14. Macy

Chapter 14

Macy

A fter hours of sitting to work, walking to The BARnacle makes my legs feel warm and fluid again before sitting for dinner with Sarah. It's amazing how much stronger my muscles are now that I've started running daily.

I spot Sarah instantly, sitting at the bar and flirting with her husband. I immediately recognize the back of the person sitting beside her. As if he can feel my stare, he turns and meets my gaze.

When I approach them, Grayson's eyes sweep over me. I decided to wear something out of my comfort zone. A tight black mini skirt, black high-top Converse, and a fitted black top. I'm wearing the color he always wears.

I pull out the barstool beside Sarah and she wraps her arm around me in greeting. "You look hot," she says.

"I second that," Grayson says from the other side of her.

I lean forward so I can see him. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"Don't look too excited."

I grin at him, and the three of us make light conversation for a while. When Elliot returns to Grayson for the seventh time to talk and joke around, I realize that he probably invited him here. When Sarah saw Grayson sitting at the bar, she naturally sat beside him.

We place our orders and eat our greasy food. Once we finish, Sarah says to me, "Do you remember the boy you were in love with?"

I tilt my head.

"What was his name?" she says, snapping her fingers. "The one who lived next door to you? Remember?"

"Daniel." He was my best friend when I was five or six, but he moved away before I returned one summer.

Grayson sits up straighter, his eyes set on the TV.

Sarah laughs. "I remember one night after dinner at Tammy's, I found you outside all by yourself. You were focused on the sky, and when I asked what you were doing, you said you were waiting for a shooting star so you could wish to be his girlfriend."

We both laugh so hard, tears well up in the corners of my eyes. "He was probably my soulmate." I shake my head dramatically. "No wonder I have such shit luck with men."

Sarah pulls out her phone. "What was his last name?"

"I can't remember. Why?"

"I'm looking him up."

"He's probably married with kids." I think of my old best friend, how his hair would spill across his forehead after swimming. I never got a chance to say goodbye, and every night for weeks I wept in my bed.

I wonder where he ended up. I hope life has been kind to him. "I really did love that boy, though," I say quietly. "In the way a six-year-old can." I wonder what it would be like if he hadn't left.

Graysons eyes flash to mine, a divot between his brows.

"Maybe you can help us," Sarah says to him. "You live in Daniel's old house. Do you remember the family's last name you bought it from?"

"The previous owner was a single guy." He shrugs.

Sarah sighs. "Sorry, Macy. We'll never know where your soulmate ended up."

I try to remember that little boy, and imagine how he would look now, but I can't. My attention keeps snapping to Grayson, who I've caught watching me with deep intensity.

We move past the topic quickly, and the four of us bounce back and forth between easy conversation until the place is empty. We say our goodbyes once Elliot locks up The BARnacle.

It's only Grayson and I standing outside the restaurant. He glances at the parking lot, with only one car, then the empty bike rack. "You walked?"

I nod.

"Come on," he says, placing his hands in the front pocket of his jeans and sauntering to his car. When he sees that I'm not beside him, he faces me. "If you want to walk, then walk. But I'll be in my car right behind you."

I purse my lips together. "Creep."

"It isn't safe for you to walk at this hour. It's dark." He steps closer, eating away the distance between us. "Let me take you home."

His concern for my safety is warming. "Fine."

He opens the passenger door for me and is quiet when he pulls out of the lot and onto the road. His elbow is resting on the center console, his other hand holding the steering wheel loosely. We are silent the entire way home. I turn to him right as he's about to shut off the engine. I grab his hand and say, "Thank you again for what you did. You have no idea how much it means to me."

His eyes go to our hands, and he runs his thumb over my knuckles.

My skin breaks out into a chill. I suck in a quick breath when he brings the back of my hand to his warm lips. Eyes glued to mine, he flips my hand over and kisses my wrist. A gentle sound escapes my mouth on its own accord, and his eyes widen slightly.

