Say You’ll Stay Page 8

  True. But it wasn’t working for her, either, on any level. No matter how much she hated it, Alyssa had to see the contest through. She had to be sure, and it was as good a framework as any. There had to be some way to reconcile her head and her heart.

  * * *

  Marc tipped up his bottle, wishing it was closer to finished. Times like this, the lack of a home where he could sulk in solitude was a real problem. He didn’t want to be at his parents’ house, with Alyssa and her family visible right over the fence. The Escape wasn’t an option either, not with half the other live-aboard mariners giving him the wink and nod treatment, and the memories of their night together sharp enough to keep him semi-erect. So he’d come here, an old bar hangout, for a little space to strategize the bizarre situation with Alyssa.

  Marc removed the four-page, double-sided rule list and smoothed it over the bar. There were so many typos that it was clear Janelle had tapped out reality-TV-inspired stream-of-consciousness contest parameters and hit print. It made him smile.

  No cursing. Keep it to a mimimum, at least. Did that apply to Aly? Any time she dropped an f-bomb he wanted laugh and kiss the dirty word right out of her sweet mouth. Cursing was one thing she’d definitely picked up in New York.

  No touching unless consent is explicit. It was a crime that this wasn’t considered mandatory instruction in high school sex ed.

  No body-shaming. There was nothing to shame about Alyssa’s body, if he’d been inclined.

  Be home by curfew or loose points. A little high school, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to take a few steps back and start fresh. Also, loose should’ve lost an o.

  No contact utside of official dates. Sneaking aruond is GROUNDS FOR LOOSING THE CONTEST. The errors were cute. Janelle was cute. Sharp as a tack, cute as a button and a terrible speller.

  If he’d been less cock-sure that one day Alyssa would come home for good, he’d have tried harder to get her to talk to him when curfews were still age-appropriate. Last summer, he’d been sucker-punched to discover he might’ve been overconfident about her coming back to Florida. But by then it’d been too late. Zach and Aly were serious; by fall they’d been talking marriage. His hands-off, approach-when-the-time-is-right strategy had backfired spectacularly. He’d moved out of his apartment and rented it to a tenant to accelerate his world trip departure date. The prospect of listening to his mother recount every detail of the wedding plans was too much.

  Of course, he’d pounced at the first opportunity. Alyssa’d had every reason to think he’d be easy, and he had been. Way too easy. After all, he didn’t have a lot of practice with turning down willing women. Besides, if he hadn’t jumped at it, she might already have reconciled with Zach.

  No regrets.

  So yeah, he’d go along with Janelle’s crazy-like-a-fox scheme to torture him and Zachole. At least one of them deserved the suffering, and he was going to make Alyssa see that he was good for something more than a one-night stand.

  The prospect shouldn’t make him nervous. It couldn’t be a steep learning curve to go from casual to monogamous. It was sex with one person instead of a rotating cast. Right?

  His plans to set sail into the sunset had screeched to a dead stop. He couldn’t pull up anchor and leave Alyssa behind. He’d prevail. No way she was going back to the asshole who’d stood her up on Christmas Eve. He was better than Zachole. He’d win.

  And then what? She goes back to New York while you set sail into the great unknown?

  He’d figure out how to work in his adventure later. Marc finished the beer in one swallow. The bottle clanked hard against the wood countertop as he pushed back his bar stool. He had a date to plan.

  9

  Alyssa shifted her weight from one leg to the other and raised her arms. She held the yoga pose, then moved again, spreading her fingers across the beach towel spread out over her parents’ patio. It had taken a little effort to move the table and chairs, but it was worth it. She needed all the centering she could get after the awful date with Zach the night before.

  Downward-facing dog. Breathe. Warrior one. Warrior two. Triangle pose. Alyssa listened to the podcast playing softly from her cell phone. The sound of a truck engine roared over the woman’s chant.

  She took a few more breaths in tree pose until metal clanked against hard plastic, announcing Marc’s return. Alyssa opened her eyes, walked to the fence and leaned against it. “Hey. Marc.”

