Jack, Troy, Marion, page 4
Jack had some furniture shipped over with my clothes. I’d sold it all before I moved in with him. He had no place to put it. Little did we know I’d be lacking a dresser again so soon.
I feel like a dick for needing him to buy one for me, but neither of us planned this. And he was right in his prediction.
Marion is not an easy woman to live with.
I’ve been here for six days so far, but she’s gone the opposite way I expected. Each day she speaks to me a little less. I’m not sure if she’s just not into me, or if she’s so interested she’s running in the opposite direction in order to create a challenge.
Marion’s idea of dealing with her broken leg, and the loss of a dream, is to watch sad movies and sleep most of the day. When awake, she’s more snapping turtle than ballerina. I laughed it off for the first few, but then it started goading me. I flat out asked her the other night what her problem was.
“I don’t want to be living with a stranger!”
“You don’t have a choice!”
“That’s fucked up!”
“I’m here to help you!”
“You’re not my friend!”
“You could change that!”
She flipped around on the couch and turned the volume up on her tragic love story.
Jack is who she wants.
But she’s on the road to even more heartbreak with that choice. Everyone knows what David would have to say about his buddy dating his daughter. He’d lose his shit, and they’d never speak again, no doubt. The possibility simply doesn’t exist.
I’m relieved in one thing: Jack endowed this roommate situation with the caveat that if she and I don’t have chemistry, then cool. I’m here to simply watch over her, ease the transition she’s going through. Get her groceries. That’s not too hard.
Especially since he had the cleaning crew scour the entire apartment. We’re living in relative comfort except for the screaming matches.
And the undeniably frustrating fact that I’m attracted to her, despite my better judgment. I blame the first impression. You really can’t escape those. We kind of hit it off that first day, or so I thought. The bickering felt like foreplay.
What an idiot I am.
Lying in my bed alone, I searched the internet and found footage of her dancing onstage. Couldn’t stop watching. Had to replay the videos again and again. She was like a feather who knew how to control the wind rather than the other way around. I’m in complete agreement with the reason for her sadness. It would be a tragedy if she never performed again.
So I get why she cries.
But I still hate it.
No man likes to see a woman cry. The sobs are from her heart and she lets loose at random, unpredictable moments.
They kill me.
A friend of hers came by our apartment two days ago—Logan Clark. I thought he’d hurt her feelings by the way she was wailing. I came running, and she bit my fucking head off. 1 We didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the day. I spent extra time at the gym working off steam. Had to take another shower and dry my fucking hair all over again. I hate that.
Marion is not an easy woman to be around, that’s for fucking sure.
Throwing my big feet onto the carpet, I run lazy fingers through my mop and rise up, naked, to hit the head.
The ballerina doesn’t wake up early. Clothes aren’t yet necessary. She won’t be awake until mid-afternoon, probably.
How long is that going to last? Sleeping the whole day is a waste of a life.
She’s grieving.
I get it.
And I need to stop thinking about her so much, get my mind in the game.
What’s on the agenda today? First, gym. Next, Trader Joes for groceries. Then come back home and research launching this thing. I’m learning algorithms surrounding marketing, something I’ve never tackled before. But hey, none of us fell out of the womb knowing how to talk.
As with anything, we study, learn, fail, learn some more, and eventually master what was once unknown. This applies to every little damn thing we do.
My motto?
If they can do it, so can I.
I just have to focus my energy with interest, desire, passion.
Not a reach.
I’ve never wanted anything more than bringing my idea to fruition. I really think it could help people. Wouldn’t mind making a living off of doing that.
I’m whistling an impromptu melody as I flush the toilet, set down the seat for my female roomie, wash my hands and finger comb my hair. This is how I dry them and style this disaster.
Opening the door, I run smack into Marion.
She cries out, “Oh my God,” covering her eyes, peeking through her fingers down at my cock.
I’m a show-er not a grower. What you see is just about what you get, and it’s impressive.
I could cover up.
Leaning on the open doorframe, I decide I’d rather not, especially since she’s in cotton pajama pants with a dancing, pink pigs pattern under a white tank top. No bra. And her nips just winked at me.
I stretch my arm to hold the other side, relaxed, casual, and free as a man can be. “Morning.”
She is fixated on my cock, her pouty lips parted. That’s all he needs to wake up.
“He says morning, too,” I smirk.
“Do you always…sleep naked?”
“You don’t?”
She blinks up, and it turns out my smile is contagious. Her lips curve despite the flashing eyes. She’s trying desperately to remain cold and aloof as she demands, “Are you going to just stand there, or were you about to get dressed?” Flustered, she stammers with a grin, “Don’t you have somewhere you’ve gotta be, is what I’m asking!”
“Gym. Groceries. Back here. But here is nice right now. Who needs the gym? I’ve got some calorie burning ideas dancing in my mind just like those little piggies on your pj’s.”
She laughs as her eyes dart toward the ceiling before she covers them. “Wow, okay. Who needs coffee when you have a naked viking suggesting morning sex?”
I dryly reply, “Right? But you don’t drink coffee.”
