I spot Mac’s outline in the darkness before I hear him. His arms are loaded up and I wish I could get up and help instead of laying here like a hot lump. My heart picks up its pace as he gets closer and I scramble for something clever to say. “Ahoy there,” I call.Ahoy there? Seriously?“Did you find everything you were looking for?”What am I, a cashier at Target now?
“Yup. I’ve got a few clothes, some bedding, the first aid kit, and best of all, a double magnum of vodka I forgot about.” He strides over to the lounge chair next to mine and sets everything down on it, then unzips the first aid kit and pulls out an ice pack. He squeezes and shakes it, then carefully places it on my ankle while I watch, completely mesmerized. I have never, in my life, felt so cared for by anyone, even my own mother. And here’s this gruff, grumpy guy doting on me like I’m made of very thin glass.
“How’s that feel?” he asks.
“Good. Well, cold, which is the whole point I suppose.” Oh my God, I’m officially rambling, which is what I do when I’m into a guy.
He gives me an amused look, then checks his watch. “We should leave that on for twenty minutes, then I’ll throw it in the freezer so it can be reused.”
“For a guy who hates planning things, you’re good at it,” I answer. There. That was better. I sounded strong with just a hint of flirt.
“I can do short term plans with the best of them,” he says. “Speaking of which, I’m going to make myself a vodka iced tea. Do you want one?”
“Yes, please. Make it strong and keep ‘em coming, barkeep.”
He salutes me, then says, “Your wish is my command.”
I gawk as he walks back into the house, making the door look small. My wish is his command. I like the soundof that. Well, sir, I wish you would ravage my body with your tongue.
I let my mind wander down that road until he returns, which is a huge mistake on account of the fact that I’m sure my cheeks are flushed and I’m wearing a very guilty expression. Thank God it’s so dark out.
He hands me the drink, our fingers brushing and sending a little thrill through my every muscle. “Thank you.”
“It could use some ice cubes, but it’ll get the job done,” he says, settling himself on the other lounge chair.
“And what job is that?” I ask, with a raised eyebrow.
“Helping us forget our troubles.”
“Ooh, I’ll drink to that,” I say, holding up my glass in his direction.
He’s about to take a sip, but stops so we can clink our glasses together. I give him a firm nod and say, “To forgetting our troubles.”
“To forgetting.”
I take a long, slow sip, testing out the drink. It’s strong and sweet, and I want to suck it back all in one go so I can shed my inhibitions and tell him all the things I want to do to him. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be drinking.
He takes a few sips, then places his glass down on the side table between our chairs. “I was thinking about the … umm, sleeping situation and I figured it would be best if I sleep out here,” he says. “Under the stars.”
Ack! That sentence was like a death blow to my girl junk. “I’d offer to sleep out here but I haven’t forgotten that you’re aman.”
Raising one eyebrow at me, he says, “I’m glad because that’s exactly what I am.”
Oh, believe me, I know it. I haven’t forgotten for one second. Getting all flustered, I say, “You know what I mean.”
“That I’m a chauvinist.”
“Hey, you’re the one who thinks of himself as an honorary boomer.”
“Fair,” he answers, having another sip of his drink.
We both lay back, quietly sipping our drinks, and after a few minutes, I feel a boozy calm come over me, as if all my worries are floating up into the night sky. Sitting up, I adjust the ice pack on my ankle then flop back against the chair again.
“Paige, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I answer, feeling all bubbly and warm.
“I’m curious—your goal is to be an ad executive, right?”
