Chapter 26
Mac
I'm lost in my own head the entire drive back to the house, and Riley is inside and gone by the time I realize I need to snap out of it.
It felt good standing behind her as we just chatted and hung out with friends. It felt natural, like something we've done a million times. No one gave us shit for it or interrogated me about my intentions with her.
I know what I did was a declaration. I know kissing her in a public place says something about who we are to each other, especially in such a small town. I'm not going to say I regret it, but I know for a fact I didn't think it through either.
Kissing her told every man that had thought about approaching her tonight that she was taken, that she was mine, and there was a part of me that is internally freaking out about it.
I know I'm drawn to her. I knew it that very first night. It's why I wanted her out of my house as quickly as possible. It's why I acted like such a dick to her after such an earth-shattering experience. Feeling horny for someone isn't a big deal, but feeling an instant connection with someone is enough to make me run for the hills. I go to the borrowed bedroom I tricked my way into getting, walk inside, and close the door.
I pace for a few minutes before stripping out of my clothes and deciding I'm just going to go to bed. Maybe a little sleep will help me figure out what I'm supposed to do next, but I can't even manage to close my eyes without flashes of her in my arms materializing behind my eyelids.
Instead of spending another night tossing and turning with a million questions in my mind and no answers, I leave the room and go to her bedroom.
The sound of the shower going fills the bedroom despite the en suite door being closed.
My first instinct is to go inside and join her, my mouth watering at the idea of licking water droplets from her skin, but I know better.
I have so much to say, and as badly as I want my naked body sliding against hers, I know I need to have this conversation clothed.
I look down past my torso, noticing the threat of an erection behind the thin material of my boxer briefs.
"Well, mostly dressed," I mutter as I take a seat on the edge of her bed.
When the water in the bathroom turns off, I have to curl my fingers into her comforter in order to hold me in place when what I really want is to peek my head inside and offer to dry her back.
That then brings back memories of bending her over the kitchen counter and pulling down her leggings just enough to give me access to the most intimate parts of her, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed as a groan of need bubbles past my lips.
The woman is a blessing and a curse. She's literally going to drive me insane before this is all over. I just know it.
The bathroom door swings open, and Riley freezes in the doorway, her fist holding the towel tighter at her chest.
"Mac?" she says, clearly surprised to find me sitting on her bed. "What are you doing in here?"
A litany of suggestions comes to mind when she seems completely incapable of keeping her eyes from roaming down my body. I swear my stomach muscles contract on their own as if they feel a need to impress her or something.
"You've been drinking," I say, hating the hint of anger in her eyes when she snaps them from somewhere below my chin back to my eyes.
"Okay," she says with a death grip still on her towel.
If she drops it, I'm in so much trouble.
Getting her under me is not what I had in mind when I came in here, but God help me if it isn't the only thing I seem to be able to focus on right now.
"I get it," she says, a certain kind of sadness settling in her eyes. "We agreed to nothing serious with this sort of friends-with-benefits arrangement-"
"We are not friends," I snap, the idea of it making my stomach turn.
Her face turns to stone, and it takes me a few beats to realize why she would've had that reaction.
"What the hell are we then?" she asks, hurt in her tone even though I can tell she's doing her best to mask it with indifference.
I shake my head, my teeth digging into my cheek. As many things as I figured we could talk about, where my mouth wants to take me wasn't something I considered, but now it's all I can focus on.
"You're mine," I snap.
She tilts her head to the side, a mild look of disgust coating her face.
"I'm what?"
I don't know a lot about women, but I know those two words are giving me a chance to rethink what Ijust said. But now that they have slipped from my tongue, taking them back is the very last thing I want to do.
"You're. Mine."
She huffs as if I've just told a stupid joke she's heard for the millionth time.
"Mine," I repeat as I stand from the edge of her bed and walk toward her, but before I can press my body to hers, she holds her hand out, halting me in my tracks.
"Wait," she whispers. "What does that even mean?"
"Any distance between the two of us makes my skin crawl," I begin. "It doesn't matter if you're across the room, right down the hall, or all the way across town. I don't like it. It makes me uneasy."
"Just because you want something doesn't mean you can just claim it," she mutters. "I'm not some toy that can just be picked up and carried around and then discarded when you get bored."
I keep my mouth shut because she's absolutely right, and my lack of experience with serious relationships leaves me a little ignorant about what to do next. Although I've never felt this way before, I also don't know how long those feelings will last. I haven't given myself much time to sit and think about what any of it could mean.
"I don't even know what it really means, and, more importantly, I don't know that I want to be claimed by anyone."
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip before responding. "It means you're mine to have, to protect, to care for, Riley."
Instead of her face transforming into the smile I expect with the declaration, her nose scrunches up as if I just told her it meant she has to wash my dirty clothes and mother me in some way. This is not going like I thought it would at all.
"I don't want someone to take care of me," she snaps. "I don't need that."
Of course, she would internalize this in some way that she imagines I'm trying to rescue her. Her demand for fierce independence is in direct contradiction to what I just said. I really should've thought this through more than barging in here the way I did.
"That' s not—"
"I'd like it if you just left my room."
I blink at her, feeling helpless and incapable of figuring out what the right thing to say would be.
"Please," she whispers, her hand once again tightening to hold the towel at the center of her chest.
Knowing what I do know about her, standing here and backpedaling or trying to explain further where I'm coming from, will only make things worse, so I turn and head out the door, closing it quietly behind me.
I figure I have to count it as a win that she didn't demand that I pack my things and leave, but I also know that the request could easily be waiting for me first thing in the morning.
In order to save a little face, I pack what little belongings I brought to her house before crawling into the bed, feeling lonelier than I can ever remember feeling before in my entire life.
I know I jumped the gun. It's ridiculous, now that I think about it, to claim her as mine after spending such little time together, but it's just what felt right at the moment. I'm normally pretty good at determining what my gut feelings mean, but her reaction to my words has me second-guessing all of it.
Great sex in no way means a happily ever after, especially when we can't seem to get along for very long when we're dressed. Building a life together based on what happens in the bedroom is impossible, especially when we probably couldn't handle it when real-life shit hits us that can't be solved with a few orgasms and a good night's sleep.