Chapter Seven

Maren

I mean, of course I'll run into him again. He's my goddamn neighbor. Which obviously means I have to move.

I realize this as I stand at the window, watching him on his daily near-nude stroll around the block, unaware he has a fanbase.

Literally. I saw it on Nextdoor, a whole entire thread dedicated solely to Mac Dermot. Plus the TikTok video of him that went viral last week. I practically lost my shit over that one. Then Nina and I watched roughly 800 of the two million views it had already amassed.

Thing is, no one knows his name. Or who he is. Or anything about him at all.

No one, but me .

And now, as I hide behind the curtain clutching my own coffee while watching his muscles ripple under the rays of the just-rising sun, I contemplate other places I could live. Seattle, maybe? They have an epic coffee scene. Maybe someplace in the Midwest where I could afford a house three times the size of this one for the price of my old apartment.

But I don't want to move. I mean, yes, eventually. Nina's clutter is no joke, and I'm not the kind of person to clean up after others, so it would be nice to move into my own place again. But for now, this is home. It's the only way I can continue living in Sunset Bay and work at Insomniacs, both of which I actually love. And it allows me to be near Claire's family, which is most important of all.

So I'm just going to have to learn to live in the same neighborhood as that hunky Viking dipshit. Looking at his ass as he continues his stroll beyond our house, I can see it will be hard (all puns intended) but manageable.

Oh, and he can never know I live here.

"Enjoying the show, I see?" Nina says, snickering as she joins me at the window.

"Fuck, that man," I breathe.

"Trust me, we all want to." Nina laughs, while my cheeks feel flush at how close I came to fulfilling that desire. "Want to ride to work together since we're working the same shift?"

I take in her robe and messy unwashed green hair. We have to be there in fifteen minutes, and she needs at least forty-five.

"Nah, I'm about to leave in five. I'll meet you there."

She shrugs as she opens the fridge. Then she stands there, contemplating the food. Did I say forty-five minutes? I'll be lucky if she shows up in an hour.

As I exit the house, I look up and down the street before leaving the safety of the open front porch. Mac is probably on the other side of the neighborhood by now, but I can't be too careful. This is going to get old really quick, I know it.

I slip into my Honda unnoticed, then pull away from the curb. I go the opposite direction he did, even though it's the long way to work. Two turns and I'm almost out of the neighborhood, sight unseen.

Then I see him. Or rather, I almost run him over.

He's crossing the road as I make my next turn, and I have to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting him. Mac's hand thumps the blue hood of my car as a reflex, and the impact leaves a dent in its wake. My eyes are like saucers as his meet mine, and I see his expression transition from shocked anger to slow recognition. His bare tatted chest expands as he takes a deep breath—maybe to say something, maybe to yell—and I have a split second to decide what to do. Apologize and clear the air about the reasons I hate him, which haven't stopped me from thinking about the way he kissed me, and how I want to do it again. Or escape and pretend he never saw me at all.

I do the latter.

I back the car up and pull around him, hightailing it to the main road that leads to work, my heart pounding the whole way. All the while, the image of his chest up close is seared in my mind, and I'm just as breathless by that mind souvenir as I am about the fact that I almost killed him. By the time I've reached the parking lot, I've called myself every form of the word idiot that I can think of, then include a few Spanish words my father was fond of saying in my presence. Estúpida. Imbécil. Tonta. Idiota. I bang my hand on the steering wheel, wishing I'd taken Nina up on her offer. Sure, we'd both be late and Susan would blow a gasket. My job might even be in jeopardy since it's apparent Susan likes Nina more, even if my roommate is a flake. But if I'd gone with Nina, Mac probably wouldn't have seen me.

It's barely been a day since I learned I live in the same neighborhood as the Viking, and I've already failed to keep my living quarters unknown. I'd be a terrible secret agent. My only consolation is that he doesn't know the exact house I live in, and I plan to keep it that way.

True to my prediction, Nina strolls in exactly one hour after she was supposed to clock in. Susan tells her she's late—again—and Nina offers a thin excuse of an unexplained emergency that I know has everything to do with the new shade of blue hair she's sporting. I'm actually impressed she had time for the hue exchange, though experience has taught me to never underestimate Nina. She may suck as a barista and is disorganized as fuck, but when it comes to fashion, she's nothing but focused. Her robin's egg hair isn't vastly different from the mermaid hair she had when I left this morning, but the green undertones make the blue a beautiful shade of turquoise.

"Nice hair," I murmur.

"Nice chest," she says in return. I look down, checking to see if there's been a nip slip. When I see nothing, I start to ask what she's talking about, but she's not even looking at me. She nods at the door, and my stomach drops.

So do I—literally to my knees—hiding behind the counter.

"Take the register," I squeak, then crawl to the coffee station where the machines are tall enough to hide me.

Because Mac Dermot, with his piercing blue eyes and sexy as fuck beard, is in the building. Fully clothed in his white button-up shirt and panty-soaking slacks. But here.

Nina somehow composes herself as Mac approaches the register, but I know she recognizes him by the way she fidgets with the hem of her super short skirt. When he turns to see the pastry choices, she looks at me and mouths "Oh my god," her eyes wide as cinnamon rolls. At least her freakout is distracting her from my own, because I am ready to plummet through the floor.

"I'll take a morning bun and a black eye coffee, no cream," he says.

A black eye coffee. I freeze, absorbing the reality of his coffee order. A black eye is a coffee with two strong shots of espresso. If my calculations are correct, his coffee order would make him the kind of lover who would take me in the…

"Buns, Maren. Can you check in the back to see if we have more morning buns?" The look on Nina's face makes it apparent she's been trying to get my attention for a while. Worse, I see Mac craning his neck, then relaxing into a full grin when he takes in my shocked face.

