Page 91 of Make Me Want it Too

“We need to have a girls’ night so you can give me the details. When I get back from the honeymoon? I don’t even know how you two hooked up. I want the story. Like, did he finally confess how he’s been pining over you for the last six years?”

“What? No.” I scrunch up my face. “That’s ridiculous. He hasn’t.”

Bex tilts her head. “Huh. I guess I never confirmed, but I always thought he had a thing for you.”

“Really?” The idea is absurd. Wood. Pining over me? No. No way. But my chest tightens at the thought. I wish it were true.

Bex’s face lights up. “Oh! Also, I need to know his birthday, where he was born, and what time. It’s critical.”

I nod and smile and Bex keeps sipping down. Blissfully buzzed.

I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal to me—sleeping with Wood. But it was.

The way we were together, the way he treated me after—it was special. I felt special.

That familiar emptiness, the lonely feeling in my gut creeps back, the one I’d forgotten about the last couple of days since the breakup. And it’s telling me that I was wrong.

I’m silly and emotional.

Maybe Wood is simply that good in bed. Maybe he’s like that with everyone. Last night wasn’t more special to him than any other night with any other girl.

It wasn’t special.

And I’m not special.

CHAPTER 18

WOOD

She’s been in a weird mood all day since golfing. Quieter than normal. Not even trying to smile.

I’m in the bedroom getting ready for the rehearsal while she’s in the bathroom when there’s a crashing sound, like glass on tile, something breaking.

I rush in to find Macy on her knees, her bag and medical supplies spread around the bathroom floor.

She’s almost in tears and I immediately get down with her and start picking up the scattered syringes, lancet cartridges and alcohol wipes.

“I can do it myself, Wood. I don’t need your help,” she says, sniffing, not looking my way.

I pause, making sure my tone is soft. “I know you can do it yourself, Mace. But you don’t have to.”

She looks up at me, eyes glossy, chin beginning to quiver.

“Mace. What’s going on?”

“I don’t—it’s nothing.”

I scoop the rest of her things back into the bag and set it on the counter, then take both of her hands and help her up.

“Come here.” I sit on the bed, and she comes willingly onto my lap. “Tell me what’s up so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix everything.”

“But I’ll try.”

She looks at me for a moment with unshed tears and I want to hold her to my chest and keep her there and make everything better. I wish I could make everything better for her.

“Did you…” She glances toward the dresser. “Have you been putting the menus in that frame every day?”

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