Mac
NINE
My panic attack just seems stupid now. My head is hazy with booze, and I’m happy. Sitting next to Sage, surrounded by everyone, I feel fucking good.
Sage was being weird, but the longer we sit here laughing at the drunk assholes, he returns to his normal self.
“So, how long are you staying?” Sage is drunk, his words coming out too fast with a slight slur. I can’t help but laugh. Not because of what he said, because I don’t fucking know the answer. And I’m drunk, and everything just feels right.
“Shut up, dick. Just answer the question.” He punches my arm, drunk and frustrated.
Oh, I didn’t know I missed this version of him, but I did.
Before I can try and stumble out some sort of coherent bullshit, Luna comes racing over to us.
Her bright blue hair color bleeds down her shoulders and drips down her forehead.
Girl looks like a hot mess, but she’s rocking it. A punk rock fairy.
“Ok, no more hoarding Mac. Up you go.” She grabs my arm and tugs it. I don’t budge. She tries again, really giving it her all, but I’m firmly planted in the sand.
“I’m not hoarding him,” Sage grumbles into his beer. I just laugh more. Fuck, I missed grumpy Sage.
“Yes, you are. Hiding him in your trailer,” she grunts out, still trying to pull me to my feet. “I have cookies.” She smiles, dropping my hand and letting it fall to my lap.
“Oh, cookies.” I jump up, towering over the smug, blue pixie.
“God, boys are dumb. Come on, I do have a surprise.”
“Hear that, Sage? A surprise!” I look back at him, but why is he scowling at Luna? His eyes are narrowed with villain vibes radiating off him. Like she just stole his white cat. Wait—that’s Austin Powers.
“Come on, grumpy puss. The pixie has a surprise!” I pull him up to his feet, his hands latching onto my hips to keep him balanced.
I’m going to pretend. Pretend he just wanted to touch me. Because he’s perfectly balanced now, and his hands haven’t moved. His brown eyes catch the light from the fire pit. Flames dance along with the gold that’s already there. Is it just my drunk mind, or is he looking at me differently?
Definitely drank too much. He looks away and drops his hands, rubbing the back of his neck. I shake my head, and the entire beach sways.
“Lead the way, sassafras.” I grab onto Sage’s hand, so he doesn’t try to evade me, and pull him along as Luna does the same to mine. We pass the fire pit and the card table someone set up for beer pong. She pulls us along towards the old boat house.
“Holy shit! It’s Sawyer! Yo, Sawyer!” I shout, drawing Sawyer’s attention. I drop both of their hands and run over. He smiles and lets me hug him. He’s a lot smaller than I remember, and light, too. Drunk me lifts him off his feet. He squeals and slaps my back.
“Hey, Mac truck! Put me down.” He laughs and tries to go limp. After another tight squeeze that has him hitting my back harder, I set him back down on his feet.
“It’s good to see you, too, Mac.” Sawyer laughs, his cheeks blushing like they always used to.
He’s a good-looking guy. Not my type, but definitely attractive.
He gives off twink vibes way more than he used to.
Black eyeliner makes his green eyes look brighter somehow, and blue nail polish bright on all his pale fingers.
He looks good. Better than the scared guy who ran that night two years ago.
“I’m sorry about my dad.” Drunk me wants to get that out of the way. I open my mouth to say more, but Sawyer holds his hand out and presses it against my chest.
“Don’t apologize for him. I’m good, and you look damn good. So, let’s just move on? Ok?” His fingers kind of pet my chest, right over the spot Sage tapped earlier.
It doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t feel as good. Sawyer’s green eyes drop down the length of my body, and back up again. Obviously checking me out. He’s way bolder than he was back then.
A deep, grumbly sound comes from behind me. Hold up. Did Sage just growl?
I look over my shoulder, and sure as shit, Sage is standing behind me, glowering at Sawyer. Lips pulled back, nostrils flaring—the whole deal. Sawyer notices my attack dog and drops his hand.
“Oh.” He smiles. “Oooohh.” Sawyer laughs and steps back, hands held out in surrender.
“Yeah. Fucking oh, motherfucker.” Sage steps forward, chest puffed out. His fists are clenched at his sides. What the fuck is happening right now?
“Sage. Stop. It’s Sawyer, chill.” Luna steps in when I just freeze. I’m so confused and weirdly turned on. I always love protective Sage, but this, whatever this is, is new. Sage is a thundercloud. Threatening and fucking hot.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t know,” Sawyer says behind me. Sage doesn’t back down, instead he takes another step towards Sawyer.
“Sage…” Luna tries again to get him to calm down. But what? Didn’t know what? Again, what is happening?
“Fuck!” Sage growls out, turning around without another word and storming past everyone. He marches towards the edge of the lake, kicking the leg out of the card table and sending cups scattering onto the sand.
“What?” I spin around, looking at Luna, then Sawyer. Needing one of them to spell out what just happened. “What?” I repeat, cause I apparently I lost brain cells watching whatever that was.
“God, boys are so dumb. Just go.” She waves her hand flippantly in the direction Sage just left in. But I’m just confused. What am I dumb about?
“Mac. Dude, you should go. Boys like to be chased,” Sawyer says with a wink. Boys like what? I regret every single sip of alcohol I drank. Because I’m convinced I’d understand if the world wasn’t swaying so much.
