Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(31)

When I was done talking, his attention moved to my hair, as did his hand. He pulled some curls over my shoulder and stared at them resting there.

“You know why it was,” he murmured to my hair.

“Pardon?”

His gaze came to mine and the hand he’d used to shift my hair he now used to sweep his fingertips across my cheekbone in a whisper of a touch that was there and gone.

But the precious memory of that touch would remain until the day I quit breathing.

“People live lives they hate,” he said, resting his arm along the top of the booth beside me. “They see a patch of light, the only thing that drives them is to snuff it out.”

I gave him a small smile and said, not mean, “That’s sweet, sugar, but that’s like tellin’ a homely girl all the other girls bully her ’cause they’re jealous.”

“So what you’re telling me is that all that’s happened to you is just about predators preying on the weak?”

My head twitched.

“You aren’t weak, Daisy,” he stated.

No, I wasn’t.

I’d been knocked down. Again and again.

I just kept getting up.

And I was still standing, in platforms, with great hair.

I swallowed.

“And those other girls bully the homely girl for one reason only. They’re bitches. And that says a f*ckuva lot more about them than that homely girl, and not one single bit of it is good.”

My fingers tensed reflexively into his thigh.

“You’re right, sugar,” I whispered.

“I know,” he returned. “As for you, why would a rich woman in a graceful mansion give the girl you thought you were the time of day?”

I felt the sting before I knew what was happening, and I blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

Marcus didn’t wait for me to answer.

He gave me his answer.

“Because she was old enough and lived enough life with enough abundance in that life to see you for what you were. Not a beautiful girl who would become a beautiful woman. Not a sweet girl who was strong and smart who would become so much more than her mother, it’s laughable. Not a bold woman a weak man has to beat down to make him feel strong. Or f*ck around on before she realizes she could do better and scrapes him off. No, she saw all of that, just without the bad shit leaking in.”

I was now breathing deep along with blinking a lot in order to stop myself from losing it.

But even though Marcus saw it—I knew he even had to feel it—he was still far from done.

“I bet if you went back to that place, all those people would still be in it, living lives they hate. And you’d sweep through looking like a movie star and they’d take one look at you and know they had every right to be jealous of you. To hate you. To beat you. Talk about you. Cheat on you. And they’re so entrenched in their bitterness because they only have themselves to blame that they didn’t make their lives better, the only regret they’d have is that they hadn’t been able to drag you right down to where they are, smother your light, make you go dark.”

His fingers peeled mine from his thigh and curled around tight, holding my hand right there.

And he kept going.

“Miss Annamae didn’t give you those pearls because she thought for a second they’d get close to beating you down. She gave you those pearls because she knew without a doubt they never would.”

“Please stop talking,” I whispered, seeing as he’d gone all fuzzy because my eyes were trembling with tears and I could take not one little bit more.

For a second, he didn’t say anything and he didn’t move.

Then he lifted my hand and touched his lips to my fingers. He put it right back, curling them around his thigh again, and he looked to his bourbon.

He raised his glass and took a sip.

I drew in a shaky breath.

Then I removed my hand from his thigh and reached for my own drink.

After I’d thrown back a slightly unladylike sip, I returned the glass to the table and my attention with it.

“Daisy.”

“Please, please,” I was still whispering, this time to my glass, “I can’t take more of your sweet.”

“Baby, you need to move your glass. Your appetizer is here.”

My head came up.

The waiter smiled benignly at me.

I moved my glass.

Marcus moved his arm to around my back and pulled me to his side so I was tucked close.

I picked up my fork in order to dive into my crab cake.

I had the succulent-looking crab halfway to my mouth when Marcus asked, “Where did you grow up?”

I braced but answered, deciding that was an innocent enough question, and if he pressed for more, I’d shut it down.

He didn’t press for more.

He scooped out some of his oysters Rockefeller.

And we ate.





Marcus



Marcus got her drunk.

He did this without remorse.

It bought him a good deal of her amazing laughter.

It also got him the bonus of her passing out in his car, this meaning he didn’t have to have words with her about where he fully intended to spend the night that night.

He carried her to her apartment and took off her shoes, her necklace, her bracelets, and carefully slid out her earrings but left her in her dress when he tucked her into bed.