Laughter bubbles out of her, a soft contrast to the caustic attitude she normally leads with. Marion’s got a bad case of the giggles, and it’s getting worse.
I’m grinning now, too, as she covers her mouth with the top of her wrist, looking at me before her fingers swipe the air between us to point out my immodest physique. “Seriously, Troy! Stop it. I have to use the bathroom, and this is…Please move. You’re rock hard now!”
“A woman laughing at him gets him going, I guess. He’s got no shame. Or modesty, apparently. Down boy! What’s that? You want a treat? Be careful, boy. This one’s got teeth she’s not afraid to use.”
This sets her off again and I start laughing. My ballerina is right. This is better than coffee.
And I rarely say that about anything.
Pushing off the door, I sweep my arm inside. “Before you make us clean up the floor.”
She giggles her way in, cast awkwardly thunking along.
It shuts and I’m standing here, grinning at it.
Looks like I’m going to crack her code. Wouldn’t mind her happy like this all the time. Feels good to be the cause.
Heading to my room, I hear the bathroom door open, and glance back.
She smirks, “I had to see if the rear view was as good as your headlight.” The door quickly shuts.
Chuckling to myself, I get ready for my day. I’m not dumb enough to think anything more will happen now. We broke the ice. Now I’ve gotta let it melt.
1 This scene happens in Logan & Samantha’s book, where Marion and Troy first appear: Cocky Best Friend, Book 21 in Cocker Brothers
MARION
I ’m on the couch, reluctantly holding a slice of pizza he forced upon me. But that’s not what has me feeling flustered. Vulnerable, even.
I’m waiting for Troy to react to the story I just shared with him about how I broke my leg.
With just the crust left in his thick fingers, he’s staring at me like I’m a wounded bird. “That’s probably the worst story I’ve ever heard.”
I swallow and avert my eyes. His stare is too intense. It makes me self-conscious.
Why did Jack send this guy here? He said Troy was more my age. I do like him more than I wanted to.
Is this truly a set up?
I’m trying not to hope.
Or get too comfy.
Also, I can’t get my mind off of Jack, either. What is his motivation here? He felt the same attraction I feel—he admitted it! And there’s already love here, but it’s changed into something different now.
Or are we just friends?
What a confusing concept to get my head around—all of it!
Jack, Troy.
Troy, Jack!
Part of me is pissed off that he thinks I need setting up. The other part remains curious. Was his attraction really strong enough he had to toss this hot guy at me in order to save himself from touching me in ways he never has?
An alluring concept.
If I weren’t so damned sad every day, I’d be obsessed with the two of them. But as it is, I just want to be left alone almost all of the time. And you can really lose yourself in a good movie.
Troy won’t let that happen.
Not anymore.
Despite my hardest efforts to piss him off, he keeps taking care of me. It’s been a few days since I saw him naked, when he made me laugh so hard I almost lost my bladder. Since then he’s been considerate and kind of quiet, but insistent that I do something other than fade away.
I expected him to make a move on me — one I wouldn’t be ready for — but he didn’t. He cooked me delicious pasta at night, pancakes in the morning, and chatted me up about my past.
Reaching to touch my thigh, he shakes his handsome head. “Seriously, Marion, I’m sorry that happened to you.” The warmth through my cotton dress makes my blood quicken.
“It’s fine.” But it’s not fine, is it? The tears rushing to my eyes don’t think so. “Stop being so nice to me! You’re a stranger!”
“Marion…”
Wiping my eyes, I snap, “You are! And you’re so fucking kind. It’s annoying! What do you want from me? Jack wouldn’t be like this. He would tell me to get it together and stop being a cry-baby.”
Troy’s eyes fire up with jealousy. “Would you respond better to that treatment?”
My breath catches as I hold back sobs. “No!”
His envious frown relaxes. “You’re an enigma.”
“I’m complicated!”
“No shit.” Reaching for the tissue box that now lives on our coffee table, he hands it to me. “Here. So let me tell you a story from my youth to get your mind off of this. When I was a kid I had the worst acne. Junior high? I was a leper.”
Wiping my eyes, I smile, “No way. You have no scars.”
“Modern medicine I had to apply daily. I’ve got a couple here, though, look.” He leans in to show me. In so doing I get a whiff of his masculine scent. It’s not easy to sit back and nod that I see the evidence. He continues, “But the meds couldn’t get ahead of my hormones. I was so horny I went through five pair of socks a day.” He rakes his hair back. “My mom wondered why I had so much laundry.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“That my feet stunk from sports.”
“You played sports?”
“Baseball, soccer and football. Or if you’re in Europe, baseball, football and football.”
I laugh, balling up the tissue and setting it by my side on the cushion. Scratching under the rim of my cast I confess, “I was horny, too. I used to climb the poles that held up the swings because it made me have an orgasm.”
Troy’s lips part. “It did?”
“I’m a Scorpio,” I shrug.
His eyes are enflamed with interest, and he’s not going to let me shrug this one off. “Hold on. Hold on. Explain this whole climbing poles thing.”
