Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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Marcel reached over the center console and intertwined his fingers with mine, taking my hand up and placing a tender kiss on my knuckles. The small action made me blush hard.
I glanced over at our interlocked hands, a sigh escaping my lips. All of this seemed so confusing-the range of emotions I felt in such a small window of time. I felt like my mind was playing tricks on me. Leave it to me to so uncertain, even when things were looking up.
I didn't know how to react after resolving an argument like this, considering every conflict I'd ever encountered either ended by leaving in a huff or pretending it never happened. But this time was different. Marcel's calm and mature self had just saved us from my inevitable escapism, leaving me I immeasurably relieved. It felt nice to simply move on without a round of the blame-game or throwing petty jibes at each other purely out of spite.
When we finally reached the hotel, Marcel parked his car in the basement an led me out, his hand interlocked with mine. Dusting ourselves off, we walked up the ramp and into the lobby, heading toward the main elevators.
Instantly, I began receiving scandalized looks from other people, mothers covering the eyes of their children and elderly folk looking away in obvious distaste. At first I was annoyed, but looking into the elevator's mirror, I soon realized why.
My makeup was still on from last night, and along with the sheer shirt and accessories, they probably thought I was a prostitute or something.
My face heated up in embarrassment and I made a mental note to immediately wash it all off in the room. I wondered what industrial strength products Vivien had used for it to last so long without melting off.
"You alright?" Marcel murmured into my shoulder.
"Just peachy," I mumbled back, my cheeks still burning. "Didn't realize I was still rocking last night's look," I said, gesturing vaguely at my face.
He stifled a chuckle, earning a glare from me.
"You know," he said, eyes twinkling. "I, for one, happen think you look absolutely stunning. I mean, you always look stunning but...," he trailed of and whistled.
"Can't believe that slut Julian got the full package before me," he muttered, as the elevator doors opened.
"Moral of the story, never make out with strangers in clubs while avoiding your boyfriend," I replied dryly, shuddering at the recollection.
As soon as I fully grasped the words that I'd just spoken, I froze in my spot, wanting to instantly vanish. I really had to start taking my preschool teacher's, 'Think twice before you speak' advice seriously around Marcel.
"Oh, so we're on a boyfriend basis now, huh? I think I like the sound of that," he laughed and slid his muscular arms around my waist, locking the room door behind him.
"Mmm, me too," I hummed as I rested my arms on his shoulders, inwardly relaxing in relief.
He leaned in, his gaze locking with mine, but paused, his breath tantalizingly warm against my lips.
