Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

MACY

I t's nothing like kissing Spencer.

Wood's hands are in my hair and he's devouring me. It's dizzying.

I don't know which way is up or down or sideways, nor do I care. I wrap my arms around his neck tight, moving to straddle his lap.

Every time our tongues touch he rewards me with a deep groan and a gentle tug at the roots of my hair. It makes me want to do it more. His mouth is minty fresh, but the scent of his cologne still lingers on his skin, and I like it. I like smelling him and tasting him and touching him.

My core clenches and eases with each breath. I'm hot, liquid, melting on his lap, our chests pressing together. My heart is thumping out of control. I'm lost in the kiss, surrounded by him. Throbbing for him.

He strokes my tongue with his, occasionally sucking my bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting these little whimpers from my lungs I don't recognize.

I can hardly breathe. I can hardly think.

I break the kiss to catch my breath. I'm panting and hot, my body buzzing with electricity, like it was just shocked back to life.

He's breathing heavily, too. His lips are dark pink and shiny and how have I never noticed how pretty Wood's lips are before?

I just made out with Wood.

Holy crap.

And I liked it. A lot.

He presses his lips together then exhales loudly as he runs a hand through his hair. A hand that was fisted in my hair a few moments ago.

"Well," he says with his easy, lopsided grin, "guess we better get some sleep. We have yoga early tomorrow."

"Yeah, you're right." I smile and nod, swallowing hard.

We look at each other for a second in silence. Is his heart racing like mine is? His blue eyes flick down to my lips, and I think for an instant he might kiss me again. But instead, he gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and then maneuvers under the covers, turning away from me almost immediately.

I guess he wasn't as affected by the kissing as I was. Maybe he's just a good kisser. A really good kisser. I've never been kissed like that. But maybe it wasn't anything special to him.

Imagine how he'd kiss someone he was really into.

She'd be lucky.

I really am a mess.

Wood's already asleep, having rolled onto his back with one hand on his stomach and the other arm bent over his head, breathing softly.

I'm wide awake staring at the ceiling, skin still buzzing. The throbbing between my legs won't subside.

Now I wish I'd brought my vibrator. I need relief from this, quickly. I didn't even think about bringing it. I haven't been in the mood for it in weeks—not that I used it often, anyway. I had to keep it hidden from Spencer. He wouldn't have approved.

Five o'clock comes way too soon—especially for someone who didn't fall asleep until after midnight. Orgasmless, I'll add.

"Who schedules a six a.m. yoga class for other people? I didn't approve of this." I turn off my alarm and cover my face with my pillow, groaning.

Wood chuckles and I peek under the pillow at him, sitting in the corner on his computer, already dressed and looking fresh as a daisy.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long. Just checking some emails." He closes his laptop and sets it aside.

I can't help but notice his athletic shorts are…short. And snug.

"I'll go get us some breakfast. What do you want?"

"Oh, um, I'm fine. I'll just get something from the fruit basket, and I think I still have a granola bar?—"

Wood puts his hands on his hips. Very snug. "Mace. I'm going to go get us some food. What do you want?"

I look up, realizing that I've been staring at his crotch and now my cheeks are heating. "Some yogurt, if they have any. And maybe some eggs? Scrambled?"

"You got it." He gives me a little wink and heads for the door.

"Oh, and maybe some cantaloupe? And cottage cheese? And bacon? If they have it."

He stops with his hand on the doorknob, and I shrink back under the blanket. I'm being too much. But he just smiles wider and says, "Perfect," before he leaves.

I rip the tags off these silly yoga pants and the matching tank top and shimmy them up my body. Are they supposed to be this tight? This seems wrong. I redo the bun I slept in. No point in putting on makeup to go exercise, just some sunscreen and I'm ready.

Wood returns with the food. "Sorry it took so long."

"Perfect timing, actually. Thank you."

He sets the plates down, one for me and one for him, and I glance over it, mentally taking note of the portion sizes.

"Does it not look good? Do you want something else? A different flavor of yogurt? I'll run down and get you something else?—"

"No, this is great. I'm just doing some math."

"Oh, right." Wood takes a breath and rubs his neck.

I go to the bathroom and get out my stuff.

