Page 51 of The Games We Play
Scoffing, I reached out, shaking her hand firmly. “You too, Miss Westgrove.”
14
PENNY
Unknown Number: I can’t stop thinking about you
Penny: Thanks… but who is this?
Unknown Number: Mac…
Penny: Ah, yes. I deleted your number
Unknown Number: Fairrr does this mean you’ll add it back?
Penny: Oh no way it’s a privilege to be saved in my phone.
Unknown Number: One day, you’ll save my number again… mark my words.
Penny: We’ll see about that
One of our employees called out sick this morning, which meant one thing—I was on front desk duty.
Not that I minded. It shook up my routine, gave me time to tackle tasks I didn’t get to often, and, best of all, put me in the perfect position to mingle.
Working the circ desk was where I got my start. My very first job was right here, checking books in and out, helping patrons find their way, and shelving returns when things were slow. The library wasn’t just a job to me; it was a calling. A place where stories lived, where knowledge was free, and where anyone could walk in and leave a little richer than when they arrived.
Sure, libraries housed books, but that was just the beginning. We had computers, programs, resources—but beyond the physical, we were a community. Faircloud’s library wasn’t just a building; it was a safe space.
Hell, it had been my safe space, too. Even on my worst days, even when I was drowning in stress, the library was the kind of stress that distracted me from the deeper, heavier things pressing down on me. The things I didn’t want to think about.
And today? I needed that distraction. More than ever.
It had been two days since Mac barged into my apartment and basically put us on lockdown. Like a soldier on a mission, he planted himself in my space and held his ground.
I had to give him credit—sitting at my table, barely speaking, just existing in my orbit for hours. That was dedication. It was a sliver of proof that maybe he really did regret what happened.
If I were being honest with myself, I knew Mac was sorry. My whole attitude after that night had shifted into something else entirely. Something more about proving a point than genuinely believing he didn’t care.
I was still hurt. That wasn’t going to change overnight. But it didn’t mean I couldn’t see how hard he was willing to try.
Before then, I was sure I’d never let him back in. His lack of effort had been abysmal, and I knew my worth. I wasn’t some girl who would sit around waiting for a man to figure out I was worth the work.
But clearly, Mac had gotten sick of waiting for me to come back around.
He wasn’t used to having to chase—he was always the one being chased. Women practically threw themselves at him, mesmerized by that cocky smirk and those unfairly good looks. One flash of that dimpled grin and poof—panties vanished like a damn magic trick.
That was where Mac and I had always been alike. We were both the ones people wanted.
Our relationship had been a game for us—push, pull, tease, retreat—until one of us would run out of energy to keep playing and either left or wanted something serious.
Unfortunately, we hadn’t gotten to that point.
But now? Oh, Mac was in for it.
I wasn’t about to make this easy on him.
Did I forgive him? Not entirely.
