Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You

Marcus

Rebecca is perched on my lap like I’m the damn Santa Claus. Her damp hair drips slow rivulets down my chest, and her skin is glowing in the dim light.

The red bikini is impossible to ignore. It clings wetly to every curve, and when she crosses her legs over my knee, I feel a jolt...electric and unwelcome.

I play it cool, but there’s no denying the pressure point tightening in my chest. The girl is crazy. Her nail polish is chipped, her laughter too loud, and her scent...sweet, unruly curls into my senses, refusing to be shaken off.

She keeps up the running commentary, alternating digs at my masculinity and the excessive whiteness of my teeth. I half-listen, adjusting my arm as if to give her more space, but she leans in against my body.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hailey. She is tucked under Josh’s arm.

Goddammit...me trying to throw Elise at Josh isn’t working.

I meant to humiliate Rebecca, to make her squirm and regret the dare. Instead, she’s turned it into a campaign of delight. Her leg presses insistently into my thigh, her elbow jabs unapologetically into my ribs as she gestures dramatically and critiques the party snacks. Her body is heat and motion, unwittingly or maybe all too knowingly provoking a response I don’t want to admit.

I press my palm to the concrete lip of the hot tub, grounding myself in the sting of heat, the condensation on my glass, anything but the fact that beneath the surface, my pulse is racing way too fast for someone who prides himself on control.

"Hey," Rebecca says suddenly, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear, "you are not even listening, are you?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Are you saying anything worth listening to?"