear enough.

“Roger that,” I muttered.

“Settle,” he growled.

Oh boy.

I felt that in my coochie too.

I pressed my lips together again and did as told.

“Fuck,” he went back to muttering, lifted the remote, and started the movie again.

As I told him, within minutes, Ouiser and Clairee ripped the lid off.

Even so, Marcus didn’t let me go.

He kept hold of me.

And he didn’t stop.

Not for the whole rest of the movie.





We stood in my open doorway.

Marcus was leaving.

I was marveling at the fact that at his texted command, Marcus’s men showed, cleared everything, even to the point of cleaning the flutes and putting the plates in the dishwasher (but even if they cleared everything, they put the extra bottle of Dom in the fridge and left the flutes). Then they took off leaving Marcus and me at the door.

I was also marveling at the fact that Marcus didn’t mind that I rewound to the locker room scene (and played it twice).

Since my mind was otherwise occupied, it came as a surprise when his hand fell light as it cupped my cheek.

My body jerked and my eyes darted up to his.

“Please don’t touch me.”

His hand dropped away but this time he didn’t move away.

He shifted closer. In my space. Not threatening. Not pushy. Just…there.

“Have you talked to someone?” he asked gently.

“I’m talkin’ to you now,” I pointed out.

“About what happened to you, honey.”

I looked to the side.

“Please, darling, look at me.”

I pressed my lips together, drew in breath through my nose, and looked up at him again.

“You need to talk to somebody,” he urged.

“I’m doin’ a-okay,” I shared.

“You have trouble with me touching you.”

“You find that surprising?” I asked a little sarcastically.

“No. My fear is that, if you don’t speak to someone about it, you won’t be able to get past it.”

I shook my head. “Had a lot of shit happen to me in my life, sugar. This is just another load a’ shit I gotta get around. And make no mistake, like all the others, I’ll get around this.”

His brows went up. “And it’s necessary for you to do it on your own?”