Page 44

I unplugged the wire that attached “Mackenzie” and “forbidden” and reinserted it into “possibility.”

Before I could ignore the overly handsome wannabe rock star walking around half naked in my apartment, now I can’t look away.

Mackenzie shifts, and the water sprays me hard in the chest. Within seconds, my entire body is soaking wet, everything except my mouth, which has gone completely dry at the sight of Mackenzie’s forearms as he clasps the wrench and begins to pull—abs flexing with every tug.

His last yank comes with a groan.

And although my body is aware that we are sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor, my associative priming has me thinking about what he sounds like in bed.

Arms flexing.

Drenched in sweat.

Giving me the same focused concentration he’s giving that pipe.

“Ahhh, there we go, nice and tight.” He pulls away from the sink, leans back, and rests his head on the wall.

He pushes his wet hair back with a laugh and sets the wrench down beside him. “For two people who were mostly winging it, we did a pretty great job.”

He holds out his hand. I clap mine on top, assuming this is a post-emergency high five, but when my palm meets his, he clasps my hand and squeezes.

It’s a friendly gesture. But the heat that zips up my arm to my core is far more than friendly and makes me grateful for the curtain of wet hair hiding my face, giving me a moment to recover from whatever that was.

“You two are my heroes,” Harmony calls from the hallway. She holds out two towels, which requires me to pry my hand away to grab them and pass one to Mackenzie.

“How bad are we talking about out there?” he asks, swiping at his face, then giving up and tossing it over his shoulder.

Harmony steps back into the hall. “Not so terrible. I managed to fashion a bit of a dam with my tablecloth. It held up surprisingly well, but I am going to see if Koko still has that shop vac she borrowed from Mr. Taylor after her party the other week. I think it will do the trick. Be right back.”

Harmony disappears, and a moment later, I hear the sound of her door opening and closing. Then the apartment gets quiet, making me aware of the even drip drip drip of the last of the water trickling off the pipe and the sound of Mackenzie’s labored breathing.

My eyes drop to his chest, watching it as it rises and falls, almost hypnotizing me. I manage to tear my eyes away in time to see his eyes drop to mine. I wonder if I, too, am breathing heavily, but as I look down, I realize it’s not my breathing that has drawn his attention.

I am not wearing a bra.

It’s usually the first thing I do when I get up in the morning. My T-shirts are well loved and therefore a little threadbare. They aren’t technically see-through, but at the right angle, they also don’t leave much to the imagination. But wet—I might as well be naked right now.

“Oh, god—”

I scramble to my feet, completely ignoring the inch of water on the tile floor. He pushes up from the wall as if my sudden movement has startled him to stand, too, but the moment I get my feet underneath me, they come right out from under me again.

I flail. My arms and legs shoot in four different directions as my life flashes in front of my eyes for the second time in twenty-four hours, and for the second time, two arms reach out and catch me seconds before my head cracks against the tile.

“Whoa. You all right?”

I peer up at a concerned Mackenzie leaning over me. My ass may have hit the ground with a hard thwack, but my head has landed on something soft.

I’m in his arms.

And my heart is beating so hard I am sure that if I look down right now, I will see it very clearly beating through my shirt because, let’s face it, that thin layer of material is serving no purpose at this moment.

“I think so.” I stare at him as he slowly lets my body down the last few inches but keeps my face cradled in his hands. “But I stand by my claim last night on predestination. Otherwise, I might need to start worrying that the universe has my number.”

He laughs. “Not while I’m around.” I notice that his thumb strokes the side of my cheek.

I’m staring up at his eyes, and he’s staring down at mine, and I’m getting that very same vibe that I was getting last night: There is something between us that is more than friends, more than roommates, even.

I want him to kiss me now. There is no wavering this time, no ifs, no buts. Although I could think of no place less sexy than Harmony’s bathroom floor, I am willing to forgo all ambiance to feel his lips on mine. My hands are clinging to his shoulders—still in their discombobulated death grip—and I have this urge to bring him closer to me and complete what we left unfinished on the couch.