He's grinning when he pulls my arm, causing me to fall into him. "Don't make sounds like that around me, Mace, because once I hear one, I'll want to coax all of them from you," he whispers.

"Is that a threat?" I hardly recognize my own voice. Lust pulls at my vocal cords in a way it never has before.

"It's a promise."

My blood runs ten degrees warmer from the heat of his stare. He leans his forehead against mine and I erase the distance between our lips without a second thought. He wastes zero time to reciprocate the kiss. My hands seem to have a mind of their own when they grip his shoulders like an anchor. His tongue brushes mine and I can't control the soft moan I make.

Suddenly, he's turning off the engine and then stepping out of the vehicle. Before I can catch my breath, the passenger door opens and he pulls me out of the car by my hands, then lifts me so I'm straddled around his waist. He holds me as if I weigh nothing, tightly gripping the underside of my thighs. He presses my back against the hard surface of his front door.

There's nothing kind about the way I take his lips in mine. My fingers slip through his soft hair and then firmly tug the roots. The idea of tormenting him as much as he's done to me since the moment we met is what fuels me to roll my hips against the hardest part of him. His groan answers me.

"Open the door." My voice is low and raspy.

His eyes are holding mine as he pushes me past the threshold. He sets me down on the closest surface, which happens to be his kitchen counter. Big hands frame my face, then he slowly trails one down the side of my neck, over my shoulder, his callouses scrape my arm until he's holding my hand. His gaze is tender, too kind. Suddenly I have no idea what to do. Unease settles in my body, and I think back to my previous sexual encounters, all of which were with Walter.

He never kissed me like this. His hands never explored my body beside the parts of me that benefited him. He never cared to ensure I was physically and mentally ready for him. He just took what he wanted.

I can feel it now, him pushing into me when I wasn't aroused. How it hurt more than felt good. I'd have sex with him because if I didn't want to, he'd scoff and make me feel bad.

He never looked into my eyes to know that they were filling with tears. I'd roll over when he was done. I remember the way it felt to mute my sobs, how much my stomach hurt from trying to contain my pain so he wouldn't hear.

A thumb swipes across my cheek, bringing me back to the present. Grayson towers over me, and his eyes are no longer glassing over in arousal. They're searching mine in concern. "What did I do? Did I hurt you?"

"No, you didn't do anything." I look away in embarrassment, but he hooks his finger beneath my chin, so my eyes are on him.

"Tell me," he pleads.

"I've never been touched like this before," I say, gauging his reaction. "It feels so nice . God, I can't believe I'm crying." He watches me intently, without any judgment, so I continue. "With Walter, this sort of thing was always just for him, so I've never actually been, I don't know— caressed , this way."

His jaw ticks and then he pulls me to him in such a kind embrace. It's easy to forget how much he once irritated me in this moment. After a few breaths, I'm not even sure who's holding who anymore.

"It's funny, you know? I'm a romance author, yet I've never experienced anything close to what I write, especially in that department." I laugh. "I don't think sex is as good as the movies and books make it seem."

He pulls out of our hug, pressing his hands against the counter so he's caging my hips. His head leans down, his eyes pooling with sympathy and pouring into mine. "If I were lucky enough to be with you, I'd make you feel so good. God, I'd worship you. I think with you it'd be better than the movies."

My breath catches from his words, and my pulse drops between my legs. "Lucky enough?"

"Yes," he breathes the words. "I'm lucky just hearing you laugh, Mace."

"Keep talking like that, and maybe you'll be lucky enough for other things." I nearly widen my eyes from my own words. I've never been like this with my ex, but Grayson makes me feel comfortable. Bold.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I nod.

He opens and closes his mouth, as though he's trying to find the right words. "Has anyone ever given you an orgasm?"

I reel back and my shocked eyes meet his curious ones. Heat is creeping up my neck and into my cheeks, but he is being genuine. I shake my head no.

