Marcus

A few days later Izzy comes over to Joe and Marcus’ house unannounced, using the spare key she enters the house and makes her way down the hallway, her bare feet cold against the tile, wearing one of Joe's old white t-shirts that hangs past her hips and a pair of tight jeans she knows make her ass look good. She doesn't knock the way she did before — no soft, hesitant tap. Her knuckles rap twice, sharp and quick, and she presses her palm flat against the wood while she waits, her other hand gripping the hem of the t-shirt.

The door swings open. Marcus stands there in a loose tank and basketball shorts, still holding his phone, his eyes flicking down her body and back up to her face. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the frame with a faint raised eyebrow.

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