“Shit,” Mac hisses.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” I grab the few napkins he brought back with him and without thinking start pressing them to his shirt, trying to soak up the extra liquid. I’m frantically dabbing, realizing his shirt is white and now it has this horrible coffee stain, and also that his shirt is white and now it’s sort of…see-through.Oh, fuck.
I pause and lift my eyes to meet Mac’s. He’s frozen and wears a half-shocked, half-amused expression.
“Sorry,” I whisper and hold out the damp napkins for him to finish cleaning himself off, because pressing my hands against his very firm…
Okay, that’s enough of that, Jessie.
“It’s fine. It’s totally fine,” he says, not sounding even a little bit mad. He takes the napkins from me and blots at his chest and stomach a few more times.
“Is there any on your laptop?” he asks, wadding up the napkins and tossing them on the table.
My voice is shaky, like I’m on the verge of tears, and I might be because now I’m so stressed I’m spilling coffee on people. “No, my laptop is fine. I’m so sorry.”
Mac puts his hands on my shoulders and gives me an intense stare, making sure I’m holding eye contact with him as he talks to me. “It’s okay. It will dry. Are you okay?”
“I just, um, I got deja vu and I was just trying to get rid of it. I’m—not going to apologize again.” I nod, and then he’s nodding with me, but a funny look crosses his face when I mention deja vu.
“What?” I ask.
He looks like he’s about to say something but shakes his head and releases me. He plucks at his wet shirt. “I probably should call it a night.”
Mac throws a hoodie on over his wet shirt, and we gather our things and walk out of the library together. Distant sounds of partying float toward us, deep basses and the occasional “woo” of a drunk girl. Save a few people wandering the campus, it’s as empty out here as it was inside the library.
“Can I walk you back to your dorm?” he asks.
“Even with your wet shirt? Don’t you want to go home and change?”
“It’s barely wet anymore.”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“I’m a gentleman,” he says. “It’s practically the law.”
“A scoundrel more like.”
“You like me because I’m a scoundrel.”
“Star Wars?”
A huge smile cracks and breaks open his entire face. “I’m surprised you recognized it.”
“Me? I’ve got nerd written all over me,” I say as we begin the walk to my dorm. “But you?Game of Thrones,Star Wars, your sourdough is named Frodo…”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, yeah. Hot, well-dressed guys don’t usually like nerd stuff.”
“First of all, that sentence was chock-full of stereotypes we should break down, and second of all, you think I’m hot?”
Oh, shit.I did say that. And out loud.
“I just meant…uh…”
“I know what you meant,” he says, teasing.
“No, it’s not like…”
