Page 52 of The Games We Play
Was I going to drag this out, have a little fun while he worked to win me back?
Oh, hell yeah.
I smiled to myself as I crouched down, reaching for the books stacked at the bottom of the rolling cart. My fingers brushed over the worn spines, my mind still lingering on Mac. I was eager—maybe too eager—to see what he’d come up with next.
Then, a throat cleared behind me.
The sound wasn’t just a polite little cough. No, it was the kind that demanded attention.
I shot up quickly, books clutched to my chest, my dress billowing around my legs as I spun to greet whoever was waiting.
“Hi! How can I help?—”
My words died in my throat.
Mac.
The same Mac who had been haunting my thoughts, standing right in front of the desk like he belonged there.
He was dressed in all black—a fitted tee to show off those tattooed arms, each one a patchwork of mismatched ink that I knew far too well.
My gaze dipped, memories rushing back of tracing those very designs with my fingertips, lying beside him in the dark, whispering about each of their meanings.
Spoiler alert: none of them meant a damn thing. Just random choices, impulsive decisions, and things he thought looked cool at the time.
I inhaled sharply.Get a grip, Penny.
“You,” I finished my sentence, forcing a bright, pleasant smile as I shifted my weight, popping a hip and tilting my head for effect.
Mac responded with that damn grin, the one that made my knees threaten to give out. And now, with the addition of the mustache he’d grown?
I was in trouble.
Deep,deeptrouble.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was still trying to play it cool, trying not to let my thoughts spiral into places they had no business going.
“Well, hello there, Penelope,” he said smoothly, setting a stack of books on the counter.
Penelope.
At the start of our relationship, Mac and I had been flipping through an old yearbook, laughing over bad haircuts and cringeworthy memories.
He saw my full name underneath a shockingly good middle school picture and had decided, right then and there, that helovedit.
Since then, I was either Pen, Penelope, or—on his most charming days—Trouble.
That one was my favorite.
“I’m checking out some books,” Mac said casually, drumming his fingers on the top of the pile.
I tilted my head, scanning the titles.
Then I froze.
There sat a rather large stack of romance.
Not just any romance books—myfavorites. Everything fromThe Notebookto the newer releases that were on my need-to-reread list.