  “Not interested, Aly. There’s rules.”

  Alyssa tiptoed after him like a duckling following its mother, her scabbed heel burning against the sun-warmed pavement. Marc hefted the box into the bed with an ear-splitting crash. He opened the driver’s side door and got in. The engine growled to life.

  Alyssa yanked open the passenger side door and hopped in. She was going to say her piece, even if she had to shout.

  “Why are you going along with this?” Alyssa crossed her arms.

  “Why are you?”

  “I asked first.”

  Marc reached over and took her chin in one broad palm. His gentle grip forced her to meet his eyes. “Because I’ll do anything, including go along with your little sister’s cracked contest, to make sure you don’t go back to New York with Zachole. Anything.”

  A hot shiver tumbled through her, followed by a flare of anger. Alyssa jerked her head away. “So this is all about your pissing contest with my ex?”

  “Not even remotely, Aly. This is all about you. Why you thought all I was good for was a one night stand. When I’m done with you, you’re wonder how the hell you ever dated Zach. You’re going to look at every guy that way.” Then he leaned over and kissed her.

  Alyssa stiffened, but met him more than halfway. Marc’s tongue pushed past her shock and plumbed her hard. A second later he pulled away. She gasped as the air touched her damp lips. Wanted more.

  “I’ll quit if you do, Marc.”

  “Fat chance, Aly. Hope you brought something nice to wear on New Year’s, because we’re going out.”

  She stumbled getting out of the truck. Damn Marc De Luna. He was as good as his word. He’d already ruined her for other men. That wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. Her plan for a vacation rebound was getting skewed six ways from Sunday.

  * * *

  The whirring blade should’ve been soothing. Marc adjusted his safety glasses and steadied a board. Two seconds later he stepped back threw it across the construction site. The image of Alyssa’s butt in tiny short-shorts had superimposed over the otherwise ordinary two-by-four. He was going to saw his own finger off if he didn’t get it together.

  A knock at the door startled Marc back into reality. The architect he’d hired walked in through the hole where a door would eventually go. For now, there was only a large piece of plywood that Mark chained closed at night.

  “I see we’re going with the open floor plan,” the guy commented as he eyed the remnants of the wall Marc demolished earlier. “I trust it wasn’t structural?”

  “You tell me. You’re the architect.”

  “Just cool it with the sledgehammers for a while, okay?” Together they went over sketches, making changes to accommodate the missing wall. In a few days, Marc would have final blueprints and, once the permits were in place, a swarm of plumbers and electricians would descend upon the shell. By spring or early summer, the house would be a white box. All the structural components updated and prepared for him to take over and do the finishing touches. If he wanted to do them himself instead of paying someone.

  He didn’t.

  Which meant, very soon he was going to be completely idle. He had reliable tenants, and his other rental properties were in good shape. It was the outcome he’d been working toward for years. It had been his plan ever since he’d taken his final year’s tuition payment and summer savings to buy the first little house, instead of finishing his degree.

  His parents had nearly disowned him. They were successful now, but while he was
growing up they’d sacrificed vacations, driven aging cars, and kept living in their starter home even after they could’ve moved to upscale, nearby Naples, to save for his and Julian’s educations. He’d thrown it in their faces, but he’d been confident it would work out, and it had. Sailing around the world had always been the plan.

  Until Alyssa had shown up alone and unexpectedly single on Christmas.

  It stung more than it should that she only saw him as a fling. He’d taken it for granted that when he wanted a girlfriend, all he’d have to do was say the word. Marc had always believed he was the one in control. Alyssa had exploded that myth.

  This didn’t feel like a choice. It was raw and compulsive and needy. Worst of all, unfamiliar. Guilt settled uneasily in his gut as he wondered how many women he’d left stewing in this toxic brew of lust and vulnerability. Probably not very many—his ego wasn’t that out of control—but, suddenly, even one was too much.