"Can I…" Wood pauses, leaning against the doorframe and glancing down at my medical supplies spread across the counter. "Can I watch? Or, I mean, will you show me what you do and explain how you do it?"

"You want me to show you?"

He takes a step in. "Yeah, I mean, I've been reading up on it a little bit but I feel like I should have a better idea of how it all works. Just in case something happens and I need to know, you know?"

"You won't need to know," I say.

"But I want to."

Oh. "Okay."

He comes in closer, and I show him the supplies I have laid out—alcohol wipes, my meter and strips, the insulin and new syringe.

"First thing I have to do is test my glucose levels, or the amount of sugar in my blood." I wash my hands then open the lancing device and a new lancet. I put the little needle in the device and close it.

"That's for pricking your finger?" He grimaces.

"Yeah. It's the worst part of this whole thing, but it's not that bad. I'm used to it. See, just like this." I prick my finger.

Wood jumps at the loud click the device makes.

"Then I have to squeeze my finger to get a little drop of blood out to test." I squeeze my finger from the knuckle up to the tip to draw some blood out. A tiny dot of red oozes out.

Wood wipes his forehead.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He nods. "I just really don't like blood. And needles." He shudders as he says it.

"Well, they're sort of unavoidable."

"You're amazing. I don't think I'd be able to do it."

"You'd figure it out if you had to."

His throat bobs. "I don't know, bro."

I chuckle as I show him how to use the testing strip to get the glucose reading. "One-forty. A little high, but not bad. It's usually a little high right after waking up. My target for where I feel best is usually one hundred to one-ten."

I explain to him how each unit of insulin will lower my glucose levels by fifty and how I'll also need a unit of insulin for every about fifteen grams of carbohydrates I eat, and then I do the math to figure out how much insulin I need to inject to get my glucose down to my target number based on how many carbs I'm estimating are in the breakfast he brought me.

I think his eyes glazed over about half-way through my explanation. But that's okay.

I open the syringe and draw out the four units of insulin I calculated.

Wood has his eyes closed.

"Are you watching?"

"Yes." He's not.

I bite back a laugh. "I promise, this part doesn't even hurt." I lift my shirt up to my waist and fold the yoga pants down below my belly button. I clean it with the wipe then pick up the needle. "Here. See, you just pinch the skin right here and then stick the needle in at a little bit of an angle."

Wood peeks one eye open, squinting with a scrunched up face, teeth clenched, and hands fisted into balls as he watches me stick the needle in, depress the plunger, and then pull it out.

"How many times a day do you have to do that?"

"I check my levels four to six times, usually. Depends on if I'm eating or snacking more, or if I exercise or if I just feel off, I'll check it. I don't always necessarily inject that many times a day."

"Have you ever thought about getting one of those continuous pump things?"

He has been reading up.

"Yeah. I had one while I was in college, actually. They're great, in general. I just didn't like it, personally. I didn't like having something attached to me all the time and my skin got irritated at the infusion site. So much so I was miserable all of senior year. It just wasn't for me."

I look over at him after I finish putting everything away and he looks ashen.

"Are you okay?"

He nods. "I need to talk about something besides blood and needles for a while."

"How about we go eat?"

He shoots me double finger guns. "Yes."

But he doesn't eat even half of his plate by the time we have to leave for the east lawn. Wood pulls a rolled up yoga mat out of his duffle bag then asks if I'm ready to go.

"You have your own yoga mat?"

"Yeah. I do hot yoga every Thursday."

Of course he does.

We walk down to the east lawn together. The sun hasn't crested over the horizon yet, but the sky is a mixture of pink and pale yellow, just light enough to highlight the dew on the grass.

There's a slight chill coming off the water, but it will be another hot August day soon enough.

It looks like almost everyone is already down by the water, sitting cross legged on mats arranged in three rows of concentric half circles. Standing at the center is a tall, willowy woman with her silver hair in a French braid.

As we get closer, it looks like we're still missing Zayne and Dane and…Margot.

"Mace!" Bex runs up to me, pink cheeked and bright-eyed in a bright pink crop top and short shorts. "Are you ready? We're going to be all healthy and then get mimosas after and hang by the pool. They opened it for us."

"Uh, sure." Orange light streaks across the water and through the trees as the sun finally spills into the sky. "I may need a nap before booze."

