Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Both. And others, too. Although I admit you’re the best example of my type I’ve ever run across, other than your age.”
“Why are you so fixated on our age gap? Age is just a number.”
“Not true. Age is related to timing. And finding the right person is often about timing, even more so than compatibility. In ten years, you’ll be looking for a wife. I guarantee it.”
I can’t dispute her logic, even though I dispute her ultimate conclusion. I ask, “Does that mean you want to become someone’s wife?”
“I think so, yes. But only if I met the right man. I’d rather be alone forever than hitch my wagon to anyone who isn’t truly perfect for Ripley and me, and vice versa.”
I consider that. “Did you want to marry my father?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. I hadn’t even told him about Ripley. I was obviously playing a role with him. Pretending to be his version of perfect. I was a mere fantasy for him, and he was an escape from the pain for me. Looking back, I got what I deserved.”
My heart pangs. “I wouldn’t go that far, Marnie. Nobody deserves to be lied to like that. That’s inexcusable.”
Marnie looks at me with extreme surprise. “Thank you.”
The moment feels meaningful. Like we’ve taken a massive step toward each other on some invisible path—a path toward redemption, perhaps. Forgiveness, maybe. Maybe even mutual respect.
“Hey, at least I can rest easy in the knowledge I fucked you way better than my father ever did, right?” I say. “Unless, of course, you were lying to me when you said I’m the best you’ve ever had. Something tells me you’re a really good liar, so I wouldn’t put it past you.” Aw, fuck. Why did I do that? Sometimes, I’m my own worst enemy.
Marnie whips her head toward me, looking positively murderous, and my heart physically stops at the sight of her. She’s exceedingly hot when she’s laughing and smiling. But she’s never hotter than when she’s feeling inspired to commit homicide. “Okay, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I understand you’re feeling angry and shocked and weirded out. And I recognize this whole situation feels like it’s happening in present day to you, since you’re only just now hearing this news. But to me, all of this is very old news. Something I’ve long since put behind me and moved on from. It was something that happened when I was in a very bad place in my life—a place I’ve worked hard to move on from. So, while I agree you’re entitled to whatever emotions you’re feeling, and I’m willing to let you take a few shots at me to release whatever anger you’re feeling, I emphatically do not agree that your emotions entitle you to emotionally abuse, slut-shame, or otherwise disrespect me. Be angry with me all you want, Max, but let’s not cross over into you being every bit as cruel and inhumane as your fucking father, okay?”
Damn. I feel like I’ve been slapped. But beautifully. Exquisitely. And justifiably. Not to mention, her enraged body language and lit-up facial expression is turning me on like crazy.
I suddenly realize she didn’t correct my initial declaration that I was a better lover than my father ever was. And I can’t help feeling massively relieved about that.
Suddenly, I’m slammed with another slew of images. The same kinds that hit me earlier in the parking lot. Only this time, it’s not my father railing Marnie. It’s me. I’m the one making her come. I’m the one pulling her hair and making her cry out. All of a sudden, Marnie’s riding me with abandon in my bed . . . while my father looks on helplessly from the doorway. In my mind’s eye, I flip my father off while Marnie continues fucking me and then smile at the tortured, angry expression my gesture provokes.
“Stop smirking like that and answer me,” Marnie commands with a huff.
When I’m jerked back to reality, I realize I’ve missed something. “What was your question?”
Marnie scowls and says, “Would you rather keep it civil with me or catch an Uber back to your fucking car?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I’ll keep it civil.”
Marnie exhales. “Thank you. So will I.” She tilts her head. “Can I ask you a question? It’s not to pick a fight, okay? I’m genuinely wondering about this.” When I nod, Marnie says, “Tell me the truth. Really think about your answer.”
“Spit it out, Marnie.”
She bites her lower lip. “If I’d told you about my history with your father at Grayson’s party, before we’d had sex, would you have walked away without fucking me, or would you have fucked me, regardless?”
In a heartbeat, I know my honest answer: I would have fucked her, regardless, to within an inch of her life, exactly the way I did. Maybe even more so, if that’s even possible, because a) literally nothing would have stopped me in that moment from fucking this woman again. I was a runaway train of molten lust. And b) I’m quite certain, especially in that white-hot moment of unparalleled, hormonal intoxication, I would have relished the chance to fuck Marnie as a massive “fuck you” to my father. I’m sure I would have felt like I was pissing on the same fire hydrant as him, only doing it second—which all dogs know is the only way to actually mark any given territory.