Page 19 of Make Me Want it Too

“I know.”

“Okay,” she says, almost in a whisper.

“That’s a yes?”

“Yes,” she says louder this time. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 5

MACY

My fingers shake as I test my blood sugar levels—and it’s not because of the stupid finger prick.

It feels weird, getting ready for bed in Wood’s bathroom, the one off his room instead of the guest bathroom off the hall. He has his shaving cream and hair gel out on the white concrete counter, but it’s pushed tidily into the corner. The sink is clean, no little hair shavings. Don’t know why that surprises me. And the whole room faintly smells of his cologne. Or maybe it’s his bodywash. I like the smell.

I’m being silly.

This whole thing is silly. Right?

Right.

Totally.

I shouldn’t have agreed to this little scheme. I should just go out there and tell him I’ve changed my mind.

No one will believe us anyway. I mean, Wood is literally a ten. He’s charismatic. He can get any woman he wants, and he does. Why would he be with me? I’m quiet and nerdy. I’m a six. Maybe a seven if I put some effort into it.

Staring in the mirror, all I see is pale skin covered in freckles and frizzy red hair I can never tame. Both sources of endless teasing growing up. The ratty old sleep shorts and giant Garfield T-shirt I’ve had since high school that says ‘I hate Mondays’ really complete the look.

I’m convinced that Wood would never in a million years date me. I’ve seen the girls he goes out with. Nothing below a nine.

I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth and now there’s nothing to do but go out there and tell Wood this was a bad idea. And then I will go to the wedding…dumped and alone. With Spencer and his family there…all week.

Fudge.

I don’t know if I can do this thing with Wood. But doing that—going alone and sad—that sounds worse.

I point at myself in the mirror and puff up my chest. “You can do this.”

You can do this.

I close my eyes and exhale as I open the door to Wood’s room, where he’s waiting for me in his bed.

I can’t do this.

But when I open my eyes, he isn’t sitting in his bed, topless like I’d imagined for whatever reason—we’ll dissect that later. No, he’s making the bed with new sheets. And on the floor is a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows.

“What is this?”

He looks up at me with a lopsided smile. “Making the bed for you. I want you to be comfortable.”

“No, I mean…” I gesture to the blankets on the floor.

“That’s where I’ll be sleeping.”

“Oh. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nah, I can sleep anywhere.”

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