Bex pushes out her bottom lip. "Livvy, you'll drink with me, right?"

Livvy gives her a thumbs up as Noah yawns on his mat behind her in black sweats and a hoodie.

I avoid eye contact with Spencer, who's talking to Jake, sitting on their mats on the far right side of the semi-circle. I have the uncomfortable nagging feeling that he's looking at me, though.

Zayne and Dane come strolling down the grassy hill toward us a few minutes later. Zayne is wearing sunglasses and holding a to-go coffee cup. He lifts his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose, then, with a sigh, he points at Jake. "I love you, but don't ever ask me to get up before the sun again."

The instructor clears her throat and in a drawn out, soothing timbre says, "It looks like most everyone is here. My name is Sharon and I'm honored to be guiding you this morning. Choose a mat, get comfortable, and we'll start with some breathing exercises."

"Is it okay that I brought my own mat?" Wood asks.

Sharon beams. "Ah, an experienced yogi. Would you like to come up front to help demonstrate?"

"Sure!" Wood looks over his shoulder to me and beckons me over. "Come up front with me."

My chest blossoms with heat immediately and I can feel the flush traveling up my neck to my cheeks. I shake my head.

He nods, giving me a little half-hearted smile then goes up, front and center, and plops his mat down.

Why do I feel like I let him down?

Maybe I should just go up there and?—

"I've done yoga a bunch of times. I'll come up front too!" Margot comes bouncing past me, her blonde high pony swaying side to side.

And then that's it. She's up front next to my fake boyfriend and I'm in the back between Livvy and Zayne, who giggle every time they can't hold a pose.

I'm trying to pay attention to Sharon, but I can't stop staring at Wood. Margot keeps talking to him. Aren't we supposed to be quiet and calm and hecking relaxed?

He's whispering back to her. I can't hear what they're saying.

He's probably telling her how good her butt looks in her extremely tight yoga pants.

Okay, I know he's not saying that. But he's probably thinking it. Even I'm thinking about how nice her rear looks in those things. Now I'm wondering what my bottom looks like in my yoga pants and wishing I'd checked it out before we left.

It's a painful hour—and not just the yoga part.

I'm probably the worst one here—except for Noah, sitting on the other side of Livvy from me—he gave up about halfway through and looks to be meditating in child's pose. Meanwhile, it feels like we've been holding this warrior pose for approximately forty-seven minutes. My legs are shaking, and I think they might give out.

Even Spencer seems to be excelling.

But I'm not looking at him. Much.

Mostly, I'm watching Wood and the way I've never seen muscles bulge like that. Every once in a while, he looks back at me. He gives me a quick smile and a little wave, and his genuine happiness makes me smile, too.

I find myself wanting him to keep looking at me. My heart beats a little faster each time, like I have his attention for real. Like it could be real.

It's probably just the kiss from last night—my body is starting to associate Wood as a source of dopamine, and it wants another hit. That's it. Just chemical. Physical. It's natural.

And I am definitely not fixated on how Margot seems to be arching her back unnaturally with every pose, either pushing out her boobs or her tush. Sometimes, impressively, both.

It's not jealousy. I'm not jealous of Margot and her perfect complexion and round booty and that she is like the Barbie to Wood's Ken—it's the fact that he's my fake boyfriend and she's obviously flirting with him. She doesn't know it's fake. That's what bothers me about it. Only that.

We do the cooldown stretches, and honestly, I think I nail them. Then Sharon thanks us and sends us off with wishes of being our best selves.

My best self is apparently scowling at Margot chatting with Wood as he's rolling up his mat. He's nodding and smiling at her, but then he turns, in the middle of whatever she's saying, and smiles at me. He walks away from her, and to me.

She's left confused and it feels oddly satisfying.

His face lights up as he makes his way to me, and that frenzied buzz of excitement starts in my belly, the same one from last night.

"Hey," he says as he comes up to me. All the way up so our hips touch. He looks down at me as he puts his hand on my back. "I missed you," he says.

"You did?" I'm on tiptoes, unconsciously trying to get closer to him.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, "Say you missed me, too."

"Oh!" This is for the act, remember, Macy? "I missed you, too."

He chuckles, head hanging down so that the sunlight rims the lines of his face, the edge of his jaw. His skin is glowing, and his lips look so nice and soft.

