LOGINDelaneyWe sit across from each other in a crowded izakaya in Shibuya, after passing a million little bars and restaurants that showcase plastic versions of their foods in the windows. Marcus sips his beer and laughs, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and the sound is infectious. He's relaxed, for the first time in weeks, and I finally feel calm, away from Chelsea and work and the hotel and everything. The izakaya is crowded, yet it feels like Marcus and I are the only two people in the room."You love it here," Marcus says."Yeah," I tell him. "I was here for a semester. Not in Tokyo, really. I mean, I traveled, but I was mostly down south. Just enough time to fall in love but not enough time to really let the little things start to annoy me, you know?"Marcus sips his beer and looks at me. "Kind of like us."My heart practically stops and I take a long gulp of my chu-hi, a drink made from soda and shochu, but tastes dangerously just like plain soda. "You do plenty of things to annoy
DelaneyThe knock on the door in the morning startles me. When I answer, my hair plastered to the side of my face, no one's there. I barely slept last night, gutted over what happened. I wonder if Chelsea is on her way back to Texas already, the bearer of such fantastic fucking news that my father will probably have a coronary.I need to call my father. I don't know how to explain any of it. I really can't face him.And I can't face Marcus, either.How can things go from being so high to crashing down so low in a matter of minutes? Last night with Marcus, I was happy. I was deliriously, irrepressibly, recklessly happy. A part of me knew it wouldn't last, just like part of me this morning longs to go to Marcus, to tell him that it doesn't matter, that we shouldn't give a shit what anyone else thinks.Except it's Marcus, the guy who doesn't spend time with women outside the bedroom. The guy who doesn't date. Perpetual manwhore, always risk-taking, never-going-to-grow-up Marcus. And the
MarcusI can't fucking see straight. I'm wound so tight after spending the last fifteen minutes telling Delaney what I want to do to her. I hope she's as wrapped around the axle as I am. There's something about her that makes me crazy.We're still a block away from the hotel when I realize Delaney is limping. "What's wrong?"She kicks up one of her feet and sighs. "The perils of wearing heels in Japan," she says. "I don't know how the girls here do it, walking everywhere in stilettos. They must be masochists.""Fuck walking," I say, and I pick her up before she can protest, but she does anyway."What are you doing?" she squeals."How far away from the hotel are we?" I ask."I don't know, a block, I think," she says. "Put me down before someone sees.""Afraid not." I keep carrying her, ignoring the looks I get from strangers on the sidewalk. A couple of expats laugh as we pass them, and I explain, "She's totally drunk."Delaney hits me on the shoulder. "I am not! Don't say that.""You
"I have his office number," Delaney says, giving me a look. "I don't have his personal one. I left a message. What should we do? It was supposed to be a business dinner and then he was taking us out on the town."I slide my hand around Delaney's waist, right there in the hotel lobby, and she smacks it away. "Marcus, don't," she says."There is literally no one here watching us.""Only because it's impolite to stare," she whispers. "PDA is not appropriate here. And people will watch but not tell you you're doing something wrong, because that is not polite. But someone will notice. Trust me."I exhale heavily. Delaney is standing there, looking insane in this white dress that shimmers under the lights. It's simple and elegant and looks like it was made for her, skimming over every curve and showing off her amazing legs.I want to take it off her immediately. But she walks away and talks to the concierge. I see her gesturing, her forehead wrinkled up in the face she makes when she's upse
MarcusIt's been a whirlwind couple of weeks in Japan...I don't even know where the hell we've been, to be honest. The first week I was too jet-lagged to notice much of anything, and content to just be told where to go and what to do. Photo shoots, interviews, appearances, one right after the other. I shot some television commercials, but I don't even know what the products were. Cologne, I think – nothing bike-related. And an ad for one of those little canned coffee drinks. It's all a blur.And in the middle of that blur is Delaney. Always Delaney. I'm still hooking up with her, sneaking into her hotel room at night after Chelsea has gone to bed. The sex hasn't changed – it's still as hot as hell. That in and of itself is a fucking miracle. I've never had so much sex with one girl.The thing is, it's bugging me.I want – shit, I don't know what I want. I want to be around Delaney all the damn time. I can't get enough of her laugh, or the way she blushes when I embarrass her, which is
DelaneyI'm stuck on a flight to Japan with Marcus and Chelsea. Not that this is awkward or anything. At all.Chelsea has been sweet as pie to me, but I'm pretty sure she wants me dead. I think she suspects Marcus and I are up to something, and that's definitely true. We've been sneaking around like a couple of hormonal teenagers. The truth is, I can't get enough of him. I find myself wanting him all the time, and that fact is starting to scare me a little bit.The flight itself hasn't been terrible. We have first class suites, so I put up the privacy partition on mine as soon as we took off, and I didn't have to even think about Chelsea and how she glared at me from the other side of the aisle when Marcus got into the suite next to mine. It's almost like she doesn't exist. The seat converts into a bed, and I'm lying here on my laptop looking at the schedule, but I'm preoccupied with thoughts of Marcus.Marcus says he wants us to be more than just a one night stand. But is it only bec







