Little Secrets(30)
“I wasn’t,” he says into her hair.
“Fine, give me his info.” She can play along for two minutes until he leaves. When Sal doesn’t say anything, she says, “What, he doesn’t have a business card? What does this guy do, exactly? Lawyer?”
“I told you,” Sal says. “He’s a fixer.”
“Perfect. Can he kill someone and make it look like an accident?”
“Maybe. He definitely knows people who can.”
“You’ve used him before?”
“Once or twice.”
“You trust him?”
“I don’t trust anyone,” he says bluntly. “Except you.”
His arms loosen, and she pulls away just enough to stare into his face. He meets her gaze, holds it. It feels like an eternity, waiting for his lips to twitch, waiting for any hint of a smile to let her know that he’s kidding, waiting to deliver the punchline. Because as shady as some of his friends are—and as shady as he is, at times—of course he doesn’t actually know people who can have other people killed. That would be absurd.
But the punchline doesn’t come. He’s dead serious.
Marin can admit she was angry when she got to the bar, but come on. Joking about killing a woman is way out there, even for a guy like Sal with a dark sense of humor. She knows she’s been having terrible thoughts all day, but this is …
And then, finally, a shit-eating grin spreads across Sal’s face.
“You ass.” She smacks him on the arm, and he lets out a hearty laugh. Again, it’s the Sal she remembers from the old days. The wisecracking Sal, the easygoing Sal, the Sal who loves her unconditionally.
Laughter has always made her feel close to him, and before she can think about it, she kisses him.
It’s a sloppy, wet, drunk kiss, and he doesn’t respond to it, but he doesn’t protest, either. She pulls back after a second, feeling her cheeks redden from embarrassment. He doesn’t say anything, just heaves a long sigh, and instantly she wishes she could take it back. She’s had a shitty day, and now she’s made it worse by completely crossing a line she should have never been anywhere near. She opens her mouth to apologize, but before she can say anything, Sal grabs her by the shoulders and throws her back onto the bed.
His tongue is in her mouth and the weight of his body feels heavy and comforting on top of hers. She kisses him back passionately, pushing herself against him as his hands move everywhere, and it’s like they can’t get close enough to each other. His lips are on her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, and she wants him, all of him, on top of her, inside of her, so she can forget everything she feels, and everything she knows, if only for a little while.
As if sensing her thoughts, he rolls off her as suddenly as he rolled on, sitting up on the bed, his breath coming out fast.
“What’s wrong?” she gasps. “Why did you stop?”
“I can’t,” he says, not looking back at her. “You’re drunk, Marin. And you’re my best friend. This isn’t right.”
She notices he doesn’t say and you’re married. She reaches for him, placing her hand on his arm. “Sal, look at me.”
He does, turning his head toward her. He looks completely conflicted. His eyes are filled with desire, but his mouth is pressed into a straight, determined line.
“I’m drunk, but I know what I’m doing,” she says. “Do you need to me to consent? Because I consent. I consent. I want this. I want you.” She leans forward, pressing her face into his arm, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. “I need you, Sal. Don’t go. Be with me. Please, be with me.”
She looks up at him. His mouth has softened, and he’s looking at her the way he used to when they were college kids.
“You know I love you,” she says, and somewhere deep down, she knows she shouldn’t say this to him, because it isn’t fair. It’s playing dirty to get him to stay so she doesn’t have to be alone. “Maybe I haven’t loved you the way you deserve to be loved, but I love you the best way I know how. I’ve always loved you, and I will always love you.”
He’s wavering. She can see it. She places a hand on his inner thigh, stroking the bulge there with her forefinger. She can feel it.
“You have to promise not to hate me tomorrow.” Sal’s voice is hoarse. “Because I couldn’t live with it if you did.”
“I could never hate you, no matter what,” she says. “Don’t you know that by now? You’re the only person I have left in the world who I trust, Sal.”
To anyone else, it would have been just words. But it’s the exact thing Sal had said to her the night his father died. He was a mess, screaming, hysterical, near incoherent, and it had taken him a long time to calm down. Marin did most of the talking when the cops showed up. She’s the reason he was never arrested. You’re the only person I have left in the world who I trust, Marin.
This moment is probably the closest they’ll ever come to speaking of that night, and it wasn’t even intentional.
He reaches for her and undresses her slowly, his eyes feasting on a naked body he last saw on a twin bed in his college apartment. Then he undresses himself, and the sight of his body is comforting to her, largely unchanged since the last time she saw him this way, other than maybe a bit more body hair and a lot more muscle.