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8

MARCUS

“This place is nice,” she says.

“It’s one of my favorite sushi spots.”

We get up from the table, full after a terrific meal. It’s been a couple of weeks since I showed up at Morgan’s place, fully intending to tell her we couldn’t see each other like that again. Heading over to her apartment, my resolve had been firm. After thinking about it and everything Mo had said, I decided I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to Kelsey. But the moment I arrived and saw her standing in the doorway, I felt my resolve begin to waver. And when I looked into her bright blue eyes, it collapsed completely. I had to have her.

Since then, we’ve been seeing a lot more of each other. And not just to screw. I guess it’s fair to say we’ve been dating. Something changed inside of me. It wasn’t just physical. It was more than that. It was deeper. When I was looking into her eyes that night, I just felt something shift. I’ve known this girl for a really long time, and I’ve always known what kind of person she is.

That night in her apartment, I really saw her. The blinders came off, and I saw Morgan for everything she is. And that sense of connection I felt for her—that I denied myself for so long—only grew stronger. I don’t know yet how I’m going to explain this to Kelsey, but I’ve been happier these last couple of weeks than I have in a very long time. I’ve felt a lightness and joy that’ve been absent from my life for years. I hope she can understand that.

I’ve gotten a few looks when we’ve gone out. It’s pretty obvious she’s considerably younger than I am. But Morgan has never once made me feel weird about it. She’s never teased me about the age difference or made me feel like this thing between us is anything but right. And when we’re out and she notices those strange, disapproving looks on the faces of other people, she usually doubles down by kissing me or doing something else that seems to scandalize other people, which is something she finds funny.

I’m not going to lie, the age difference still feels strange to me. She is literally half my age, and there’s some part of me that thinks I should feel guilty about that. I have to remind myself that Morgan is twenty-two years old. She’s a fully formed adult capable of making her own decisions about who she wants to spend time with. And frankly, I’m glad she wants to spend time with me.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” I respond. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She slips her arm through mine as we walk out of the restaurant and make our way over to the valet stand. I’m just about to hand over my ticket when I realize I’m missing something. I give my pockets a quick pat-down, then turn to Morgan and give her a half-shrug.

“I forgot my phone at the table,” I tell her. “I’ll just go and grab it and come right back.”

“I’ll be here,” she replies.

I plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, then turn and step away. Pulling the door open, I step back into the restaurant and make my way back to our table. The busboy is arriving at the same time I do and hasn’t taken anything off the table yet, thankfully. My phone is still sitting there, so grab it and head back through the restaurant.

When I push through the door and back out onto the sidewalk, I see a guy looming over Morgan. I can tell by the way she’s standing, arms wrapped protectively around her midsection and shrinking away from him, that she feels threatened. The guy is leering at her, and though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I’ve got a pretty good idea. I step quickly and put myself between them, glancing over my shoulder at her.

“You all right?” I ask.

The flush of relief on her face is immediate, and she nods. “I’m fine.”

“You mind, pops?” the guy in front of me sneers. “I’m trying to talk to her.”

I turn back to him. He’s a lean, fit kid. About my height and in pretty good shape. He’s got brown hair with a stylishly tousled look, green eyes, and a strong jawline. He also has that smarmy, entitled air of a spoiled frat boy who grew up rich and got whatever he wanted. Including women. I hate guys like him.

“She’s with me,” I say, my voice low and gruff. “So, you can just move along.”

He stares at me blankly for a moment, then erupts in laughter. “She’s with you?” he asks, leaning around me to look at Morgan. “Is this your dad?”

“Fuck you,” she hisses.

The smirk still on his face, the guy shakes his head. “Wow,” he says. “So, what, is this like a sugar daddy arrangement or something? I mean, no offense or anything, but you seem way too old for a piece as fine as that.”

I step forward, my eyes narrow, jaw clenched, and my hands balled into fists. “You really need to learn some respect.”

“You going to teach me, old man?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”

He says nothing for a moment and just stares back at me. It’s then that I see the first glimmer of fear in his eyes, which confirms my initial thought about him. He’s a bully. All bluster and bravado, but when you step up, he wilts.

“You going to do something?” I growl.

He licks his lips and clears his throat. He tries to recover and puts a cocky expression back on his face, but I can see right through it. He scoffs and waves me off.