Chapter 17
Seventeen
Delaney
The drive to Boston takes two hours, but it feels like minutes and forever all at once.
Mac's playlist is surprisingly diverse. Classic rock mixed with indie rap and even some pop songs that were probably Lily's additions.
When "Love Story" by Taylor Swift comes on, his hand tightens on the steering wheel, but he doesn't skip it.
"She used to sing this constantly one summer," he says. "Made me learn all the words so I could duet with her."
"Do you remember them?"
He glances at me, then back at the road. "Every damn word."
We don't sing, but we don't change the song either.
Two hours later, after we've engorged ourselves with takeout from Mac's favorite restaurant, the elevator doors to his floor slide open with a soft chime.
I follow Mac down a hallway of apartments that probably cost more per month than I make in an entire year.
His key card beeps against a sleek black door, and then I'm standing in the middle of what can only be described as a penthouse that belongs in a magazine.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the Boston skyline like it's Mac's personal art collection.
The furniture is all clean lines and expensive fabrics in shades of gray and navy.
Everything screams money and taste and a life so far removed from my secondhand bookshop furniture that I feel like I'm visiting another planet.
"Jesus, Mac." I turn in a slow circle, taking in the marble kitchen island that's bigger than my entire apartment.
He shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it over a chair. "It's just a place to sleep."
Following his lead, I slink out of my sweater and leave it on top of his jacket, then follow him into the kitchen.
"This is not just a place to sleep." I trail my fingers along the granite countertop, cool and smooth under my touch.
"This is a monument to success. This is what people dream about achieving.
My place must feel like a coat closet to you. "
“Your place is perfect.” Mac loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves, the simple action somehow more intimate in this sterile space. "You want a drink? I think I have wine somewhere."
"You think?" I raise an eyebrow. "In this kitchen that's bigger than most restaurants?"
His mouth quirks up at one corner. "Most of this is empty. I don't exactly cook. Or entertain."
"Shocking." I lean against the counter, hyperaware of the distance between us.
He swings open what looks like a cabinet door, and a flood of white LED lights fill the kitchen, revealing a very bare refrigerator. “I’ll have to order us breakfast in the morning.” His lips twist to the side. “I haven’t ordered groceries since I’ve been gone.”
"What do you do here? Besides, brood dramatically against those windows?"
"I don't brood." Mac moves a few feet over and pulls a bottle of wine from a cabinet that opens with the whisper of expensive hinges. "I contemplate."
"Ah, my mistake. Contemplating is much more sophisticated than brooding."
He finds two glasses without searching, which tells me he does drink wine here, probably not alone. The thought makes my chest tight. "You're mocking me."
"I'm absolutely mocking you." I accept the glass he offers, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The brief contact sends electricity up my arm. "Someone has to keep your ego in check."
"My ego?" Mac steps closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. "You're the one who thinks she can change a man's entire worldview in ten dates."
"I'm not trying to change you." The words come out softer than I intended. "I'm trying to show you that you haven't changed as much as you think."
Something flickers across his face, too quick to identify. He takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. "And what exactly do you think you see when you look at me, Delaney?"
The way he says my name, low and careful, makes my pulse skip. I set my glass down before I drop it. "I see someone who's still afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of admitting that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong about love." I cross my arms, partly defensive and partly to stop myself from reaching for him. "And that scares the hell out of you, because if you were wrong about love, then losing Lily is even more tragic than you already thought."
Mac's jaw tightens. He sets his wine down hard enough that the sound echoes in the vast space. "Don't."
"Don't what? Tell the truth?" I take a step closer, drawn by something reckless in my chest. "You want to know what I really think, Mac? I think you agreed to this bet because part of you wants to believe again. Part of you misses feeling hopeful about…” I trail off, shaking my head. “Anything."
"We’ll have to agree to disagree." His hand cups my cheek and gently tugs me against his chest. He leans forward, clearly going in for a kiss, but I rear my head back at the last second.
My mouth pops open in shock. “Are you trying to distract me with your lips, Mac Sullivan?”
He smirks. “Depends. Is it working?”
“You’re insufferable.” I roll my eyes, but don’t make any moves to back away.
“Are you wearing a bra?” He suddenly asks, his eyes now intent on my chest.
