25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jordan
Twelve-hour rotations sounded like the perfect thing to steady all the things that went wrong six months ago, but as I lay on top of Mac’s bed while the sun beats in on the windows, I lose another chance at falling asleep.
It’s okay. I know I deserve it.
I’m still no closer to an answer on what the hell I want in this life. What label I’m supposed to wear. What the hell any of it means. Why I’m checking my phone and hoping that Mac’ll send more than just the obligatory responses for once.
I know it’s not doom scrolling the internet.
Yet here I am. Swiping through videos and ending up on the thirst trap side of the web.
And as much as I can appreciate the hard work it takes to keep a body in shape, I still find that none of them call to me. None of them keep my attention.
None of them make my dick hard.
Not even the masked women with thick thighs and enough tits to smother someone.
Sighing, I flick away another video and pause when it lands on a song I could hum in my sleep.
And then I full on freeze when a tattoo I recognize fills the screen.
An eagle inked into a hip.
Drumsticks grasped in its talons.
And a golden trail of hair that runs down from the navel to the low set of his jeans.
“Fuck.”
I lick my lips when his hips pop to the beat. Left. Then right. Back again. The screen jerks upwards, filling with Mac’s face and I couldn’t stop the groan even if I’d tried.
He looks like a god. High cheekbones and a sharp jaw. Curls spilling out of his bandana. A deeper tint to his skin that only amplifies the tan line across his waist.
A waist I’ve held onto.
Fuck, I miss him.
His carefree laugh. The way his excitement vibrates through him all the time. How he can never sit still. His love for arcade games and his shitty diet.
The terms of endearment masked by stupid nicknames.
The warmth of him so close to me, but not touching, that I know I’m not alone.
The video replays and I hum along to the song, my attention zeroing in on the drumbeats in the background.
Chills rack over me when I imagine Mac playing each note, his powerful arms swinging through the air without caring how hard or how loud he has to be.
How he takes up space just by existing.
Shines in a sea of darkness.
I love that about him.
Swiping away the video, I engage the music streaming app and let the notes of Mac fill the room.
It’s heavy and harsh and it puts a smile on my face.
Because it’s just Mac .