MACKIE
We’ve been doingthis for almost two months now, but I still get that same jolt when I show up at his apartment. My body hasn’t quite adjusted to the fact that I’m allowed to be here. He’s waiting by the elevator when the doors open, which is so sweet I don’t even have time to come up with something witty before he wraps his arms around me. He lifts me off the ground, squeezing me in a hug that makes my ribs creak.
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, trying to catch my breath. “Put me down before someone sees us.”
We walk back to his door holding hands. The minute it shuts behind us I head for my spot on the kitchen counter. Shredder’s tank is glowing blue on the bookshelf, and game film is paused on the TV.
He leans against the opposite counter with his arms crossed, watching me. We’ve done this enough times now that the nervous energy should be gone, but it’s not. Every time I come over, there’s this moment where we just look at each other and no one moves first, as if we’re both waiting for the universe to give us permission.
“So have the guys let up about your secret family yet?”
“Rodriguez asked me at practice today if my wife’s name starts with a vowel. He’s narrowing it down.”
“Tell him it’s Olga. She’s very tall and she plays volleyball.” I swing my legs. “Are you going to come over here or are you going to stand against that counter like you’re waiting for a bus?”
He crosses the kitchen and steps between my knees. I lean forward into him letting my fingers trail through the shaggy hair at the back of his neck. He needs a haircut. I love the way it curls behind his ears, and I love the way he leans into my hand when I touch it—a slight, unconscious tilt toward my fingers that makes my chest ache with how unguarded it is.
“Hi,” I say as his hands settle on my thighs.
I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to kiss him simply because I can. His hands are on my waist, pressing his fingers into the strip of skin between my shirt and my jeans. He still does this every time, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here and still want this.
“Hey.” I catch his wrist gently. “You’re allowed.”
His breath hitches. “I know.”
He lifts me off the counter and carries me to the couch. The carefulness vanishes the second we sit down. His mouth moves to my neck. His hands are under my shirt, tracing the edge of my bra, his thumb dragging along the edge. I arch into him, reaching back to unhook it myself because I’m impatient and I want to feel him against me without any barriers.
He helps me pull my shirt and bra off together. His hands are on me immediately, his mouth drops to my chest, and I scrape my fingers through his hair the way I know he likes. He kisses a line down my stomach, along my ribs, over my hip bone. His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans. He pops the button and starts inching them down. This is new, everything we’ve done so far has been sweet and slow but mostly still clothed and now we’refinallygettingsomewhere.
“My dad’s going to invite you to our Christmas Eve party.”
He freezes, his fingers going still against my skin, I can feel his mouth warm against my stomach. He lifts his head slowly. The look on his face would be funny if I wasn’t absolutely horrified at myself.
“What did you just say?” he asks slowly.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It just came out.” My stupid, terrible, traitorous brain cannot be trusted to stay in one place for longer than thirty seconds. I was thinking about how good his mouth felt. Then I was thinking about the secret. Then I was thinking about how we’re going to have to be around my family, and then Christmas just materialized fully formed. My mouth opened before the rest of me could stop it.
“Mackie, what the hell.”
“I know, I know. I’m very aware of what was about to happen. Then my brain just—” I make a noise like an explosion. “I couldn’t stop it.”
He drops his forehead against my waist. I can feel him breathing against my skin slowly and deliberately, the way you breathe when you’re trying very hard not to panic.
“Your dad,” his voice is muffled against me. “You’re thinking about your dad right now.”
“Not in a weird way! He does this thing every year. The Christmas Eve party. He invites the younger guys with nowhere to go, some of the coaching staff, Barrett. It’s a whole production. You’re exactly who he’d invite because right now the team thinks you’re a lonely guy with a secret family in Canada.” I take a deep, frantic breath. “If he asks you, you need to say yes. I know the timing is insane, but once I think something I have to say it or?—”
“Mackie.”
“Yeah?”
“I need a minute.”
He sits back against the other end of the couch and runs bothhands down his face. I’m lying here with my bra off and my jeans half unzipped, and the mood is so dead it might need a funeral.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, sitting up and pulling my jeans back together. “I have the worst timing of any human alive.”
“That might actually be true.” He looks up at the ceiling. “So your dad is going to invite me to the party.”
