It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1) (7 page)

Blackwater Lounge slowly clears out. I make a necessary trip to the ladies’ room to freshen up and get my head straight while Marshall closes the tab. The night has gone so well that I can’t risk screwing it up. I’m tied up in sexual knots, so I’m bound to pounce if I don’t calm down. Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I lean forward, looking deep into my eyes. What am I looking for? A sign telling me go ahead, take a chance? Telling me that there is no evidence on his hand that he’s married? Something telling me, “Slow down. You hardly know this man”? Can I really handle it if he’s a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy? I take a deep breath to calm my overstimulated nerves. Maybe I’m searching for a glimmer of that young, innocent girl I once knew. Leaning in closer for a sign, I bump my head against the mirror. I laugh at myself for being such a fool, and I decide to blame the absinthe.

After a splash of cool water on my cheeks, a dab of lipstick, and a quick hair check, I head out into the foyer, where Marshall is shaking hands and laughing with Lenny.

“Nice to see you again, Marshall,” says Lenny while patting Marshall on the back before heading out the door.

“You have some sort of celebrity status around here,” I say, coming up behind him.

He turns with a sly smile. “There’s something about having your own absinthe distillery that makes everyone want to be your best friend.”

“I highly doubt that’s the only reason,” my voice teases as I raise my chin to look up at him.

A warm smile rushes across his face. “Absinthe is all I’m good for.” He brushes up against me as he reaches to open the door for me.

“Yeah, you’re right. I can’t think of any reason someone would want to hang out with a friendly, funny, interesting, incredibly handsome, successful guy.”

“You think I’m funny?”

I can’t see his sexy smile, but I know it’s there. “And
funny
is all you picked up on?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk under the bright streetlight, I stop for a brief moment, taking a cleansing breath.

His warm hand finds the small of my back. “I don’t want to call it an evening yet. You want to walk with me a bit?”

My heart beats wildly. “Sure. A walk would be nice.”

The sidewalk is much quieter than the lounge, which makes me uneasy about searching for a topic of conversation to fill the silence.

“You seemed to enjoy the absinthe.”

“I really did. Have to admit, I’m a bit surprised.” His warm hand continues to cradle the small of my back. I lean into it, letting it happen, caring not at all that I might just be another girl for another night.

“No hallucinations then?”

“Well, unless you count the talking giraffe sitting next to you half the night, then no.”

He leans in and whispers, “It’s okay. I saw him too.”

“Or … maybe it was just Lenny.”

Marshall coughs, and a thunderous laugh follows. “You just might be right.”

My grin must be a mile wide as we walk several steps in silence.

“Looks like Lake Street Café is still open. Want to stop and grab a coffee?”

“Sure.” I nod.

“After you.” Gesturing with his hand as if he’s showing me the direction, he bows his head.

He’s wearing a playful grin that’s as sexy as his everyday smile. I can’t imagine a single place in the world I would rather be than right here, right now.

“And what is your caffeine of choice?”

“Soy latte, half pump of almond, half pump of raspberry, no froth,” I answer too quickly. I worry he may think this is a high-maintenance choice. It’s another frill I got used to with Gavin. In actuality, a simple black coffee is a bit more like the real me, but it is a taste I’m no longer accustomed to. Marshall doesn’t even raise a brow, just turns to the counter to place our order.

“Two medium soy lattes, half pump of almond, half pump of raspberry, no froth.”

I laugh, knowing he could hear me.

He turns back to me. “What is it you find funny?”

“You don’t strike me as a soy latte kind of guy.”

“Is that so?”

I stare at the adorable dimple on his chin and think of how much I would love to kiss it. I blush when I see he’s aware I’m staring.
Calm down, Elizabeth. The last thing you need is nervous sweat.

When he turns to hand me my coffee, I’m nervously toying with my ring.

He tilts his head. “Do you mind if I ask about your ring?”

“No, not at all. I got it from my twin sister, Rose, when she came back from studying in France. The middle part spins. See?” I hold my hand up toward his face and spin it with my thumb.

He takes my hand, bringing it up to his face. “Always Sisters, Forever Friends,” he says as he spins my ring. His warm breath on my hand makes my knees tremble.

“You’re clearly attached to it. You and your sister must be close. Are there really two of you walking around this earth?”

I smile, looking directly at him. “Well, we are identical twins, but her hair is lighter than mine, and she’s taller. She got the looks in the deal.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I wish I could take them back.
Good going, Elizabeth. Why don’t you just come right out and tell him that you’re the one who was slighted at childbirth and that your sister is the perfect one. Tell him how much you were teased in school for that horrible boy haircut that took forever to grow out and that everybody adored your sister—the prettier one—while you’re at it.