  He could still taste her on his lips. Maybe he was imagining it. Hell, he’d imagined all kinds of things over the years. But this felt real.

  So did the hammer as it slammed down over his thumb.

  A streak of Smurf-blue cursing echoed up the wood framing and plywood. At least he wasn’t trying to sail while this distracted. God help him if Alyssa ever wore those damn short shorts on the boat. They’d sink and drown.

  It was barely noon. He needed a lunch break anyway. Marc gathered up his tools and stowed them in the back of his truck. This time, nobody chased him down as he carted the heavy orange boxes. Disappointment dogged him as he locked his parents’ garage.

  Marc’s feet detoured toward the fence gate, taking the rest of him. He pushed it open and mounted the step.

  “Hi, Marc. Aly’s not here.”

  “Any idea where she went, Janelle?” She could at least open the screen door.

  “Out. What’s it to you? You’re not supposed to see her outside of contest dates.”

  “I need to coordinate with her about this evening.” Janelle sure had a pissy attitude toward him all of a sudden. It was worrisome that she was running the show and had a clear preference for Zachole. Next time she needed her rust bucket car fixed, she could go pay someone else.

  “You can coordinate with me. That’s how it’s supposed to work.” She opened the screen door, but not to let him in. She stepped onto the stoop and let the door bang closed behind her.

  “Zachole has her number, doesn’t he?”

  Janelle crossed her arms over her chest. “You know he does.”

  “In fairness, I should have Aly’s, too.”

  “What if she doesn’t want you to have it?”

  “What if she does?” He was a younger sibling himself, but he hadn’t been this mean to his brother’s friends. Had he? Given he’d avoided his brother’s infrequent boyfriends like the plague until Stephan, almost certainly not.

  “Then she’ll give it to you.” Janelle smirked. Marc was suddenly glad he’d grown up without any sisters. If they were this much of a pain in the ass, he could certainly live without them.

  “I have a better idea, Janelle. I’ll leave my number for her. You can give it to her and let her decide what to do with it.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” She didn’t move.

  “Will you let me in for a minute?” he demanded, exasperated.

  “What, you want me to give you a piece of paper and a pen or something?” Janelle finally relented and held open the screen door. A gaudy parrot clock screeched one.

  “Aren’t you going to ask how Alyssa’s date went last night?” Janelle reached for a pad of sticky notes and a pen.

  “Nope.” He scratched his number down, wincing at the pressure on his thumb. Between pounding Zachole’s face and the hammer’s revenge, his hand was pretty beat up.

  “Zach proposed.”

  The pen skittered across the paper. Marc ripped off the top sheet and crumpled it. Stuck the yellow ball in his pocket and started over.

  “Since I’m taking her out tonight, I’d guess she said no.” That wiped her face clean of any momentary triumph. Marc held out the Post-It notes. “See she gets this.”

  “Sure.”

  “You really want Zachole to win this contest, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Janelle’s stance was suddenly wary.

  “Why?”

  “Selfish reasons, partly. I don’t have to tell you about those. Also because everyone up and down this block knows you’re the biggest skirt chaser in Florida. I don’t see you making Alyssa happy.”

  Janelle was a lot smarter than she let on. There was a canniness deep in her green eyes. She was hiding something, too, although she was the worst liar he’d ever met.

  “Zachole isn’t going to make your sister happy either.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She cocked her head. “He’s a better bet than you are, though. I’m not going to let you discard my sister like you do to every other girl.”

  Her lack of confidence in him stung, a little bee sting of doubt venom swelling beneath his skin. “I wouldn’t be playing your silly game if I wasn’t serious about Aly, Janelle.”

  He chucked her under the chin. She jerked away.

  “Why did you have to latch onto my sister? Why now?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve ever had a chance.” Easy answer.

  Janelle snorted. “Yeah, right. You hardly spoke to her the year she lived here. When she was home from college you ignored her.”

  “And vice versa.” True, though, and it stung.