I look down, pushing out my lips in a feigned pout as I toy with the strings of the top of my dress, effectively pulling my breasts closer together in his face. “You aren’t supposed to wear one with this style of dress.”
I knew exactly what I was doing when I picked the cottage-core maxi this morning. Maya calls it my milkmaid dress. But then I threw my chunkiest sweater on and forgot all about it. When we got here, I was so mesmerized by his apartment that I threw my sweater to the side with no game plan.
A line forms between his brows as his gaze roams over the entirety of the garment, likely checking if there are any other details he missed. Aside from the high split in the thigh, the dress is actually pretty modest.
He tilts his head, wrapping a loose strand of hair at my shoulder around his finger, then letting his knuckles brush against my hardened nipples through the thin cotton.
“I don’t want to argue about any of this tonight, Delaney.
In fact, I have much bigger plans for your mouth that I’ve just remembered now that I realized what you’re wearing. ”
The air cracks with the sound of my open palm hitting his shoulder, and Mac laughs. Fully laughs, with his head kicked back and his eyes crinkled at the sides. The sound is so precious, my chest aches from it.
His palm rubs the spot I just hit. “Hey, watch it! This is my good shoulder. Besides, I can’t afford any more injuries. I’m trying to figure out how many surfaces I can fuck you against in such a short period of time, and I need all my strength.”
This time I do take a step back, but Mac anticipates the move and follows the movement. I hook my thumb over my shoulder, toward the hallway I noticed on my way in. “Do you have a guest bedroom? Perhaps an empty closet? I think I’d like to sleep there…”
He presses his forehead against mine, all teasing gone from his expression. He grabs up my hands in his, holding them at our sides. His voice is low and serious when he mutters, “Not a chance, Caldwell.”
Something about having him this close always throws me off kilter.
Like his proximity sucks all my thoughts from my head and renders me speechless.
I blink at him, memorizing the beautiful specks of green and brown floating around his blue eyes as he leans closer, this time to press a soft kiss on my lips that quickly sinks into something much deeper.
And suddenly I’m the one thinking of how many places he can take me in the span of one night.
“Come. Sit with me,” he says when he pulls away, his large hand staying wrapped around mine to tug me toward the living room.
I follow without complaint, grateful to get out of the awkward standing position we’ve been in. He leads me to the fluffy, gray sectional couch and plops into the center spot, yanking me down to straddle his lap. The move hikes my dress up my hips, exposing most of my thighs to the cool air.
“I really, really like this dress.” His hands run along my ribcage, wrapping around the front to cup my breasts.
“Me too,” I sigh, gazing out his windows as he keeps his attention focused on what his hands are doing.
The city buzzes beneath us, a flurry of headlights and glowing apartment windows. I’m not sure how he manages to feel a shred of privacy with no window coverings, but I’ve heard you get used to it.
Without preamble, he hooks his fingers along the top hem and flips it out, spilling my breasts over in one swift move. He goes to lean in and take one in his mouth when my arms come up in front of him protectively, blocking his view. He has the nerve to look up at me, confused—irritated, even.
Still covering myself with one arm, I gesture toward the wide open window with the other, suddenly realizing how close the next building is to us, with the glow of people sitting in their living rooms or bedrooms. All they would have to do is turn their heads, and they’d get a full view of my upper half.
“I’m not flashing the entire city of Boston,” I squeal, tightening my arm against my chest when I think I see a man three floors down in the building to our left look in.
Mac’s head slowly swivels toward where I’m focused, a scowl forming on his face.
“The windows have privacy film over them,” he explains slowly, as if this is the most offensive inconvenience he’s had. “We can clearly see out, but no one else can see in.”
“Privacy film,” I repeat, as if this is a completely new concept to me. Of course, someone of his status has some sort of privacy measures in place. How did I miss that?
Because he’s so far out of my league, it’s nauseating.
“Yes, privacy film. There’s no way in hell I’d let anyone else see you like this.
One thing to note about me, sunshine: I don’t share.
” Yanking my arms away, he positions them back on either side of my body, then continues his worship of my breasts.
He takes one into his mouth, closing his teeth around it and giving a playful tug that has me sucking in a sharp breath. “You should know that by now.”