My pace slows, and instead of addressing it like I thought he would, he takes my hand in his instead. Never so quickly has my shame turned to joy. It’s almost like he can read me.

We walk a block before I ask, “Do you have any siblings?” It’s a relief to put the focus on him.

“I do. Three of them.” He sips his drink. “Mmm. This isn’t half bad.”

“Why did you order it if you expected it to taste bad?” I scold him, amused.

“You tried my poison, so I figured I’d try yours.”

I laugh, looking up at his eyes, wondering if he could possibly be more adorable and sexy.

“That’s so very
Romeo and Juliet
of you,” I reply.

His devilish grin turns my heart into dancing butterflies as we make our way down the street. It’s a typical Saturday night on the streets of Duluth. The out-of-towners and college kids are showing up in droves to hit the bars and casino, and the street traffic is fairly steady.

We are at the street corner, waiting to cross, when I turn toward the window of the
Intrigued
, an upscale clothing store. The mannequin on display is wearing a flirty, low-cut silver dress with a large turquoise jeweled necklace and a pair of black high-heeled strappy sandals that I find myself in love with. The outfit is the polar opposite of my Plain Jane T-shirt and jeans.

Marshall comes alongside me and sweeps the hair from my shoulder, away from my neck, then leans in, whispering in my ear, “You would look fantastic in that.”

His words make me blush, but at the same time, I’m charged with a sense of empowerment. I decide that I’m coming into town this week and buying the whole outfit, even if I never have a place to wear it. I know Marshall must be a pro at telling women just what they want to hear to get them into bed; however, I can’t help but have the notion that his words are sincere.

We finish our coffees and are moments away from being back at his truck. Now I feel nervous again.

We make our way around the corner into the dimly lit parking lot. Anxiety, anticipation, and pure adrenaline are weighing my breath. He presses the key fob to unlock the doors, and the truck beeps, startling me. He opens my door, but I don’t turn to get in. My hands are trembling and my heart is pounding in my ears, but I grab ahold of his arm, searching for his eyes. His hand touches the back of my neck. A fire burns deep within his eyes as he studies me. His intensity should make me pull away or, at the very least, hesitate, but instead, my grip tightens on his arm as he lifts me nearly off my toes to meet his lips.

All of my nerve endings dance wildly. His grip is so tight that if his kiss hadn’t taken my breath away, his intense strength surely would. A moan rattles deep in his throat. The sound makes me even weaker. His soft tongue sweeps along inside my mouth with such longing it renders me totally breathless. We stumble back a few steps until I’m pinned between him and the truck. I feel the glory of his firm bulge press against my belly. A sigh escapes me as I lace my fingers into his thick brown hair—something I have desired to do from the first time I saw him, when Marshall had looked at me with those intense eyes, those eyes that I have felt studying me so many times.

I love this feeling, the pure, raw, and ravishing emotion of a first kiss. The intenseness of being pinned against his truck and the twisted excitement of feeling unable to escape cause an almost primal desire to tighten like a fist within my belly. His teeth lightly graze my bottom lip, making me tremble with arousal.

I never want this kiss to end, but as several people came around the corner and into the lot, Marshall looks over at them and quickly turns his face away from both me and the group. He pushes away from me like he was just caught doing something he shouldn’t. He motions me to get in and quickly makes his way over to his door. He gets into the truck, and instead of leaning over to continue with our kiss like I’d hoped, he puts the truck in gear.

The quiet drive back to my place leaves my mind whirling with worry. I think I may have done something wrong.
What if I was a horrible kisser?
I look over at him several times, but he stares straight ahead. I don’t know what to say. The drive to my townhouse is short, but the silence makes it feel long. Instead of dropping me off on the other side of the road, Marshall turns his truck around to drop me off at the curbside. I move slowly to grab my purse off the truck floor, hoping he will say something, do something, at least look at me.

Sitting back in my seat, I sigh. “I had a great time tonight. Thank you for taking me out.” I see him swallow hard. His eyes are still straight ahead. Moving slowly, I reach for the door handle and make my way out of the truck. With one more look his way, I shut the truck door and turn to walk to the house. Tears threaten my eyes as I walk alone to my front door.
Was he embarrassed to be seen kissing me? Perhaps someone in the group is one of his booty calls
.
How silly of me to feel like crying. It was one date, one kiss. What did I think was going to happen?

Digging for my keys in my purse, I hear his truck door close and his footsteps nearing me.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.” He touches my arm. “It’s just not the best idea for me to date right now.”