There's a moment where it's just us and the sound of our breathing and is he leaning in? Is his hand at my back pulling me in closer? Is he going to kiss me again?

I look up into his blue eyes and I think he's going to. I want him to. I want him to kiss me.

"Get a room," Spencer says under his breath as he walks by. I catch his sneer just before he passes.

"We have one, thanks. It comes with a bed!" Wood shouts, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me to his side. "I would have thought that'd be hard for you to forget."

Spencer ignores us and keeps walking.

Wood turns to me, both arms wrapped around me now. "You're doing really good at the looking, by the way."

"The looking?"

"Yeah, looking at me like you want me. The practice must have helped."

"Right, the practice. It definitely helped."

I wasn't even trying.

"What did you ever see in him? I never got you two." Wood is buttoning up his navy shirt and I'm trying not to stare at his bare chest, or his hands.

"In Spencer? I don't know. We had a lot in common." Or so I'd thought. I finish applying my mascara in the mirror.

"In common? I'm sorry, but he's a selfish asshole and you are a caring, giving sweetheart. I don't see the commonality."

I turn my back to him and pull my hair forward off my back. Without having to ask, he comes and zips my black sequined dress up, his knuckle brushing along my skin.

I look at him behind me in the mirror. "I was attracted to his intellect at first, I think. Why are you asking about this?"

"Is that why you picked him over me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That first night, at the frat party. I went to go get you a drink and when I came back, you were talking to him."

I laugh him off. "You say that like I had my pick between you two. Like you were both trying to get with me."

He just looks at me in the mirror. "Of course I was."

I turn around. "No, you were not."

"You didn't even consider that as a possibility?"

"Never even crossed my mind."

"Oh." He walks into the bedroom and sits in the chair to put on his shoes, mouth downturned like I've never seen before. He always looks like he's at least half smirking.

Wait—was he trying to hook up with me back in college?

I try to think back to that first night. I know I met him, but I can't recall any of the details. That was also the night I met Spencer. I remember every detail of Spencer's and my first conversation, from the way we talked about the pre-med anatomy and physiology professor to the color of his shirt—a heathered gray polo.

I join Wood in the bedroom, hanging back by the dresser to put on my earrings.

I still can't quite believe that he was into me at any point, but I guess we were twenty and drinking—stranger things have happened. I was younger and cuter and better rested back then.

Still, I was never in his league. He's an adonis. He doesn't even look real. It's like he was sculpted out of a fantasy. He'd never really want me.

"I'm sorry," I say, because I don't know what else to say.

He stands, ready to go to the wine tasting. "It's okay. I was young and stupid—well, more stupid—I probably would have blown it anyway. But if things had gone differently, you would have at least gotten decently laid."

"Are you implying Spencer's bad in bed? He's not."

Wood chuckles. "Nah, that sort of guy has internalized issues—probably only does missionary."

My cheeks heat.

"Now, don't get me wrong," he continues, "I love missionary. It's actually probably my favorite position, but not how a lot of guys do it. They're either like fish out of water flopping on top with no rhythm, or jackhammers only concerned about getting themselves to the finish line. The other person might as well not even be there."

A little part of me shatters—the part that was cracked when Spencer broke up with me—the place where I hid away everything wrong in our relationship. Somewhere I could ignore it and make it easier to convince myself it wasn't a big deal. But Wood just described my sex life for the last six years, and put that way, it sounds miserable. And it is a big deal.

Why did I do that to myself for so long? Why did I convince myself that Spencer was perfect, and I was the problem?

"Not me," Wood continues, buttoning the cuffs on his sleeves. "It's about the rhythm, moving together, taking cues from the other person, making sure they're enjoying themselves, because when she's enjoying it, it's so much better. Mace?"

I tear my gaze away from his wrist, realizing I've been staring at it and zoning out for too long.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Thinking about what?"

"About how good I'd be at fucking you."

Air rushes out of my lungs. "I am not!"

He shrugs and purses his lips as if to say he doesn't believe me.

"I was not…" I lower my voice. "I was not thinking about you f… fiddle sticking me."

"Fiddle sticking?" He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek then smiles slowly, showing his perfectly straight white teeth and looking infuriatingly handsome doing it. "I can work with that. It's time to go."