His expression flashes with something I can't place. "Can I?"

" What? "

"Let me make you feel good." He cups my jaw carefully, his eyes darken. "It will be just for you."

My chest is rising and falling so drastically from his words, from the forwardness to his question. Emotions bubble to the surface as I recall all the ways Grayson has showed he cares . The way he handled my emotions with care the other night when I felt as though I'd drown in grief. How he slept on his couch just so I'd get a good night's sleep, and then pieced every broken piece of my grandparent's collection together. The way he held me moments ago, and how his touch is tentative yet new and exciting.

I twist the front of his shirt in my hands and pull his mouth to mine. His fingers trail up my arms and then get tangled in my hair. He groans into my mouth, and I hook my legs around his waist.

He lifts me up and I can feel us moving through his house, but my eyes are shut and our lips never part. He drops me and I land in the comfort of his bed. I bury my face in his comforter and inhale his manly scent. He's staring down at me with a look of adoration. He moves down to untie my sneakers and carefully remove them.

"I'm going to kiss anywhere you point." He lowers himself on top of me but doesn't place all his weight down. "Point," he encourages with a low voice.

I swallow, suddenly unsure of myself. I tap my cheek, and just as promised, he kisses the spot. I smile and touch my lips. He grins and kisses me delicately. I giggle when I bend my knees so I can reach my ankle.

Feeling slightly more confident now, I point to the places I really want his lips. The spot below my ear, my collarbone, the side of my stomach. The last one tickles, and I laugh. His answering smile is endearing, and his dimples make my stomach heat. I like that he put me in control of the situation, and how good it feels to show him exactly what I want.

My eyes never leave his when I reach for the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it up to my chest. He kisses above my bra like I directed him to, below it, above my navel, the top of my thigh where my skirt ends. He takes extra-long there, sucking the skin and then swiping his tongue across it. I can hardly catch my breath.

I feel myself getting hungrier and hungrier for what he promised me. I lift myself up on my knees and pull my shirt all the way off. I turn my back toward him, and his lips take their time exploring my spine. My voice is a broken whisper when I ask him to remove my bra.

He does so carefully, and then I slowly face him. The blue of his eyes is hardly visible behind his dilated pupils. I tap the tender peak and he takes no time laying me down. He kisses my nipple and it's pure bliss. He uses his tongue and I've never felt more alive in my entire life. I cry out, and he grins up at me as he squeezes my other breast.

He takes his time in all the places that make me moan. His lips are music against my skin and his hands are a dance. He squeezes my hips pleasantly hard.

"My skirt," I whisper. "You can take off my skirt."

He blows out a steady breath. "Yes, ma'am." He wastes zero time pulling the tight fabric down my legs. He removes my socks and I feel delightfully exposed in only my underwear. He's fully clothed. Something about the sinful contrast makes it much hotter.

He's still for a moment, then I feel his fingertips trailing along my hip bone. "What's this?"

I look down at the spot he's focused on. My tattoo. "It's a sand dollar."

His eyes flit to mine. "Why a sand dollar?"

"It's stupid."

His eyes seem to shine. "Tell me."

I sigh. "I used to collect them with my friends when I was little," I explain. "I went with Sarah to get her first tattoo and she convinced me to get one too. When I didn't know what to get, she said to think of a good time in my life. The first few summers I spent here are the happiest memories I have."

He doesn't say anything else when he presses his lips against the ink. He's strangely thorough on this one spot. Then, finally, his mouth moves down my thighs, then up, until his face is hovering above the last piece of fabric on my body. His eyes lift to mine, as if seeking permission.

I slowly trail the tips of my fingers down my stomach and then tap the cloth. He grabs my hand and presses it against the mattress, then slowly kisses me. My underwear is blocking the feel of his lips, but the pressure has me arching myself against him. "You can take them off," I whisper breathlessly.

