She slammed the little glass down, and slurred slightly, “Never have I ever had sex in a strange location.”
“Really? Not once?” Well, that was just…sad. He and Ally had gone through a phase where the whole idea of doing it somewhere where they could get caught was exciting. Man, he hadn’t thought about this stuff in a long time. He’d forgotten…
Hell.
He snorted softly and lifted his gaze to Gayle, realization dawning once again.
She gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re onto my game, aren’t you, handsome?”
Awe filled him. She’d made him think of the good—remember the good. “You really do play dirty.”
She gave him a smug look, then her mood switched to a very unlike-Gayle seriousness. “The past isn’t all bad, Mac. You can’t repress the good memories and focus only on the bad. When is the last time you thought about your wife with a good memory?”
The question stunned him silent for a moment. “How do you—”
“I’ve lost people I love, too, remember?” she interrupted.
Yes, she had. “A very long time. How did you know what to say to trigger the memories?”
She shrugged. “The streaking, I gambled on. You just seem like you would’ve been the type. I was wrong about the bridal show. Thought since you’d been married, you’d been dragged to one. The other two I just kept the subject broad enough so almost anything could fall under it.”
“We eloped, ran off to Vegas. Got married by Elvis.” Another smile came to his face. Damn. It felt awesome to think about her without fighting. To actually smile as a good memory came to the surface instead of allowing the bad to dominate his mind. He returned his attention to Gayle. “The sex one. Were you being serious about that?”
“Oh, definitely.” His jaw dropped, but she swayed forward, an impish smile curving her lips. “It just depends on your definition of ‘strange location’.” She winked. Then she jumped off the stool. “I love this song!”
The song was Bruno Mars’ Runaway Baby. Mac watched her dance around like a Muppet. The warmth he’d felt revisiting memories of his wife filled him again while watching Gayle. She really was amazing. Warm. Caring. Forgiving. Why hadn’t some man snatched her up? Were they all idiots in this state?
In the field she was in, there had to be a lot of guys who were thrill-seekers like her, who wouldn’t hesitate to jump in an SUV and race straight into a hell that included flying houses and raining farm equipment, as though it was a bright sunny day.
Why did it bother him thinking of Gayle being with someone like that?
He had no future with her. He would never live in Kansas again. She would never leave. And the idea of being involved with a woman who willingly sought out the thing that had destroyed his life—it was incomprehensible. He would never open himself up to allowing a tornado to destroy him a second time.
No, making sure to keep Gayle firmly in the friend zone was the only way it could ever be between them.
Sudden brightness behind Gayle’s eyelids made her stir. Something tightened around her waist, bringing her closer to a hard wall. Blinking open her eyes, she winced against the dull ache in her temples and the cotton of her mouth. Damn vodka. She’d do it again in a heartbeat, though, if it brought back the softness that had relaxed Mac’s typically stern face. Giving him that had meant a lot to her. He’d spent so long dwelling on the bad. He needed to remember the good.
Lifting her head, she studied the broad chest she was using as a pillow. Lord, when had she fallen asleep? She was such a damn lightweight, and doing that many shots back-to-back had hit her like a ton of bricks. She remembered dancing, the liquor scolding her for it, and running to the bathroom before she lost it right there in the kitchen.
She closed her eyes. Well, at least Mac had been distracted.
As she started to sit up, a squeeze on her hand stopped her. Her gaze shot to where it lay on his chest with his hand covering hers. She surveyed their positions. He was sitting up, with his head leaned back against the cushion, while she was nestled under his arm, his palm resting on the swell of her hip. How was she supposed to get up without waking him?
Slowly she slid her hand out from under his. Swinging her legs over the side of the couch, she eased to the edge and watched him. The urge to caress the stubbled cheeks was almost overwhelming, but she kept her hands to herself.
She’d almost not come to the house, had almost turned back, uncertain for the first time about what she should or shouldn’t do when it came to him. The skies opening up had pushed her forward. When he answered the door, his face had been alarmingly pale, his eyes haunted.
If he’d been here alone…
She shook herself. She didn’t even want to think about how this house would’ve ended up.
A crash of thunder shook the house. Even in his sleep, Mac’s body tensed and he mumbled, “No.”