Page 53 of Make Me Want it Too

“We’ve all been there. You don’t have to apologize.”

“Now you have to take care of me.” She’s looking down at each step, going slowly.

“I don’t mind taking care of you.” In fact, I love it.

About halfway up, she leans a little too far in the other direction, wobbling on the edge of the step. I grab her and pull her up against my side and put her arm over my shoulders.

“I’ve got you. Hold onto me.”

She leans into me, nuzzling her face into my chest with her eyes closed. “You smell good.” She giggles.

“Thank you.” I kind of like drunk Macy.

We finally get up the stairs, down the hall, and safely to our room.

I click the lock into place and when I turn around, Macy has her back to me. She looks at me over her shoulder as she pulls her hair forward off her back.

“Unzip me?” she asks sweetly.

I wasn’t prepared for how much more arousing unzipping her dress is than zipping it up. I pull it down, revealing more and more smooth skin. I try not to touch, not to linger. Not to count the number of freckles she has on her right shoulder blade.

Seven. She has seven freckles on her right shoulder blade.

“Thanks,” she says, smirking.

Is she smirking at me?

There’s something else, too—a look in her eye I’ve never seen from her before.

“Sure thing,” I say, then walk around to my side of the bed.

Then comes the distinct sound of her sequined dress hitting the floor.

What the fuck?

She always goes into the bathroom to change. She’s obviously not thinking straight and is quite inebriated, so I pretend I don’t hear anything and keep my back turned to her and find my sweats.

“Did I look pretty tonight?” she asks.

“Did I not tell you? You looked gorgeous, as always.” I quickly unbutton my shirt and undo my belt, undress to my boxers, then put on my sweats and a white T-shirt to wear to bed.

She’s still standing in the room, so I slide into bed carefully, making sure not to look in her direction so she can go get changed in private.

“I don’t wear my hair down very often. Does it look okay?”

I lay my head on the pillow and force my eyes closed. Why isn’t she going into the bathroom?

“Your hair is beautiful. I love it down or up.”

And then she lets out a sob. High-pitched and guttural—the kind I’d overhear in the middle of the night at my apartment after she and Spencer had first broken up. A sound I never want to hear her make again.

“Mace! What’s wrong?” I ask as I sit up, throwing the blankets off me.

She’s standing there, in a sheer black bra and a lacy black thong and holy fuck. I avert my eyes and look around the room for something.

“Fuck!” I get up and rip off my shirt as I go to her and cover her with it. “Here, put this on.”

She cries harder.

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