His grip tightens on my hand before he releases it to remove the fabric torturously slow. The air is cool against my bare skin, until I feel the warmth of his breath. I prop myself up on my elbows, eyes wide at the sight of his face an inch from the most intimate part of me. This man who I met only weeks ago, yet I trust with my life. He grins up at me. "Do you want me to kiss you here?"

I'm too aroused to feel embarrassed. I nod. He watches me through thick lashes, slowly bringing his lips down. He does so passionately, as if he were kissing my mouth. A sound I've never made before fills the room and I turn my head into the comforter, pure bliss swimming through me. His tongue sweeps over the sensitive spot. I cry out. My head is spinning. His name leaves my lips as a moan.

"Yes, Mace," he encourages.

I feel something against my entrance. I look down and see that it's his finger. I nod quickly. He curls it into me, pumping the digit in a rhythm that makes the pit of my stomach heat.

"That's it, baby. Come on my tongue."

Oh my… His filthy words are sending me over the edge, and I burst . Pleasure is coursing through my body and my moans fill the room. The waves slowly subside until I'm heavy with relief and all I can feel is my heart beating rapidly. Everything is dark behind my shut eyes, and I know I'm safe when I feel his hands scoop me against his chest. His arms fold around me and I smile. "Thank you," I say.

He whispers against my ear, "The pleasure is all mine." There's a smirk in his voice. I listen to his breath, mine syncing to his. Exhaustion pulls my eyes shut.

I open them sometime later and realize I'd fallen asleep. Grayson is holding me loosely, and when I look at him, his mouth hangs slightly open. His soft snore makes me suppress a laugh. It's probably midnight.

I carefully lift his arm off me and creep out of his bed. I pick up the discarded clothes that scatter his room and escape to the bathroom to put them on. The girl staring back at me in the mirror has a smile on her face.

His care in every touch was something I'd never expect from Grayson. Perhaps I've only seen the outermost layer of my neighbor. But he peeled it back and showed me more of himself. For some reason, the gentleman from tonight makes me feel differently toward the shameless, arrogant man that I know.

I can't remember why I ever disliked him. It's all incredibly confusing.

Once I'm dressed, I go home and crawl into bed with a smile resting on my face.

My lower back begins to ache as I work on my laptop, hunched over with not the best of posture. I mindlessly sip my coffee, going through my manuscript and completing my edits. An email notification pops up, piquing my curiosity since it is addressed to Walter. A few months ago, he signed into his email on my laptop because he spilled juice all over his. I open his mail.

Your Twinkle verification code is: 128328.

I tilt my head while opening a new browser and searching "Twinkle." My chest squeezes. Date, meet new people, make friends. My hands are slick as I wipe them on my pants, hesitating with my curser over the website. I inhale a deep breath and click on it, searching Walter's first and last name. His picture pops up and bile rises to my throat.

I scroll through the photos on his profile, clenching my jaw at the familiar one of him with an arm wrapped around his midsection. My arm. But he cropped me out of the picture from our engagement party . My eyes land on a single sentence that has the power to knock the wind out of me.

Account created five months ago.

I completely freeze. Paralyzed and forced to stare at the words over and over until they lose all their meaning. Until they are just sounds echoing in my mind. I numbly close my laptop and stare at the wall with my grandparent's sea treasures. I have no idea how much time goes by, but anger is bubbling up in my chest, desperate for an outlet.

I find the bottle of wine I bought from the store and pop the cork, not bothering to grab a glass. I put it to my lips, taking several swigs until it's nearly empty. I curl up on the couch with a blanket, feeling slightly dizzy. I'm not sure how long it's been, but suddenly I look up and it's dark out. My body weighs a ton as I stand. The floor rushes up to meet me. I let out a curse and push myself back up.

Screw Walter. Screw him and his cruel words and dumb blond hair. I hate him.

I step into my flip flops and stumble my way out the front door.