Wait a minute. Isn’t this just another fling for him? I know I felt like there was more. Could he have felt the same?
I look at him. I work hard not to blink, knowing the moisture building in my eyes will soon become falling tears that I have no desire for him to see.

“It was nothing but drinks and good conversation. No need to apologize.” I turn back toward the door, feeling a pang of heartbreak at the thought of tonight being nothing to him, not even worthy of a one-night stand. It didn’t feel like nothing to me.

“Good night, Elizabeth.”

“See you around,” I say and quickly close the door before he says another word or I wind up crying and making a complete fool of myself.

Every inch of me shudders as I struggle to maintain the little composure I have as I turn to face my living room. My purse slides down my arm, past my fingertips, and onto the tile with a thud.
How could you have been so stupid, thinking he could be actually attracted to you?
The cool metal door touches the backs of my exposed shoulder blades as I lean back against it. Tears cascade down my cheeks as I slowly give way to the weakness I feel in my knees. Sinking slowly down the door, the pain, deceit, and rejection I knew were inevitable fight their way to the surface. A quiet sob escapes from deep in my throat as my bottom sinks down onto the smooth tile. I’m once again left alone and broken, unworthy of even a fling.

Sunday, May 23

It seemed so easy, almost natural, to be near him last night, after all the blubbering I’d done a few days ago. He made it so easy for me to relax. No way could I have mistaken the fire I’d seen in his eyes right before we shared that kiss, that kiss I could never have imagined, not even in my wildest dreams. And I, Elizabeth Murphy, have plenty of over-the-top ideas in my creative head. Something in me stirred in the past few months. I hardly feel like the same person I was when I was with Gavin. Certainly, Krystal’s confidence, strength, and ability to bounce back from such heartbreak had a hand in lighting a fire within me.

***

Lakeside Trail isn’t as warm as I’d hoped, and the sky is threatening me with rain.
Screw it,
I tell myself. I clench my teeth and head to the pavement. Every muscle is tense with frustration as I take off in a full-on run. My heart races much faster than I know is smart. However, my need for some release other the sexual kind feels borderline life-and-death. My steps are heavy as I continue my ridiculous pace. The trees seem to follow me in a violent motion, which should make me worry about getting too far away from my car in case the weather takes a turn for the worse. But I ignore my inner voice and keep on running.

I’ve never run this far before. I usually turn around and head back at about the mile-and-a-half point, and by then, my head is clear of thoughts, just me and the pavement. Today, I can’t seem to shut my mind up. Once I have been gasping for air long enough, I slow down to a walk and turn around. The puddles beneath my feet show me a vivid reflection of a woman who had been content in a loveless relationship for the sake of comfort and stability. A woman who has settled for a stable job not requiring her to take any chances. A woman too scared to pursue her passion of interior design. A woman who never feeds her desire to see the world, telling herself it’s about saving money for her own business when she knows a loan would be easy to acquire with her credit score. A woman who knows she deserves better, deserves more in her life and, most importantly, deserves a life with a man who feels as much desire and passion for her as she feels for him. A woman who is worth more than a booty call but is willing to be just that to get close to a man she has no potential future with.

Once I’ve washed off yesterday’s heartache and this morning’s run, I decide I’m not going to give up on this until I have more answers. The old me would have tucked her tail between her legs and run away, but I don’t wish to be her anymore. I want to be more like Krystal, the woman who knows what she wants and will stop at nothing until she gets it. I know I need to talk to Marshall, and since he checks out tomorrow, it needs to be tonight. I just pray that I won’t chicken out after dinner at my parents’ and head home instead of going to Beacon Pointe.

My parents’ lawn is as pristine as they come. Not a weed to be found. Picture-perfect yellow violets, pink primrose, and purple tulips are meticulously planted with later-blooming perennials around every inch of the front porch. My father loves the days he can spend time in the yard, then grab his old, worn-out lawn chair—one of those old-school folding metal ones with a woven seat—and sit and drink a beer while he admires his work on the outer side of the garage.

“Hey there, love bug,” he says as I make my way out of my car. “How’s the lawn looking?” It’s his usual question whenever I stop by.

“Well, Dad, it’s not bad. Just a few weeds caught my eye as I pulled in.”

He shoots me a knowing smile as he rises from his chair and scoops me up in a big bear hug. My dad is a banker, but you’d never guess he sits at a desk all day by his size. Standing over six feet tall with a stocky, muscular build, he may be pegged as a physical labor kind of guy.

“Does Mom need some help with dinner?”

