"Samantha Ann," Jack repeats, using my full name like I'm a child being reprimanded.
I lean toward Marshal and shrug. "You heard him, plans."
Just then Jack pulls his phone from his pocket and grins. "I just received this text message from your mom. She's asking what timewe'llbe there. She said you aren't answering your phone."
Shit. I plugged my phone in and haven't unmuted it.
"Wearen't going to my mom's," I correct. "Besides you don't like going there. And after they know the truth, you'll never be welcome there again."
Jack shrugs. "I can slum it for an evening for my future wife.”
How did I not see what a presumptuous, arrogant asshole he is?
“If you insist,” he says, “we can drive separately." He looks me up and down and scoffs. "Your outfit is fine for Johnson."
I clench my teeth as he turns and walks away. Stiffening my neck, I turn to Marshal. “Gah, and I was going to marry that asshole.”
Wrapping his arms around me, Marshal pulls me close. "What's that guy's problem? He doesn't seem to understand the obvious."
"I'm tired of taking his shit. How about I dish it, for a change?"
Marshal's blue eyes twinkle. "What do you have in mind?"
"Are you up for taking one for the team?"
He raises his brow. "I've always been a team player."
"My parents will be devastated at the cancellation of the wedding either way," I explain, "but if they think I'm happy with the decision and that it was my decision, based on me, not on Jack screwing everything up...I know them. They'll be happy for me. They’ve always supported me and my decisions."
Marshal's hands lower to my behind, and he pulls me closer until our hips collide. "So are you saying that we go to your parents and tell them about us?"
I nod.
"Then we come back here and I get another onefor the team?" His eyebrows dance in a way that makes my insides clench.
Damn, I need to change.
With just the thought of his inference, my panties dampen.
"The team," I say, "got many last night."
Marshal takes one step toward me and then another, moving me backward. Once again, I'm pinned between the wall and his hard body. Leaning forward, his elbow lands casually near my cheek and his chin rests on his fist. The spicy, masculine scent of him fills my senses as his blue eyes drink me in. I can't help but think about last night, about his monster cock, and about how having him right here erases all the hurt that Jack's wandering inflicted.
"I want more," he says, his cool spearmint breath tickling my nose.
I try to swallow. "More?"
His grin inches upward, lopsided and sexy as hell. "Our new agreement needs some revision. I don't think we can be friends with benefits if I haven't tasted your pussy."
“You—”
He touches his finger to my lips. "Correction. Not tasted. Eaten, devoured, consumed. That small sample last night has been lingering in my thoughts. Today at lunch, with you right across the table, I kept thinking about it. All day really. Your come on my fingers was sweeter than honey. Sami, I have never told you, but I have this condition that can be serious—life-threatening even—if not treated."
I can't look away even with all of the bullshit in his tone.
"It's a real thing," he says. "You can look it up on WebMD. It has to do with my blood sugar. I need come—sweet and honey-like—to survive. I've searched and searched. Up until last night, my life expectancy was dropping by the day. But now that I found it, I need more."
A giggle bubbles in my throat. "That does sound serious.”