11. Gracelyn
CHAPTER 11
GRACELYN
“T hat was fun.” I brush my hair back from my face, unwinding myself from Mack. Standing, I pluck my sweatshirt from the ground and throw it back over my head. Covering myself up in the cozy cotton.
“Yeah.” Mack leans back against the cushions, his long legs kicked out. The man’s a vision, his chest and abs defined as he lounges on my sofa.
“Thanks.” I toss him his pants and T-shirt, a not-so-subtle hint. This time I’m getting the jump on him. Better to guard my heart from disappointment and protect myself from the sting of rejection.
He catches the clothing with one hand, his eyes narrowed.
Definitely picking up what I’m laying down.
“I’m guessing this is good night then.” His voice is low and husky as he stares across the room at me.
I shrug. “Like I said, it’s a school night.”
“Too bad.” There’s a hint of regret in his tone as he pulls his pants on, shimmying into the denim and zipping up. My stomach flutters, my heart warring with my wind. Much as I want him to stay, long to wake up in his strong arms, I’m not going to take that risk again. Put myself out there like I did last time.
I don’t want to wind up looking like a sappy fool, my feelings smushed like a lovebug on a car grille.
Nope.
“Okay then.” He stands up, runs his fingers through his messy waves before pulling the T-shirt over his head.
Bye-bye, abs.
Sadness twinges low in my belly, but I push it away. I can’t dwell on feelings right now, not while Mack’s still here. So close to me, the scent of pine and sex floating through the living room air. My body still warm in all the places he touched me, my thighs slick and sticky.
I need to get him out of here before I break down and cave, give in to my desires.
“I have to be up early tomorrow.” I throw his words right back at him, although I don’t sound very convincing.
“Right.” He presses his lips together, a vein popping in his neck.
The air shifts between us, both of our guards up now. I don’t know where I stand with him, his expression blank and jaw tense.
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, my shoulders slump as he gathers his phone and keys without a word.
“Well, thanks for tonight, Gracelyn.” He spins to face me, his eyes flicking to my face. My breath hitches as he locks his gaze on mine for a long second.
“Welcome,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
Everything about this feels wrong.
I want him to stay.
Want him to say something—anything—to give me hope for the future, for us.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he tips my chin up and presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss.
A kiss that feels very much like goodbye.
Tears sting my eyes and I’m happy they’re closed. I’m not going to give Mack the satisfaction of witnessing me cry over him.
What we have going on is clearly a fling, nothing serious.
“Night, Gracelyn.”
“Night, Mack.”
He lets himself out this time and I stare at his retreating backside, a lump in my throat. The door clicks closed and then there’s silence.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Lock your door, baby.” His muffled voice carries through the wood and one hot tear slides down my face as I hurry to the door and slide the deadbolt into place.
“That’s a good girl.”
I brush the tear away along with the strong feeling of déjà vu.
I’m not going to do this with him again.
As much as I like Mack, I can’t keep putting myself out there. I want to be the cool, casual girl—so much—but I don’t have it in me. Not this time. I’ve been the casual fuck before, but I know I’m worth more that that.
With shaky hands, I tap out a text that I very well may regret in the morning.
Gracelyn: It’s been fun, but I can’t keep doing this with you
I hit send before I overthink the entire situation, knowing deep-down in my heart it’s the right thing to do. Then I stare at my phone, waiting and willing him to text something good back. Tell me what we have is real, I’m not just a fuck-and-roll.
Stalling, I get ready for bed, throwing on my pjs and brushing my teeth. I floss, rinse with mouthwash.
Nothing.
Finger comb through my wild curls, trying to detangle my golden mop.
Nothing.
Apply lip mask treatment and hand cream, including cuticle oil.
Damn it. Still no response.
I crawl into bed and slip under the covers, scrolling through social media for a few minutes to kill time. Finally, I give up and plug in my cell, shut off the light, and stare at the ceiling.
Focusing on my breathing, I try to forget all about Mack and his stupidly handsome face. That square jaw, with just the right amount of stubble. His full lips as he kisses me, licking and sucking and bringing me to the brink of ecstasy. The way his hands brush over my skin and light me up inside. His gravelly voice as he whispers sweet, sweet compliments in my ear.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, knowing full well that guys like him don’t pick girls like me. I’m not the most beautiful woman in the room. I’m not thin or athletic. I’m short and curvy, with a big mouth and an even bigger personality.
I’m the sidekick, the good-time gal. I don’t give main character energy and I’m certainly not the heroine in a romance. Never have been, never will be. Those roles go to women like Sloane or our friend Lindsey, even Jamie.
But not me.
So why would Mack want anything more than a hookup? I was dumb to entertain the concept, the very idea laughable. He’s probably relieved I let him off the hook.