"Ah, the girl with the killer car," he says, then rubs the hand that landed on my hood for emphasis. But damn if the motion doesn't have a double entendre, because I'm suddenly thinking of other things he could be rubbing, which makes me even more flustered than when I received his coffee order. It doesn't help that his shirt sleeves are rolled up his forearms, revealing his muscular tan arms covered in tattoos. It's the kind of look that makes me think he's about to get down to business. I want to be that business.

"Maren?"

Morning buns. Right.

"On it," I squeak to Nina, then flee to the back. We never have extra morning buns, but today must be Mac Dermot's lucky day because there's the second box I ordered. I bring the whole box out and shove it into Nina's arms, purposely avoiding Mac's face as I scurry back to my coffee station to fill his drink order.

Why am I flustered? I hate this man. He stole my home.

But fuck me, he looks so good dressed for work. I've seen him so many times half naked, which by the way, I'm not complaining about. But something about his business attire is inspiring a whole new set of fantasies I never knew I had. My eyes trace the outline of his chiseled chest. His tatted arms make me want to run my hands over them as I feel the curve of his muscles, and the way his body tapers down into those slacks that skim the slope of his ass…

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

I place the drink on the bar, about to call his name, when his fingers brush over mine. I look up just as he takes the drink, his blue eyes fixed on mine.

"Take a break," he murmurs. Then he turns, exiting the shop as I stand there frozen in place.

"That was Naked Coffee Guy, wasn't it?" Nina hisses beside me, snapping me out of my stupor. I offer an awkward laugh, hiding the fact that my whole entire body is a heartbeat, and I cannot seem to form two thoughts, let alone words.

"Looks a lot different with clothes on," I finally bite out. "I need a break, take over?"

I don't wait for her answer when I disappear into the back room. I pause for a moment, trying to muster up a reason to not go outside. But nothing is strong enough to keep me from opening the staff door and slipping into the back alley. The door has barely closed behind me when Mac has me up against the wall, his body pressed to mine. One hand holds his hot coffee while the other is at my neck, lightly pressing as he cups my face.

"Maren," he breathes, then he consumes me with a kiss. All reason is lost as my mouth searches his, the heat of his body setting me on fire. In spite of everything this man is, I have never wanted anyone more than I want Mac Dermot. I tell him this without words, my hands clutching his shirt, glancing off his flushed skin underneath. His mouth breaks from mine as he hisses, then he presses even more forcefully against me.

"I want you," he says in between kisses. I can't even respond, I'm so ready to devour him. If he took me right here, I'd let him.

He pulls away but keeps me in place against the wall. I whimper under his stare, internally begging him to keep going. Instead, he brushes the back of his hand over the side of my face. Just that one tender motion has me closing my eyes against the sting of tears, which I manage to keep at bay.

I'm shaken by the sudden emotion he pulls from me, and I push him off as I pull myself together. "Why are you here?" I ask.

"I could ask the same of you this morning. Why were you in my neighborhood? Are you stalking me?"

"Your ego is really something, isn't it?" I straighten my skirt before fixing my hair. "Can you fit in small rooms with a head that big?"

He smirks at that, then looks me up and down in a way that makes me feel utterly naked. "Baby, if you think my head is big, you should see my other parts."

"Please," I scoff. But fuck if I don't mean pleeease , as in, I'm ready when you are . "I'm only on a ten, so if you're done mauling me, I need to get back to work. And Mac? Don't come again."

I turn to leave, but he grasps my wrist. Loosely. In a way that would allow me to slip from his hand if I wanted to. I don't want to.

"Why are you resisting this?" he asks, "Resisting me?"

I could tell him. He has no idea he had a part in my sudden housing situation. But he had to have known his quick sale left dozens of families scrambling for a home. Everything about him is everything I can't stand. He's made of money. His life is built on destroying people like me. He's upper class while I'm one lost paycheck from ruin.

I could also tell him that when he brushed his hand across my cheek, he touched a part of me inside that no man has ever cared to touch. That there are things about me that no one has ever seen, not even Claire. I just know Mac could be the one to break down my walls.

"I can't," I admit.

"Can't what? Can't do us?"

Can't resist you.

"I just can't," I say. I turn back to him but pull my hand from his. "Look, my life is complicated right now. You are just enough chaos to turn my world upside down, and I can't handle a relationship and all that goes with it."

He pauses, and it's long enough that the window to leave is wide open. But I don't leave. Damn if I don't stay, hoping he'll say the words that will make all the complications go away.

"What if we don't have a relationship," he says slowly. He moves toward me in a way that has me backing up. I hit the wall and he leans in, his finger tracing my bare arm, leaving goosebumps in its trail .

"And?" I close my eyes as he comes close, gasping as I feel his hot breath at my neck.

"And we keep this casual," he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin with each word. "No dating. No meeting each other's family. No public displays of non-sexual affection."

I smirk at this. He's basically saying holding hands is off, but humping in an alleyway is fair game.

"Then what would it be?" I ask, even though I see exactly where this is going.

"Sex," he says, then clamps his teeth on my throat, making me gasp at the pleasure mixed with pain. Making me want this, even though I know it will break me in the end.

There is no casual with Mac Dermot. This is clearer than the hold he has on me, and the way his hand clutching my thigh makes me want more. I will always want more with him. Pretending we can keep this just about sex is a fool's errand, and yet, denying him is impossible. So there's only one answer I can give.

"Yes," I breathe.