Oh my God.
Needing to cool off, I reach for my water and nearly topple over the glass in my haste.
Smooth, Mackenzi. Real smooth.
“You okay over there?” Jagger asks, grinning around a bite of food.
“Fantastic,” I mutter.
Damon’s gaze flicks toward me again, and I swear to God he reads my thoughts. Every dirty, impure one that cycles through my brain, like a carousel of things that are never going to happen. When I can’t shut them off, it only makes me more flustered.
I focus on my plate for the rest of dinner, speaking only when absolutely necessary while my brain slowly self-destructs from one embarrassing thought at a time. By the time dinner finally ends, I’m exhausted from merely existing.
“I’m going upstairs,” I announce the second people start pushing back from the table.
My father barely glances up from his phone. “Stay inside the residence.”
“As opposed to my many escape options?”
“Mackenzi,” he admonishes
I lift both hands in surrender before this somehow becomes another lecture.
Damon stands as soon as I do, because apparently, my shadow is now six foot four and heavily tattooed. I feel him trailing behind me as we move through the hallways toward the staircase. His footsteps are quiet against polished marble floors, and my pulse keeps doing stupid things every time he gets too close.
This seriously cannot continue…
“Goodnight,” I blurt out too fast, practically fleeing when we reach my bedroom door.
His eyes hold mine for one lingering second. “Night, trouble.”
The nickname settles, warm and dangerous, low in my stomach.
I shut myself in my room immediately and lean against the door with a groan.
This is so bad.
The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sounds of security moving outside. I kick off my shoes and pad toward the windows, arms wrapped tightly around myself, while guilt slowly starts twisting in my chest. No matter how confusing things with Damon feel, I have a boyfriend.
Or, at least, I think I do.My stomach sinks at the thought.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and stare at the screen. Still nothing. At least fifteen text messages since I left campus still sit on read, and no missed calls. I’ve been trying to convince myself for days that he’s busy or overwhelmed, though I can’t help but think there’s something else going on. My thumb hovers over the screen, uncertain, before pressing his contact anyway. The phone rings several times before voicemail picks up. Again.
I swallow hard and force myself to speak after the beep.
“Hey… um.” My voice already sounds smaller than I want it to. “It’s me. Again.” I start pacing slowly. “I just…” I exhale shakily. “I wanted to make sure everything’s okay?”
Silence fills the room briefly, and I hate how insecure I sound.
“I know things are weird with us right now, and my dad’s security team is basically treating me like I’m in witness protection, but…” I laugh weakly. “You haven’t really returned any of my calls or texts since I left campus.” My throat tightens unexpectedly. “If you’re upset with me, or something, can you just tell me? I just feel like maybe I did something wrong, and I don’t know what it is.”
God, I hate this.
I sound so needy. I hate that being ignored makes me feel fourteen years old again, standing outside social circles I never quite fit into.
“Anyway…” I murmur. “Call me back when you can, okay?”
I hang up before I can say anything else stupid or humiliating. As the room falls silent again, instead of feelingbetter, I feel worse because the entire time I was leaving that voicemail, part of me was thinking about someone else entirely.