“She’s got lasagna in the oven, and the salad is already made. Sit and have a beer with me,” he demands, already grabbing a chair.

My father’s long workbench is in perfect order. Tools hang on the wall in neat, largest-to-smallest rows, and on the post at the end, next to the fridge, hangs the bear-face bottle opener, a Christmas gift from Rose and me nearly twenty years ago. The garage fridge is fully stocked. I grab a beer and pop the top off with the bear’s fangs, which makes me smile like it does every time. The bottle cap tings as it lands in the bucket below.

“The garden looks beautiful, Dad,” I say as I take a seat.

“What about my lawn?”

“Oh, and of course the lawn too,” I say, patting his arm.

We sit and silently admire the garden for a while before he asks, “So how’s that job of yours going?”

“Fine, Dad,” I say, as that familiar regret boils up in my throat.

“They still have you working those crazy overnight shifts?”

“No, Dad, they haven’t for a while, not since I became manager
three years ago
.” I know my father is digging, trying to get me to bring up my interior design business plans.

“Well, good. Those overnight shifts can really wear you out. You’re still young, though. You can handle anything thrown your way. Plus you’re a Murphy. Hard work is in your blood.”

Wow, he’s really laying it on me today.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

“Rose said their living room is coming together great. She’s so excited.”

“Good to hear,” I say, still unable to let him get me to bring up leaving my job at Beacon.

I love that my family is so supportive of my job as a designer, but I can’t bear to tell them that my fear of failing is holding me back. That I have never felt worthy of success. That every ounce of confidence I may have ever had was stripped from me, piece by piece, all through high school. That my poor grades and living in the shadow of my smart, beautiful, successful sister had taken it all from me. Tanner didn’t want me, Gavin didn’t want me, and now Marshall doesn’t even deem me good enough for a one-night stand. What good is a successful career when you’re bound to be alone forever?

“You’ve got to be itching to do more design jobs.”

“Well, Dad, I actually have an appointment in two weeks to meet the owners of a club that will be opening up in Hermantown. I’m going to see the building, take measurements, and hear about their vision for the club. If all goes well, I will have two weeks to come up with a design presentation.” I hadn’t planned to tell my family this news yet—I only just spoke with the owners this morning after answering the ad Rose had given me. But maybe if they feel like things are going well for me, they will stay off my back during dinner tonight, then I can focus on keeping myself convinced that I have to speak with Marshall tonight.

Hell, I’m used to rejection. What’s another one going to matter? I just need to know why he blew me off and acted embarrassed to be seen with me, then maybe I can just let this fantasy of being with Marshall go for my own good.

“That’s great news, Liz. Wait until your mother hears this. It’s time for you to pursue your dreams, sweetheart. I know I’m stingy with money, but if you need Mom and me to back you up financially, I want you to know that we will. We want what’s best for you.”

I can hardly believe my ears! My dad has never offered money. “Wow, thanks, Dad.”

My eyes well up with tears, but I remain quiet, sipping at my beer until Rose and Derek come walking up the driveway and we head in for dinner.

Sunday dinner at my parents’ house, as always, is a great distraction from the world, the lame reality that is my life. After the hubbub my news creates wears off, it’s Rose and Derek’s wedding that’s the main topic of conversation, which is fine with me. I really don’t care to answer the “meet anyone yet, Elizabeth?” question or hear the “I know who you should go out with” suggestions. My reply is always the same: “I’m fine and happy to be single for a while.” Which, in fact, is not true, and I’m sure they know it too. Though no one ever said it, I never sensed that they really cared much for Gavin. Most Sundays, he would have some lame excuse for why he couldn’t go to dinner, which I was usually relieved about since he had nothing in common with anyone in my family and rarely added anything to our conversations.

My mind wanders to Marshall, our kiss, and what I’m going to say to him tonight. What if he has company when I show up at his room? Am I crazy to just show up uninvited? I want to be more than a one-night stand, but do I have the courage to walk away if that’s all this is?

Rose notices me daydreaming. “So how was your date with the guy from the hotel?”

I shoot her an angry scowl. “Fine.”

Rose covers her mouth to hide her grin.

“You had a date?” My mom’s face brightens.

Rose gives me an impish grin and mouths, “Sorry,” even though I know she doesn’t mean it. She, too, is excited to see me dating.

“Yes, Mom. I had a date this week. Two, actually,” I tell her, knowing this information will overjoy her. “Don’t be too quick to marry me off yet, though.”

“Well, you think you’ll see either of them again?” She gets up and starts to clear the table, acting like it’s no big deal.

“Perhaps,” I tell her with a smile, again, for her benefit.