Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(83)

“I remember,” I said, smiling as we hung up.

I called Marcus and asked him to pick me up, not because of the media—as I hadn’t seen any—but because he was still on the payroll and I didn’t want to park anywhere. He showed up much sooner than expected.

“You must have been dying to see me again,” I said, opening the door.

He shook his head, but smiled a little. “If Gabriel didn’t pay me so well, I would have taken twenty minutes longer.”

I hid my smile by turning around and locking the door. “You’re getting better at jokes,” I said.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment coming from you.”

“It’s a very big compliment coming from me. I’m the funniest person you know.”

“I worked for Martin Lawrence once,” he said as he turned on the car.

“Ah. So he will tell me who he’s worked for in the past.”

He shrugged and went back to silence while I sketched out some pirate outfits I thought I could make by tomorrow night. In the end, I decided to buy most of the materials already done, like a white frilly blouse and tall black boots. I’d figure out what I could do with the elastic, black chiffon, black lace fabric, black latex, and basically any black material I could find. After I bought what I needed and got back in the car, I started feeling nervous again. I was going to the party, and I was going to see Victor, and I hadn’t even spoken to him. I’d have to call him. Right? I’d text. He’d texted, so I’d text back. Tonight. Or maybe when I got home.

“Marcus, let’s say you were going to a party, and you knew a girl you used to . . . have something with was also going . . . would you take a date?”

“Maybe. Are you taking one?”

I blinked. “I’m not talking about myself.”

Marcus’s eyes slid toward me. “You’re asking for a friend?”

I pursed my lips. “You know, I didn’t ask Chrissy to come shopping with me because I thought we could use this time to do some quality bonding, but if you’d like me to call her . . .”

His eyes widened. “I wouldn’t.”

“She really seems to like you,” I said, smiling.

“No. I mean, I wouldn’t take a date,” he said, frowning.

“Oh.” I paused. “Well, he’s been seen with a lot of blondes lately.”

“You’ve also been seen with more than one man.”

“That’s different.”

Marcus shrugged.

“It’s different. I didn’t hook up with either of them. I kissed Brent because I was tipsy and Victor was pissing me off, and then I went with Gabriel because I had to,” I said defensively, and looked out the window when Marcus stayed quiet. “And I went to Argentina because I needed to get the hell away. I mean, who the f*ck tells somebody’s dad they have feelings for his daughter after they get a promotion? I’m not taking responsibility for his stupidity. I kept our secret.”

Marcus parked in front of my house and left the car on. We stayed quiet for a long moment. It was so quiet, but all I could hear was noise. My dad’s conversation kept replaying in my head, the pictures of Victor flashed in and out in between . . .

“Don’t take a date,” he said after a long time.

“Huh?”

“Don’t take a date to the party. Go by yourself. You’re a fun girl, you can party by yourself, can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” I scoffed. “I don’t need anybody’s help to have fun.” I paused. “Will you go with me?”

Marcus laughed. “Definitely not.”

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“That’s usually a good sign.”

I rolled my eyes, picked up my bags, and got out of the car. “Pick me up tomorrow at eight.”

As soon as I was in the house, I went to work, but when I took a break to feed Bonnie, I felt myself gravitating toward my phone. I typed quickly, before I could change my mind. He was probably out anyway. It was Friday night, after all.

Me: I miss you too.

I set the phone down as if it were burning me and walked away from it before I could do anything crazy, like call him. My phone buzzed a few seconds later.

V: Did you have a nice vacation?

Me: Yes.

He didn’t respond after that, and I developed a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I went back to my costume and tried to ignore the phone and the way it wasn’t buzzing.




Marcus knocked on my door at seven fifty, and I could tell he was having a hard time not looking at what I was wearing when I opened the door.

“It’s okay, you can check me out. I look hot,” I said. “Unless I look slutty, then I have to wear the other outfit.”

“You look fine.”

“Not slutty?”

He shrugged. “I thought you didn’t care if you looked slutty?”

This guy. I shook my head, grabbed my purse, and followed him to my car. Thankfully there was still no sign of photographers, but as we were about to drive off, there was a knock on my window that startled me. I looked and saw Brent standing outside.

“Hey,” I said, lowering the window.

“Hey. I haven’t seen you around. Are you back with Lane?”