Page 92 of The Games We Play
Finally, when the lights were off and the doors locked, he still stayed until I was safely inside my apartment.
It was getting harder to hold onto my no-shits-given attitude—harder still to keep Mac guessing. Because the truth was, itwasworking. Every gesture, every look, every shift was pulling me in all over again, and I wasn’t sure what that said about me.
Maybe I was weak.
Maybe I was pathetic for letting the gravity of him affect me so soon.
But the part that got me the most? It didn’t feel forced. His attempts, his charm, his presence weren’t manufactured or manipulative. It was like we’d fallen back into a rhythm that had always been there, waiting. Effortless. Familiar. And soaked in that spark we used to callus.
The teasing banter. The way we orbited around each other like planets tugged by an invisible thread. It all felt natural again. Dangerous, but natural.
Yet, six months wasn’t nearly enough time to fully get to know someone like Mac Ridley. We’d only scratched the surface of each other. Deep inside, there was this part of me—dormant, now awakened—that wanted to know more. Craved it.
That’s how I knew my defenses were crumbling.
It wasn’t just about attraction anymore, though that still burned hot and wild between us. No, I wanted more. I wanted the pieces of Mac he didn’t give easily. The layers he kept tucked behind those sharp eyes and that crooked smile.
My tote bag bounced lightly against my hip as I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and kept moving forward, heart thudding in my chest with each step.
I wore a thin-strapped sundress, one that brushed just below my knees with soft, flowing fabric that caught the breeze. My hair was curled in loose beachy waves down my back, my sandals clicking softly against the concrete.
But this wasn’t just a dress.
This dress had history.
A smile played at the corners of my mouth as my hand ran absently down the front of the fabric. This was my statement. My answer to all the teasing, the tension, the way he’d been testing my limits.
I wanted him to see this dress and remember. Remember the way I’d worn it for him—here, in his bar. More specifically, the day in his back office, ruining me with nothing but his hands, his mouth, and his...
The smile deepened into something darker, something electric, and I bit my lip as the memory took hold.
My body flushed with heat, my thoughts unraveling into want. My skin buzzed with the idea of him and all the ways he used to touch me,worshipme.
God, I missed it.
The way Mac had always made me feel like the only woman in the world, like my body was a gift he never got tired of unwrapping.
And right now?
I wanted to feel that again. I wantedhim.
Country music spilled into my ears the second I stepped through the door, wrapping around me like a familiar hug. Locals perched at the bar, low voices rumbling in conversation, and a few couples swayed lazily on the dance floor. Midweek meant things were slow.
My gaze swept to the right, then the left, and landed on him.
Mac was behind the bar, and as if he’d felt me before he saw me, his head snapped up the moment I stepped in. His lips curved into a slow smile, and he gave me a small nod, one that saidcome here…like I wouldn’t. Like I hadn’t already been halfway across the room after catching a glimpse of him.
I made my way over, my shoes clicking softly on the hardwood floor. When I reached the bar, I leaned slightly over the surface. Mac mirrored me, pushing up on his hands and leaning forward. His forearms flexed under his weight, veins prominent beneath the swirling black ink of his tattoos.
God help me.
“Go ahead and bring your stuff to the office,” he said, voice low and casual. “It’ll be safe in there. No need to carry it around all night.”
“Carry it?” I arched a brow. “I planned on plopping myself on a stool and letting you feed me drinks until close.”
Mac’s smile deepened, the dusting of hair above his lip curling with it. “Still, put it back there anyway. I’d hate for anything to happen to it.”
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Sure thing, Dad.”
