“And I thought we established that we are no longer enemies, and as such, it only makes sense that I make sure you get home safely.”
“You’re already making me regret this truce,” I warn him.
“Secretly, I think you like that I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Secretly, I think you’re delusional,” I fire back, hating that a part of him is right, even if I’d never admit it out loud.
I’m prepared for a smart-ass retort. What I’m not prepared for is his rich laughter that filters through the air like the most beautiful and melodic song I’ve ever heard. It nearly stops me in my tracks, the sound of it. In the two years I’ve known Mac, I can’t say I’ve ever heard him laugh—at least not like this.
“I think I’m going to like this non-friendship, friendship,” he says after a long moment.
“That makes one of us,” I mutter under my breath loud enough that I know he hears it.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else and we make the remainder of the walk back in silence. It’s not as awkward as I would have expected, but it’s certainly not comfortable either. And by the time we reach my building a few short minutes later, I practically sprint inside with no more than a wave over my shoulder, desperate to escape his presence.
Despite everything, as I make my way up to my room, I can’t help but smile to myself. A smile I quickly shake away, cursing at myself for my foolishness.
Macallan Stewart is not one to be trusted. I would do well to remember that.