  “It’d be easier to believe you were into Aly if you hadn’t slept with half of Florida. You’re direct. If you had a thing for her, why didn’t you ask her out?”

  Marc shrugged. “She was never single when she was home.”

  “Hm. I think there’s more to it than you let on.”

  Maybe. He’d been fifteen when Julian had told him the truth about his sexuality. He’d reacted with all the maturity of an average teenager—not much. On some level, Marc had felt compelled to prove that he wasn’t gay. The simplest way to accomplish that was to sleep with any girl who would have him.

  Or maybe he’d been trying to provide cover. The De Lunas did not talk about sex. His behavior had forced the topic into conversation, made it all about him, and distracted anyone from commenting on Julian’s perpetual lack of a girlfriend. Marc decided he liked the second explanation better; it was marginally more noble.

  Janelle turned on her heel and headed up the stairs, hopefully to put the sticky note on Alyssa’s desk.

  Proposed. Marc didn’t like the way that knowledge went down like an anchor in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t about to do something similar. If Alyssa wanted to get married bad enough, there was nothing to stop her from saying yes.

  He’d better plan an evening 180 degrees different from Zach’s date. In a few hours, he’d get to show Alyssa why he was the only one who deserved her attention. He’d better be damned convincing.

  10

  Alyssa stuck the sticky note to her phone so she wouldn’t lose it. Adding the number to her contacts was inviting calamity. Besides, the disposable square of yellow paper with a barely legible phone number scrawled on it was the only tangible thing she had from Marc.

  She pointed her dad’s Toyota carefully into traffic. The navigation software on her phone told her to turn left, so she turned on her blinker and cautiously made the turn. The car behind her beeped. Alyssa’s blood pressure shot up. She drove so rarely that whenever she got behind the wheel of a car she drove like an octogenarian. In Florida, actual octogenarians were the ones honking at her to get out of the way.

  Marc’s boondoggle house was easy to spot. Every other home was either neatly maintained or had been expanded and upgraded. The neighborhood was clearly on the upswing, and the project house stuck out as a crumbled wreck surrounded by plywood fencing.

  No wonder his parents thought it was a mistake. The place was going to take a ton of money and work to make habitable. Still, Vero
na Harbor was a rapidly up-and-coming city, attracting families priced out of Naples with good schools, the harbor, and lots of parks.

  She turned off the car and sat there. Marc’s truck was parked in the driveway. Voices echoed from inside. He had company. Now what?

  Well, she’d already put in the effort to have her ideas printed up and had driven all the way over here. The worst that could happen was a heaping spoonful of rejection and humiliation. No time like the present.

  Alyssa leaned against the truck while she typed in the numbers of his phone.

  I’m outside, if you have a few minutes. She hit send.

  Seconds later her phone beeped. Be there in five.

  Alyssa had to remind herself to start breathing again. After thirty seconds, the impulse to run back to the car and drive away unseen was almost uncontrollable.

  Too late. Marc emerged from a plywood hole. Why hadn’t she remembered to pack sunglasses so it would be less obvious that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him?

  Only she could make such a mess with a guy like this. Alyssa examined her feet to keep from staring at him.

  “Hi,” she said, glancing up.

  “Hi.”

  Great conversation start. Almost as good as yesterday.

  “Janelle said you stopped by.” She brandished the phone, complete with the yellow sticky note.

  “Contest rules. You’re not supposed to be here.” She wished he’d take off the sunglasses. His tone was bemused, but she couldn’t tell what he really thought about her unsolicited appearance.

  “Well, I am. I brought you something.” Alyssa held out the oversized plastic bag. He accepted it wordlessly and pulled out three large pieces of stiff paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “They’re brand boards. When we were, ah, on your boat, you mentioned you could use some help with your marketing presence. I went ahead and mocked some designs for you. It took a while yesterday to find a printer that could handle a presentation board as a walk-in.” As in, it had taken all afternoon. She’d been grateful to get out of the house for a while.