Page 72 of The Games We Play
I exhaled slowly, dragging myself back from the edge of that thought. My gaze drifted to his face, familiar in every way that still made my chest ache. I studied him like I had so many times before. The subtle dusting of hair above his upper lip was new and maddeningly attractive. The faint freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, the ones I used to trace with my fingertips, still made my stomach flip.
“Sorry,” I said, forcing a casual tone as I leaned back on my stool, putting some distance between us. It was the only way to quiet the fire that had been lit low in my belly. “I got a little distracted. I was picturing you… worshipping me.”
He didn’t flinch. Instead, Mac stood up straighter, arms folding over his chest, sleeves bunching against his tattooed arms. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was dissecting every word.
“Is that what you need from me?” he asked, voice cool but laced with something darker. “Would that help fix this? Because I saw you out there on that dance floor. You were putting on a show for me, and you know it.”
I let out a low chuckle, dragging my tongue across the edge of my canine before smirking. “I just needed to remind you what you’re missing. That’s all.”
“Oh, Pen,” Mac said, almost like a breath. “You don’t need to remind me. I know exactly what I lost.”
That line andthatlook—the one where his eyes darkened, his lips turned up into a smirk—hit me low and hot. It wasn’tjust what he said. It was the way his eyes dropped, lingering shamelessly over my chest, letting the memory of me soak in like he was starving for it. It was the way he looked at me, like he wanted to devour me and remember what it felt like to be full.
This was the Mac I remembered—the flirty, cocky charmer with a laugh like sin and a smirk that could undo me in seconds. That was the version that pulled me in, but it wasn’t the one that made me stay.
That’s what I was waiting to see now. How far was he willing to go—not just to flirt, but to fight?
“I’m not letting you off that easy,” I said, folding my arms across my chest in a move that matched his own.
His smirk deepened. “Then why don’t you stay past closing tonight?” he asked, casually pulling a cigarette from his back pocket. “Keep me company while I clean up.”
I paused.
Was this a setup? Some carefully orchestrated plan to reel me in, only to pull me straight back into his bed? Because if that’s what he thought… he had another thing coming.
I studied him sideways, arms still folded, guarded. Measuring.
He laughed, warm and unbothered. “Relax, Pen,” he said. “I’m not gonna try anything. I just want a little more time with you. That’s it. Then I’ll walk you home.”
The offer sat between us, tempting.
I had the day off tomorrow. Time wasn’t the issue. Willpower was.
I wanted to believe that this wasn’t a trap. That he just wanted to be near me again.
If I ever wanted things to find their way back to something real, trust was the first step, even if it wasn’t yet fully deserved.
“Okay,” I said at last, letting my posture soften. Mac’s smile bloomed instantly—wide and boyish, like he’d won something big.
I lifted one hand, stopping him with a raised brow. “One condition.”
“Hit me,” he said, eyes dancing.
“You have to make me that popcorn.”
His grin turned into a full-on laugh. “Penelope, I’ll make you ten bags of popcorn if it means you’ll hang out with me a little longer.”
I waited for him to shake on it. If I was going to risk staying late with him, I was damn sure getting a snack out of it.
The popcorn—seasoned with whatever black magic he worked in the kitchen—was addictive. The number of bags I’d inhaled when we were… us? Borderline shameful.
Mac’s hand landed in mine, his warm skin heated up every one of my nerves. He squeezed gently before leaning down and bringing the back of my hand to his lips, placing a kiss, his eyes still locked on mine.
The butterflies in my stomach betrayed me, fluttering and swirling as they tickled.
“Mac!” Dudley’s voice called across the bar.
He pulled back and took a few.
