Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
My morals are on board, but my heart doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. It is a swirling mess of confusion.
After kicking down the toilet lid, I sit before gently tugging Macy to my half of the bathroom. Her shirt is already bunched under her boobs, so I notch down the waistband of her pants until they sit as low as the tiny bow on her cotton panties.
She watches me under lowered lashes when I drench the cloth with the tea tree oil before I apply it to the residue left behind from the tape she already removed.
The scent of the oil is sharp and clean, almost medicinal. It reminds me of childhood scrapes and my mother’s gentle hands when she fixed my boo-boos.
This is nothing like that.
I shouldn’t be surprised. This is happening with Macy, and everything feels different with her.
Even my response to Cameron pretending she doesn’t know who I am.
I should be angrier, more hurt. But for some strange reason, I’m relieved. Not a lot, but definitely enough to take notice. I’ve carried the burden of Cameron’s disappearance for many years. I didn’t realize how freeing it would be to lose some of that weight.
After removing the leftover glue, I shift my focus to the tape still hugging Macy’s stomach. I press the cloth to the edge before slowly coercing it away from her skin, mindful not to tug.
Air whistles between Macy’s teeth when my thumb brushes under the adhesive. “Sorry. I’m not meaning to hurt you. It’s just a stubborn fuck. Like someone else I know.”
When she sucks in a sharp breath, I glance up. The gleam in her eyes tells me she knows who I was referencing. It wasn’t Cameron. It is the stubbornly beautiful woman who can make me as furious as easily as she can calm me.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she answers, her voice tight. “The oil is a little cold.”
I nod. We both know that’s not the issue. It’s knowing I shouldn’t be doing this, nor should I want to, but I’d rather saw off my arm than walk away from this woman when she needs me.
I’d rather die.
As I continue to work, the current running between us becomes more tangible and dangerous. It hisses and cracks loud enough for our neighbors to hear, but Macy tries to squash it like a roach. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice.” Before her mind can run away on her, I remind her that I wasn’t always an agent. “Darcy used to get into everything as a kid. Bandages, stickers…”—my laugh rumbles throughout the bathroom—“Gorilla Glue.” In a flash, our eyes meet and hold. “This is nothing compared to a jar of Gorilla Glue being mistaken for hair gel.”
Macy laughs, the delicate trickle calming some of the unease still bristling between us.
I undo all her efforts when my fingertips flutter against the skin beneath her swollen stomach. The air grows tense once more, though not in the same way as before. The tension is sexually charged and not at all one-sided. It is clear now that guilt no longer weighs down my decisions. Confusion does.
After clearing my throat, I focus on the last section of tape. There is too much murkiness swamping us to expect anything decent to come out of the carnage, so I need to listen to my head instead of my heart.
Although it’s nearly impossible with Macy, I’ll try my best.
“Almost done.”
Macy nods but remains quiet. Her eyes are on me, and the longer she stares, the more heated her skin under my hands becomes. I should say something, anything, to break the spell, but the words stick in my throat as well as the last section of tape sticks to Macy’s stomach.
I need time to think and sort through the mess. But I’d also give anything not to leave this bathroom for at least a month.
How the fuck is it possible to have such contrasting emotions?
This isn’t how Cameron’s reappearance was meant to go. She was supposed to run into my arms, where I’d promise again and again that I would never let anyone hurt her.
This could hurt her.
The reminder is the only reason I’m keeping things professional. Macy is my coworker and friend. That is all she is.
Ignoring the screamed denial ripping through my head, I pick at the tape with more aggression than I’ve used previously. It finally comes away, but not without protest. A red welt spreads from one side of her stomach to the other. Before I can warn myself against it, I run my palm over the angry mark, soothing its irritation.
“Sorry,” I say again when Macy’s shocked hiss breaks through the pounding of my pulse in my ears. Even though I apologize, I don’t move my hand. I can’t. “I—”
“Don’t,” she whispers as she places her hand over mine, holding it there.