But I listen. I follow behind Sage like I always do, apologizing to the pissed-off group at the card table. Once I’m at the edge of the lake, I look around, but I don’t see him anywhere.
God, I hope he didn’t go swimming. Swimming and being drunk are not a good mix. But then I see his silhouette standing on the edge of the dock, his hands in his hair.
I’m drunk, so I give myself a second to just look. But then he’s yelling, interrupting me. He screams at the lake, at the sky, at the dock. Just one sentence, over and over. One sentence I get: “What the fuck!?”
The dock creaks when I step onto the old wood. It sways, or I do, as I walk toward the raving lunatic.
He finally stops yelling when he sees me. He’s covered in shadows, just a black smudge shaped like Sage.
“You alright?” I ask dumbly. I can’t see his face clearly, but I wish I could. He’s walking towards me, and I’m walking towards him. Even in my fucked-up head I know something is about to happen. No idea what, but the air is charged, tense.
His steps are purposeful as he comes closer. Then, he’s grabbing my face and pulling me toward him. I stumble forward, my hands finding his chest and holding onto him this time.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, his lips crash against mine.
It’s almost painful. Sage is kissing me.
For years, I imagined what his lips would feel like, taste like.
But this is so much more than I could ever imagine.
His hand moves to the back of my neck, angling my head.
Fingers curl in the hair at my nape. His tongue pushes between my shocked lips, and I finally catch on.
I grab him, hands roaming, tongue teasing, breath lost. The world is burning; everything is fire and Sage. I press every inch of my body against his and moan into the kiss when I feel his cock hard against mine.
This is Sage. My Sage. My best friend. He’s kissing me like I’m actually his. Like I’ve wanted to do for years.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Instead, he drops his forehead to mine as we both catch our breath. I taste whiskey and mango, and fucking Sage.
“How drunk are you?” I ask into the small space between us. Scared he’s just drunk, scared this will be nothing but a regret he carries. His breathy laugh flits across my kiss-swollen lips.
“Drunk enough to do what I want.” Then the motherfucking asshole is kissing me again. Just as passionate as the first, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my mouth. He moans. I whimper. He controls the kiss, every aspect of it, and I fucking burn.
God, please don’t let this be a mistake he regrets.
My body lands on the floor with a heavy thud. My leg is caught in the thin blanket, holding it hostage on the bed. I wrestle it free as my brain slowly comes back online. Bed. Not the couch. My eyes slowly peel open.
I’m in Sage’s room. Posters, memories, dirty clothes. I’m lying on the floor in Sage’s room.
Last night comes back with clarity. The docks. The kiss. That fucking kiss. Sage kissed me. And apparently took my sanity with him.
Slowly and with more effort than it requires, I sit up. Sage lays passed out in the bed. All torso, shitty tattoos, and sweat-slicked hair.
How did we get back here? The last thing I remember is the dock. The kiss. It’s like my brain shut off after that. Or short circuited.
Sage kissed me. His tongue was in my mouth. I press my fingertips to my lips, testing to see if it was real or I hallucinated the whole thing. It’s inconclusive.
My swim trunks are twisted on my hips, my shirt on the floor next me. What else happened last night? The room provides me with no insight.
I sit on the floor, staring at Sage for longer than socially acceptable, replaying the feel of him over and over. His lips, his hard cock rutting against mine as we kissed. The smell of the lake and Sage. The taste of alcohol and lust.
But no matter how hard I try to dig out the memories of what happened after, I come up blank. Thinking and hangover headache don’t mesh.
Coffee. I finally force myself to move. Standing from the floor, I make my way to the kitchen.
How can everything still be the same? How can it be the same when my entire world has been flipped upside down? He kissed me. He fucking kissed me! And he was hard when he did it.
By the time the coffee is slowly, so very slowly, dripping into the pot, I hear movement in the bedroom. Groans and a muffled, “Fuck me” sound in the kitchen. Nerves start to settle like stones in my stomach.
Will he regret it? Was he so drunk he doesn’t remember? Shit. Can I return to pretending I only see him as my best friend? Should I pretend nothing happened?
My hands start to shake when I hear his footsteps. Then the bathroom door, and the sound of him peeing, a flush. More footsteps.
How do I play this? How do I fucking play this?
“Hey,” he grumbles as I hear him sit down at the kitchen table. I can’t bring myself to turn around. Can’t face him. Not when my head is pounding almost as hard as my heart. Not when the fear of him regretting it or not remembering it is wrapped around my neck like a noose.
“Hey.” Did I sound normal? My eyes watch every drop of coffee.
He sighs and asks, “You remember how we got back?”
“Nope.” The pot finally fills enough, and I pull it out. Hands tremble as I lift the top and pour some into the waiting mugs. I can’t keep my back to him forever; I’ll have to eventually turn around. But I take my time, every movement slow. Grabbing the mugs and his honey, I finally look at him.
He's hunched over on his elbows and rubbing his temples. I take advantage of his closed eyes and look my fill. I set the mug and honey in front of him and sit down. My body feels alive, like ants are running through my veins instead of blood.
Then brown eyes meet mine, and it stops. The nerves, the ants, the hangover. For a second, it all vanishes. He always had a shit poker face with me. I can still read him like a book. His thoughts are practically written along his skin just for me.
He remembers.