I give him a saucy smile, even though my nose is probably as red as Rudolf’s. “Well, when you climb up, you’re rubbing yourself a little on the steel, and your legs are wrapped around it. And each time you push yourself up higher, you rub a little more. The first time I did it, I didn’t know why it felt so good. So I tried it again. And again.” Leaning in a bit, my voice gets softer. “The motion of your legs moving like that makes it so that these sensations start building between your legs. It’s like something is about to happen, and soon everything tenses and you feel this throbbing that you can’t quite understand. But you never want it to stop. So you find ways to climb the pole again, like having kids dare you to get all the way to the top. I always could. But I had to stop at least once before I made it.” Sitting back I smirk, “That was my first orgasm.”
Just the memory has me hot and bothered now.
Troy is staring like he wants to be that pole. But I won’t give him that satisfaction. At least, not yet. It’s powerful to make him sit on the edge of his seat like this. But actually having sex with him would give that power over.
That’s what I’ve learned.
I get attached.
I never thought I would.
Most would say I’m an ice queen.
But it turns out, I’m a woman.
Troy unconsciously licks his lips. “You dirty little girl.”
Heat rushes to my pussy. “I just have a healthy appetite.” Lifting the pizza to my mouth, I hold his eyes and take a bite.
“Climbing poles and eating pizza. You’re not playing fair, Marion.” He comes closer, voice thick. “Let me feed you that.”
I swallow the small bite I took, blinking at him with heavy eyelids. “You want to feed me?”
He takes the slice and lifts it just shy of my lips. “Take a bite, dirty ballerina. Open your mouth and taste what I’ve got to give you.”
My heart is pounding, but not nearly as hard as the dull throb between my legs. I open up and he brushes the pointy tip just inside my teeth.
A knock at the door surprises us.
I take a quick bite, snapping it out of his hand. Troy shakes his head, “Naughty naughty,” and rises to answer it.
Jack strolls in.
Shocking both of us.
My breath catches at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous in black slacks and a blue button-up, his tie still tight around his trunk-like neck. It’s like a lumberjack got dressed up for a cocktail party.
Hot.
Troy is eyeing his friend. “You came by to check on her progress?”
A growl comes quick and fierce. “You have a problem with that?”
Troy smirks, “You want me blocking now or later?”
This has a simmering effect on Jack. Why, I don’t know. Some kind of inside-joke between them?
I’m just happy he’s here. Happy they’re both here, if I’m honest. It’s a very comforting feeling, despite my resistance to help. I’ve been strong for so long. And my friends have dwindled to zero.
Maybe I need this?
Two men looking after me?
Would that be wrong?
I hold up a triangle of veggie pesto and offer it to our handsome guest, hoping he’ll stay. Maybe for the whole night. And then some. “Pizza, Jack?”
He eyes it and walks over to accept the slice. “Thanks.” Waving it at Troy, he asks, “This your idea?”
“She needs to eat something.”
“She’s beautiful the way she is.”
The barked compliment multiplies the throbbing between my legs, all the blood rushing there in hot waves of need. There they are, Troy and Jack, standing in my living room like the best and tallest study in male beauty that this side of Atlanta has to offer, and I’m their only audience.
But then Jack admits, “I was thinking the same thing, though.”
I wake up from my fantasy and snap, “Hey! I work hard to look like this!”
“And you’re not dancing now. So why don’t you stop starving yourself and relax?”
“Jack, you’re rude. Don’t talk to me like that!”
“I’ll talk to you how I want!” He takes a bite, and mutters. “Sorry.”
“Don’t bow down so damn quick, either!”
His blue eyes sparkle as he sizes me up. But like someone shouted at him to leave, he spins around and marches out the door. “Take it from here, Troy!”
We stare after him and I jiggle my head to force the confusion out. Troy walks to the pizza box and fetches himself a fresh slice, rather than picking up the crust he tossed. Locking eyes with me, he smirks, “Hi roomie,” and takes a bite.
“Don’t look so smug.”
“Who’s smug?”
“You!”
“I’m just here to make your life better.”
“And I’m going to keep making yours worse.”
Troy chuckles, “Combative much?”
“If you both think I need help, you’re wrong!”
What are you doing, Mar?
You do need help.
And you want it!
His heavy eyebrows cock up. “Am I wrong? Because I don’t think I am.” Chewing what’s left in his mouth he holds up a finger wanting me to wait for him to say more.
“Don’t shush me, buddy. Let’s get a couple things straight. This is my house. I’m a force to be reckoned with. Despite my lame leg. Because this will heal. And while it does, I’m going to wallow as much as I want and I’m not interested in you trying to make me smile all the time or laugh or have fun. I’m going to enjoy my pain until there is no more pain. You got me? It’s called going through to get past. And I’m going to embrace it!”
Why can’t I shut up?
Why am I being such a bitch?
Habit?!
Troy is chewing slower now. He swallows and says, “You know what? I’m going to see where Jack is headed. I need a break from this.”
He walks out the door, slamming it and leaving me gaping after him.
All alone, I whisper, “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
TROY
A couple weeks after Jack showed up without notice, I roll onto my back, groaning and groggy at who knows what time of day. First thing that pops into my aggravated brain is the ballerina.
