Page 47 of Forged By Sacrifice

DANIELLA: Come to happy hour.

ME: Really, thanks, but no.

DANIELLA: I swear my brother doesn’t bite, no matter what your impression of him is.

Jesus. The thought of Mac biting was enough to turn my body into a quivering mass of melted marshmallow. Biting…nibbling. The things that had me waking up from my dreams in sweats for weeks.

ME: I’m not afraid of Mac.

DANIELLA: I think you’re both afraid of each other.

It was the frank way Dani had about her that I’d come to adore in the few short weeks that I’d known her. But it was also terrifying that she had read the situation between Mac and me so easily the night before. Unless Mac had talked to her about me, which just made me curious if he had and what he’d said.

ME: I’m going now. Have fun. I’ll see you later.

? ? ?

I was just heading downstairs to fill my water bottle, when I heard them come home. I sank back down on the bed. I had purposely turned off every light in the apartment, except the one over the stove, in order to make them think I’d gone to bed early. I was such a chicken. I was hiding, and I hated it. It wasn’t my normal mode of operation at all. But I didn’t want to talk with either of them, because they were both too good at reading what went on inside of me.

They were quiet, talking back and forth, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I thought I heard my name but wasn’t sure. Once the apartment got quiet, I went downstairs. I filled my bottle at the dispenser and then turned to find Mac standing there.

I gave a little yelp because he’d walked up so quietly. I placed my hand to my chest. It was pounding an erratic beat that had way more to do with his naked chest than the fact that he’d startled me. Below his naked torso, he had on a pair of pajama bottoms. They were slung low on his hips, perfect for tugging down; perfect for everything I knew I could have with him. Back in Rockport, I’d rated him as a ten, and now he looked all ten of those stars and more.

“Sorry,” he said with a smirk that belied his words.

I made to move past him. “Well, goodnight.”

He put a hand out and stopped me. His hand on my bare skin. He eyed me up and down, and I realized that I was in my sleep shorts and a tank and nothing else. It wasn’t anything less than the bikini he’d seen me in earlier this summer, but somehow, this was more intimate?both of us in pajamas. It spoke of beds and kisses even more than swimwear did.

“Do you need me to come with you to see the professor next time?” he asked.

“No, he’s not anything I can’t handle.” It was the truth. Even if it meant getting kicked out, I knew how to handle men like Professor Collins.

But there was something about his offer that tugged at the little girl in me. Ever since my grandma had died, I’d sort of handled everything in my life on my own. The burial. The estate. Mom and Petya had offered advice from Russia, Dad had been allowed a small visitation for the funeral, and the rest I’d done solo. I was used to it.

As if reading my mind, Mac said, “You don’t have to handle it alone, though.”

He hadn’t removed his hand from my arm, and now his thumb was circling on the inside of my wrist, causing sensations that were like water running down a stream toward a lake, building up into something bigger as it rolled along.

“He’s definitely a slime bucket, and I’ll try to carefully warn the women in my class about him, but it’s going to be fine.”

We stared at each other, the space between us so small that, with a tiny step, I could have brushed my lips against his. Could have tested the results from our first go around. Would it feel like all the stars had lit me up like it did the first time? My eyes drifted to his lips, and when I looked back at his eyes, I expected to see him grinning at my slip, but instead, his eyes were dark pools in the ambient light of the apartment with the electronics and the lights of the city streaming in the windows.

“I feel like fate is trying to tell us something,” Mac said quietly, the deepness of his voice accented by his attempt at a whisper.

“You’re reading way too much into all of this.”

“Am I? In a city of nearly eight hundred thousand people, you ended up in my apartment. I don’t think enough can be read into it.”

His hand had journeyed up from my wrist, skirting the inside of my elbow before continuing a slow dance up to my shoulder.

“Do you want me to move?” I asked, and his hand froze before he pulled it back to rest on the counter.

“No.” It was guttural and chopped. “Why would you say that?”

“You ran from Rockport because of me. Now I’m here. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Georgie, uncomfortable is the last thing you make me.”

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