Page 50 of Love Marks
“When will you be home?” My mom asks. “In time to say goodbye to Sheila, right?”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll see you at four,” I say, hoping it’s not obvious that I’m rushing her off the phone.
“Alright. Love you!” She shouts the words at me.
“I love you too. Bye.” I slip my phone into my back pocket. “Sorry about that,” I say to Wesley.
“No need to apologize,” he replies. “Was that your boyfriend?” He avoids my gaze, but I know fishing when I hear it. The forced casualness in his tone. “Or…girlfriend?” He prompts.
I chuckle and shake my head.
“No, it was my mom,” I say, letting the words hang between us. He nods, flattening his lips. He's clearly unsatisfied that his not-so-subtle attempt at finding out my relationship status has failed. I sigh. “I’m single. No boyfriend. Or girlfriend.”
“Right.” He says with a curt nod, unaffected.
“But I am bi.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Okayyy. This is awkward.
This must be the world’s longest elevator ride. The silence between us stretches out louder than ever.
“She’s sick.” The words spill from me. “My mom. She has cancer.”
What the hell are you doing?
He turns towards me, his eyes soft, and traces his palm along his stomach, smoothing his shirt down.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and God why do those words always sound so perfect coming from his lips?
The words keep coming. “It’s been on and off for a while. She was in remission, but…it came back. And it’s worse now. She pretends to be fine, but I know she feels like shit, and I feel like shit because all I do is work trying to afford all our bills, but I never get to see her because of it and…”
I take a deep breath, stopping myself. When I look over at Wesley, he’s frowning at my words. I’ve gone and upset him again, talking about work. I’ve already said way too much today.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean…” I trail off.
Mercifully, the elevator finally stops in the lobby and the doors open. Wesley steps back and gestures for me to go ahead.
“My driver, Pete, is picking us up,” he says and before I can respond, his hand is resting on my lower back, guiding me forward.
I have to purse my lips to stop the sound — no, moan — that threatens to escape from my lips. There is no earthly explanation for why my body should be reacting so much to his touch, but here I am. Goosebumps gather on my arms and warmth pools in my stomach. I manage to keep my cool the entire walk out to the sidewalk and thankfully, when we step outside, Wesley removes his hand and walks towards a black town car with a tall Black man standing out front.
Wesley clasps the man’s hand into his, shaking it firmly.
“Quinn, this is my driver, Peter. Everyone calls him Pete.”
I step forward and shake his hand.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
Pete clasps mine, an easy grin spreading across his face.
“Sir?” He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I like you. Nobody calls me Sir. Probably for good reason. Just Pete is fine.” He nudges me a little with an easy smile.
“Sorry, force of habit. Nice to meet you, Pete,” I repeat.
He turns to Wesley with a smirk. “Does she call you Sir, too, boss?”