11. Shelby
Dear Jessica,
I saw his privates. I shouldn’t be telling you this, because you’re only twelve, but I’m going to pretend you aged right alongside me for a minute, okay?
I SAW HIS
MOTHERF_____ING
P__N__S.
And I knocked him out.
This is not what I thought I’d be writing to you about. Please forgive me.
—Shelby
P.S. I’m still not thinking about Mom.
For a moment, I just stand there, heart pounding in my ears and hands over my mouth. I just knocked out Alasdair MacGregor.
Mac, I correct myself.
I don’t know why I used his full name. Maybe because I’ve been rolling it around on my tongue ever since I learned it today. Maybe because I purposefully downloaded a book on the e-reader I normally only use for business material where the hero has that name. It’s a historical romance, and the hero spends 90 percent of his time either topless in a kilt or naked in bed with his voluptuous political prisoner. Yes, it’s obscenely spicy.
But now Alasdair MacGregor is lying on his back on his deck, fully passed out.
“Mac!” I say, looking away. Or should I look at him? What do I do? Check on him? Cover him up?
Mac groans.
Relief thumps through me as I rush over to him.
But the ground is slippery and freezing, and when I try to stop next to him, I slip myself. I land hard on my knees next to his head.
Pain radiates up my legs, but I barely register it.
“Mac!” I grasp his head. His beard is rough against my palms, his face huge between my hands. “Mac! Are you okay?”
His eyelids flutter like he’s trying to focus. “Shel—” He grimaces.
I let out a relieved breath. “Yes, Shelby.” He knows who I am. I feel around his head, assessing for injuries, even though I have no idea what I’m doing. Deanie’s the one with first aid training.
Mac’s hair is damp, but I don’t find anything warm and sticky.
“I don’t feel any blood,” I say.
“Blood?” Mac squeaks, his brows angled in concern. He tries to lift his head up.
“No, there’s no blood!” I say.
“Oh God,” he groans. His head falls back with a thud onto the deck.
That can’t be good.
“Can you focus on me?” I say. That’s something concussed people can’t do, right?
Mac squints, trying to lift his head again. “Shelby,” he rasps.
“Yes, good.”
“No. Shelby, I’m—” He takes a breath, as if needing to fortify himself. “Am I…”
I lean in, my ear in front of his lips. I can feel his breath skate warm across my ear. Now’s not the time for tingles, but say that to the tingles. And to his arm curling upward, his hand spreading over my back.
“What, Mac? Are you what?”
“Am I naked?”
I sit up, and before I realize what I’m doing, I check. I actually check. And now that my eyes are adjusted to the darkness, I can confirm that yes, yes, Mac is fully naked.
And he’s…oh God, yes, he’s got a gorgeous penis. I knew he’d have a gorgeous penis.
“Shelby.”
Mac’s voice is stronger now.
I blink. “Yes.”
“Are you still checking?”
My cheeks flame. “Uh, yes. I mean no, I’m not. But yes, you are.”
I look back at his face. His expression is unreadable. Then he closes his eyes. “Of course,” I think I hear him say.
“Here, let me get something to cover you up with,” I say.
“The towel?” he pats around on the ground beside him and winces.
I look back down, but that’s a mistake, because now I’m staring at his beautiful penis again. “It’s…not here.”
He clears his throat. “Would you, uh, would you mind getting something?”
“Right.” I scramble to my feet and run into my room. There on the hook on the wall is the little pink robe I bought. It’s part of a set—a lacy bra and panties and a short robe to match.
I don’t know why I bought it. It seemed like something Shelby might wear since Bryony only owns sensible nude underwear.
But I grab it and bring it out to Mac. He’s reached down to cover himself up, and I lay the robe over his crossed hands. It’s like a Kleenex on him.
But he pulls his hands out and presses the thing to him, sitting up with a hissed intake of breath.
“I’m sorry, Mac,” I say.
“What for?”
“For scaring you.”
“You didn’t scare me. You knocked me out.”
“Well, yeah. But before. I should have told you I was coming home.”
Mac’s eyes blink open.
For a moment, we stare at each other. Then he says, “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re…home.” Is it me, or does he linger on that word just a half second longer than necessary?
I shouldn’t have said home. This is Mac’s home, not mine. But still, I smile, something warm and soft spreading over me.
Then he says, “Why are you home?”
“I wanted to see the room. It looks amazing.”
Mac tries to nod and winces. “Hey, Shelby?”
“Yes?” I’m a little breathless.
“Do you mind going into your room now? Or at least turning around so I can leave?”
My stomach plunges. “Oh, yes, for sure.”
I’m just getting up when the deck’s flooded with light.
We both cry out, squinting at the bright lights.
“Mac?” Nate calls out. “Shelby?” His voice cracks on that last word.
“Hey, Nate!” I say cheerily. I spot Mac’s towel, crumpled by my door.
“Are you—” Nate begins.
I stand up, realizing what he’s seeing. “Oh, God. No, it’s not what it looks like.”
I sense Mac standing up too, “Nate,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
But when I look over at him, he’s staggering slightly, his giant paw clutched across the laughably tiny piece of pink fabric at his crotch.
“Ew!” Nate yells.
The light flicks off. For a moment, I’m completely blind. I can’t see Nate leave, but I hear the slam of the patio door. Great. We’ve traumatized him.
I take a step backward, feeling for my shed. I bend down and pick up the towel, hurling it in Mac’s direction. I have no idea if he catches it.
“Well, if you’re okay, I’m going to go now!”
My words are too loud, too shrill, but Mac grunts. “Okay.”
I feel around for my door. Behind me, I hear Mac putting the chair back in place. I steal a glance behind me to see his shadowy figure, towel snug around his waist. One hand’s out, the other is rubbing the back of his head as he moves toward the patio doors.
“Hey, Mac?” I whisper.
He pauses but doesn’t turn around.
“I…uh…I love my room.” It feels like a ridiculous thing to say now, but I can’t let it pass by unmentioned. I really do love it.
Mac grunts.
“Thank you,” I say.
A pause. “It was no problem.”
“I’ll just…stay here and listen for you falling.”
“You know what? If you hear it, maybe just let it happen.”