Page 43

With rumpled hair.

And little tiny creases on one side of his face from the folds in his pillowcase.

“What’s going on?” He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it even more. The motion flexes his biceps, and my entire body reacts by breaking out into a head-to-toe sweat.

I open my mouth—whether to answer or gape, I don’t entirely know, but then the pounding resumes again, and it snaps my brain like an elastic—Wake up, dummy. Someone is here.

I run to the door and fling it open.

Harmony stands on the other side, eyes wide and hair rivaling Mackenzie’s.

“Oh, thank heavens,” she says when she sees me. “Come quick. I need your help.”

My body shifts into autopilot, altogether abandoning my brain and its rational questions like, What is happening here? And Where are we going? And Why isn’t Harmony wearing pants?

All my answers come when we reach her bathroom.

“I don’t know what happened,” she says. “I was just brushing my teeth, then poof! Niagara Falls.”

It isn’t quite Niagara Falls, but at the rate the pipe under her sink is spraying water into her tiny bathroom, she is not too far away from getting an indoor swimming pool.

“Whoa.” Mackenzie appears over my left shoulder.

I know I should be formulating a plan of action right now, but as he leans into the bathroom to get a better look, he braces his arms against the doorframe, putting his biceps right at eye level, and I somehow become fixated on the tiny smattering of three freckles right on the cutline of his muscle. They make the most perfect equilateral triangle and—

“Annalise—”

Mackenzie stares at me as if this isn’t the first time he’s said my name. “Toolbox? Do you know if you have an adjustable wrench?”

My brain reverses right out of wherever it was a moment ago and back to the task at hand. “I do. It’s in the closet. I can get it.”

He nods, and I run back out of Harmony’s place and into mine, where I find Larry’s old aluminum red toolbox at the back of the closet. I locate the adjustable wrench, then give myself a mental high five for knowing it’s the adjustable wrench before running back to the other apartment.

“Here she is!” Harmony yells as I appear in her doorway with the wrench held above my head as if it were an Olympic torch.

I leap past her to the bathroom, only stopping as I fully take in the scene before me. Mackenzie is on his knees. His gray sweatpants are drenched and clingy. His hair is soaked and slicked back as if he’s just pushed it from his eyes, and there are droplets of water running down his chest.

It is straight out of a romantic fantasy.

Or maybe a porno.

I guess the distinction lies in what happens next.

He holds out his hand and takes the wrench. His other hand retracts enough for me to see that he’s also holding a flashlight.

“Any chance you can hold the beam here?” He shows me where to aim the light and then hands it to me, but I can’t quite get the right angle from where I’m standing.

“Can you move a little to your left?” I say as I drop to my knees beside him, drenching my sweatpants. He scootches over enough so I can see inside.

“Yeah. Right there.” His thighs press against mine as he leans forward. “You got it.” He shifts so his entire upper body is inside the vanity. It requires me to brace my non-flashlight-holding hand against his back to hold the correct position.

His back flexes under my fingertips.

My rational brain knows this is a motor response to the task at hand, but the rest of me wants to slide my hand down his back and feel the strength of each and every muscle.

I don’t know what is wrong with me.

It’s as if last night reworked my brain.