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“You just lost a huge amount of cash,” Mr. Angry turned his glare on Maggie. Mac stepped in front of her to block the other man’s view. “I’ll be back next week when your scrawny ass is out of a job.”
That was laughable. Gary would have been the first to remove self-entitled, self-important Mr. Bigot. And he definitely wouldn’t fire either her or Shay for defending themselves. Gary did not subscribe to the notion that the customer was always right.
Mac growled. At least Maggie was pretty sure it was a growl. She’d never heard one in real life. She always thought it was something romance readers just expected from broody alpha lovers, even as it defied all laws of human nature. The sound came from deep in his chest. His lips twisted together as he stared at the other man. It was thrilling, seeing staid Mac come undone like this. She could almost see him girding himself for battle like Aragorn brandishing his longsword as he faced down an army of the Uruk Hai during the skirmish of Amon Hen. Maggie pressed her thighs together behind the counter, desperate to relieve the sudden ache pulsing through her core.
“Whatever the fuck he wanted you to find—” Mac turned his head to speak to her over the slope of his shoulder. “I’m buying it.”
“You can’t do that,” the asshole said at the same time Maggie said, “Mac, that action figure costs several hundred dollars.”
“I’ll take it,” Mac said to Maggie. To the other man, he said, “You don’t need to come back. Ever.”
With an exaggerated sigh, the other man turned toward the exit and left the shop, the bell clanging as the door closed behind him. Mac turned to face her, the two feet of counter all that separated his heaving chest from her own.
“Go get whatever it is I’m buying, Maggie.” He straightened the canvas bag he wore draped across his shoulder, refusing to look at her.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I do.”
Maggie rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the smile that creased her cheeks as she left the counter and headed down the aisle where they kept the Power Rangers stock. Her hand tingled from where Mac had wrapped his fingers around hers. To dispel the feeling, she let her fingertips glide over the corners and edges of the boxes and books on the shelves. It did nothing to help the flutters in her belly or the watery weakness in her knees. Or the fire that his fury had set to her blood.
Her extensive research in the world of romance novels told her she was experiencing either attraction or capital F feelings. Except that it was Mac who had caused them, and she barely knew him. She was just reacting to what he’d said and done, siding with her in front of the other man. It had been a scene straight from a book. Mac could have been a complete stranger and she still would’ve reacted to what he said and the way he’d slammed his hand down on the counter. The way he demanded respect for Shay. For her.
She’d just re-write the scene with Dean as the defender, that was all.
Shay was sitting back against the shelves just to the right of the Power Rangers’ displays. Their head was bent over a comic book, but their eyes didn’t move along the page.
“I like your skirt today,” Maggie said. “You look cute as hell.” She stretched up towards the boxes on the shelf above her head.
“Thanks.” Shay held the book open against their raised knees.
Maggie pulled a box down, checked the label and pushed it back up onto the shelf. She had to stand on the very tips of her toes and still barely got her fingertips on the boxes. Maggie didn’t mind her size, but she also didn’t want to go hunt down the step stool.
“He wanted the Megazord.” Shay set their book to the side before standing up. “Here, I’ll grab it.” They snagged the box of the vintage figure and handed it to Maggie. “The idiot didn’t even look for it.”
The green box had the name MEGAZORD spelled out in giant yellow letters. A picture of a wide chested cyborg dressed in red, with two horn-like protrusions on either side of its head, stared up at Maggie. Unlike newer action figures with plastic windows in the cardboard, this box from the early nineties only had a picture that hinted at the toy—a collector’s item—inside.
“I swear it’s not for him.” Maggie turned the box over in her hands, searching for blemishes. “I refused to sell it to him after what he said. It’s for Mac.”
“Thank you.” Shay’s smile was small, but noticeable. “I know Gary understands and backs me one hundred percent, but I didn’t feel like engaging today. Not after he misgendered me.”
“Don’t thank me.” Maggie reached out a hand to pat Shay’s shoulder. If they didn’t shudder and pretend to retch every time Maggie swooped in for a hug, she’d have put her arms around her friend. Not everyone was a hugger, and Maggie could respect that.
“I heard you correct him.”
“Correcting asshats on your pronouns is the least I can do,” Maggie said. “It’s the bare minimum. Even when you aren’t standing right there, Shay.”
Shay looked away from Maggie, but the quick blinks belied the tears they were trying to contain.
“I know how confrontation makes you anxious,” Shay said.
“It doesn’t matter. Not like you do. I love you, idiot.” Maggie tucked the box under her arm and made her way back to the front of the store.
Mac was leaning against the counter, thumbing through an Archie comic from the front display. His customary dark jeans cupped his ass, but they weren’t tight. Mac had rolled the cuffs up a few times to stop them from dragging on the ground. He wore a heather gray sweater despite the warm weather. Mac almost always wore sweaters, especially on days he had class, and he wore long sleeves for working in the forge. It wasn’t fair to think about him in his forge, sweating and swinging a heavy hammer, muscles bunching as he moved long pieces of heavy steel. The flutters and tingles returned with a vengeance.
His dark hair was on the wrong side of a haircut and sticking out in every direction as though he’d shoved his hands through it a few times while waiting for her. He stood angled just enough that Maggie could see the short beard he wore clipped close to his cheeks and chin. Large eyes, down-turned at the outer corner, the color of rich soil, were ringed by the thickest lashes Maggie had ever seen. He was nothing like the golden-haired, sunny Dean, but it seemed like maybe her body didn’t care. Maggie couldn’t deny there was a reason romance readers loved a good grumpy, dark-haired hero.
Mac must have heard her coming, because he put the book down and turned to face her. A tiny smile tipped up the corner of his full lips before he let his typical scowl take over.
