A feeling, like wind filling a billowing sail, fills my chest. I was right. He remembers. On some level, he remembers me. I drop forward so that my forehead rests on his chest.
“It’s beautiful.” Tears gather in my eyes. Hope that there’s a future for us after he learns the truth and relief that the connection we shared as kids wasn’t one-sided. He felt it too. Oh God, this is really happening.
“Look, I’m sorry about that, going off like I did.”
“I understand.” I sniff back my tears. “It’s okay.”
He tugs my chin up. “Hey, you’re crying?”
“No, I’m not crying.” I wipe the tiny bit of moisture that threatens to spill from my lower lid.
His hand moves to my back and strokes up and down in comforting strokes. “I’ll be damned. Didn’t think the girl was capable of tears.”
I snuggle deeper into his hold, and his other hand wraps around me to hold me closer. “The girl is not crying.”
“All right, baby. You just take a minute to suck that shit back, and when you’re ready, I’ll figure out something for us to eat.” His body shakes with what I think is silent laughter.
I tilt my head back to see his face. No more scowl, soft eyes, and yes, he’s laughing. “Stop laughing!”
He coughs up a weak attempt to hide another rumble of laughter.
The easy smile is contagious, and I can’t help but giggle right along with him. Crisis over, tension diverted, deep breaths in and out. We’re back to where we started when we got here, or maybe better?
I gaze up at his beautiful smile. Yeah, definitely better.
Twelve
Can’t help what I feel
Can’t tell if it’s real
There’s no way to know
If this pain will heal
--Ataxia
Rex
Self-fulfilling prophecy. I’d heard of it but never experienced it until tonight. I was so afraid that Mac would take one step into my condo and make a million different judgments about me that I ended up acting like the fool I didn’t want her to think I was. Things weren’t awkward until I made them awkward.
Way to screw it up, asshole.
Since my bug-out in the kitchen, things have gotten better. Mac’s sitting comfortably on the couch, her legs tucked up and to the side, fingers absently running through her dark hair. She’s engaged in whatever sports stats John Anderson is announcing on Sportscenter. Warmth blooms in my chest.
Her eyes are fixed to the television, and I wonder if she even likes sports. I didn’t even think to ask her what she wanted to watch, just turned it on and walked away. If my inexperience with houseguests wasn’t glaringly obvious before, it sure as fuck is now.
“Would you rather watch something else?” I say to her from my spot in the kitchen.
Her eyes snap to mine, and she blinks almost as if I woke her. “No, this is great.”
A hint of unease pricks against my skin, but I can’t place the trigger. I drop the oven door and slide out the pizza stone with the frozen meat lover’s pie I threw in thirty minutes ago. The bubbling cheese and pooling grease from the sausage and pepperoni tempt my taste buds. I’m so sick of this damn diet. As soon as the fight this weekend is over, I’m eating my weight in carne asada burritos.
“You hungry?”
Her eyes jerk from the TV screen to me in the kitchen. “I wasn’t until I smelled that.” Pushing up from the couch, she moves toward the island barstools.
“Hope you’re not a vegetarian.” I run the pizza cutter through the doughy cheesy concoction then plop a slice onto a plate.
“Nuh-uh, I eat meat.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “I mean not like that.” A heavy blush floods her cheeks. “That sounded bad.”
I laugh and put the plate in front of her along with a bottle of water. “Sounds like you’ve been hanging out with your roommate for too long.” Grabbing a protein shake I made earlier, I take the seat next to Mac at the island.
“Surprisingly, no, it’s been less than a year.” She bites into the pizza, and a soft moan slides from her lips.
I ignore the stirring in my gut at hearing the pleasure-laden sound. “How long have you been in Vegas?”
She freezes mid chew but starts up again and swallows. “Nine months. Give or take.”
“How did you end up with a girl like Trix for a roomie?” It seems like an odd pairing. Trix has been around, trolling the bars Ataxia plays at for as long as we’ve been playing. Trolling doesn’t seem like Mac’s style.
“When I moved here, I got a job as a bartender at Zeus’s.” She picks a string of cheese from her pizza and pops it in her mouth, and my eyes get stuck on how her full lips wrap around her fingertips.
I suppress a groan and give a non-committal “Mm-hm” for her to go on.
“I came to Vegas looking for something. Thought I’d find it at Zeus’s, but I was too late.” She shrugs and takes a bite, casual for someone who just dropped the kind of verbal mindbender she did.
“What were you looking for?” I have to know. I mean this girl doesn’t seem like the type with exotic-dancing wishes and showgirl dreams.
Swiveling in her barstool, she faces me head on. “You.”