14. Mackie
MACKIE
We’ve been doing this for almost two months now, but I still get that same jolt when I show up at his apartment.
My body hasn’t quite adjusted to the fact that I’m allowed to be here.
He’s waiting by the elevator when the doors open, which is so sweet I don’t even have time to come up with something witty before he wraps his arms around me.
He lifts me off the ground, squeezing me in a hug that makes my ribs creak.
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, trying to catch my breath. “Put me down before someone sees us.”
We walk back to his door holding hands. The minute it shuts behind us I head for my spot on the kitchen counter. Shredder’s tank is glowing blue on the bookshelf, and game film is paused on the TV.
He leans against the opposite counter with his arms crossed, watching me.
We’ve done this enough times now that the nervous energy should be gone, but it’s not.
Every time I come over, there’s this moment where we just look at each other and no one moves first, as if we’re both waiting for the universe to give us permission.
“So have the guys let up about your secret family yet?”
“Rodriguez asked me at practice today if my wife’s name starts with a vowel. He’s narrowing it down.”
“Tell him it’s Olga. She’s very tall and she plays volleyball.” I swing my legs. “Are you going to come over here or are you going to stand against that counter like you’re waiting for a bus?”
He crosses the kitchen and steps between my knees.
I lean forward into him letting my fingers trail through the shaggy hair at the back of his neck.
He needs a haircut. I love the way it curls behind his ears, and I love the way he leans into my hand when I touch it—a slight, unconscious tilt toward my fingers that makes my chest ache with how unguarded it is.
“Hi,” I say as his hands settle on my thighs.
I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to kiss him simply because I can. His hands are on my waist, pressing his fingers into the strip of skin between my shirt and my jeans. He still does this every time, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here and still want this.
“Hey.” I catch his wrist gently. “You’re allowed.”
His breath hitches. “I know.”
He lifts me off the counter and carries me to the couch.
The carefulness vanishes the second we sit down.
His mouth moves to my neck. His hands are under my shirt, tracing the edge of my bra, his thumb dragging along the edge.
I arch into him, reaching back to unhook it myself because I’m impatient and I want to feel him against me without any barriers.
He helps me pull my shirt and bra off together.
His hands are on me immediately, his mouth drops to my chest, and I scrape my fingers through his hair the way I know he likes.
He kisses a line down my stomach, along my ribs, over my hip bone.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans.
He pops the button and starts inching them down.
This is new, everything we’ve done so far has been sweet and slow but mostly still clothed and now we’re finally getting somewhere.
“My dad’s going to invite you to our Christmas Eve party.”
He freezes, his fingers going still against my skin, I can feel his mouth warm against my stomach. He lifts his head slowly. The look on his face would be funny if I wasn’t absolutely horrified at myself.
“What did you just say?” he asks slowly.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It just came out.
” My stupid, terrible, traitorous brain cannot be trusted to stay in one place for longer than thirty seconds.
I was thinking about how good his mouth felt.
Then I was thinking about the secret. Then I was thinking about how we’re going to have to be around my family, and then Christmas just materialized fully formed.
My mouth opened before the rest of me could stop it.
“Mackie, what the hell.”
“I know, I know. I’m very aware of what was about to happen. Then my brain just—” I make a noise like an explosion. “I couldn’t stop it.”
He drops his forehead against my waist. I can feel him breathing against my skin slowly and deliberately, the way you breathe when you’re trying very hard not to panic.
“Your dad,” his voice is muffled against me. “You’re thinking about your dad right now.”
“Not in a weird way! He does this thing every year. The Christmas Eve party. He invites the younger guys with nowhere to go, some of the coaching staff, Barrett. It’s a whole production.
You’re exactly who he’d invite because right now the team thinks you’re a lonely guy with a secret family in Canada.
” I take a deep, frantic breath. “If he asks you, you need to say yes. I know the timing is insane, but once I think something I have to say it or—”
“Mackie.”
“Yeah?”
“I need a minute.”
He sits back against the other end of the couch and runs both hands down his face. I’m lying here with my bra off and my jeans half unzipped, and the mood is so dead it might need a funeral.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, sitting up and pulling my jeans back together. “I have the worst timing of any human alive.”
“That might actually be true.” He looks up at the ceiling. “So your dad is going to invite me to the party.”
“To the Christmas Eve party. At our house. Rodriguez, Barrett, and whoever else doesn’t have family in town.”
“And I’m going to be sitting at a table with your father.”
“Eating whatever my mom cooks. Last year it was prime rib, and it was amazing. But my dad also made super dry turkey because he can’t not make a turkey. He brines it for twenty-four hours and talks about the brine like he invented it. You have to tell him it’s incredible.”
“Right. So I eat the dry turkey and compliment the brine while sitting across from the man whose daughter I was just—” He gestures vaguely at me, at my current state of undress, at the couch, at the general situation.
“Well obviously we don’t say that part out loud. That’s rule one.”
“There are rules?”
“There are going to be rules. And the main one is: when he invites you, say yes. If you say no he’ll wonder why. Also, Rodriguez will absolutely bring up the Vancouver family thing and you can’t not be there to defend yourself.”
“What if I’m busy?”
I scoff. “Are you busy on Christmas Eve? No, you were going to spend Christmas Eve with the fish.”
“At least he doesn’t bring up my girlfriend’s dad while I’m trying to take her pants off.” He grumbles.
“Okay first of all, put a pin in girlfriend because we are coming back to that. Second of all, we need ground rules. You are currently a man who the entire team believes has a secret wife and three children in Vancouver. You need to walk into my parents’ house and act like you also don’t have a real secret involving me.
” I sit up and cross my legs on the couch, shifting fully into strategy mode despite being half-dressed. “Do you own a blindfold?”
He blinks. “…No?”
“You might need one. Because I’m going to be wearing a dress, and I don’t want anyone to see the way you look at me when I’m wearing the dress.”
“What way do I look at you?”
“Like I’m the last slice of pizza and you haven’t eaten in three days.
It’s very obvious. Rodriguez is going to be there.
He already knows you’re hiding something.
If you look at me like that, he’s going to upgrade the Vancouver wife theory to something way worse.
” I wave my hand dismissively. “The blindfold would solve that, but it would also raise questions, so we scrap the blindfold. Plan B: I could just not dress up.”
“Okay—”
“Except no, because me not dressing up would be weirder than you staring at me. My mom would think I’m sick. She’d take my temperature. There’d be a huge conversation.” I tap my chin, mentally running through the options. “Okay, so I’ll wear the dress. And you can look at me a little bit.”
“How much is a little bit?”
“Like you can look, but briefly, because I’m hot. Then if I tug on my ear—” I demonstrate. “That means you’ve been staring too long and you need to look somewhere else. Look at the turkey. Compliment the cat. Whatever.”
“And if you don’t tug your ear? Can I look at you then?”
“Then you’re fine. Keep looking. A little bit of looking is normal. If you didn’t look at me at all, that would be more suspicious than the three kids thing.” I point at him. “You just can’t look at me like you’ve seen me topless.”
“I have seen you topless. I’ve also had my hand in your pants. I was about to get somewhere else too,” he trails off.
“Which is why we need the system, Zach! Keep up!”
He stares at me with his mouth slightly open. I can tell his brain is trying to follow a play that keeps changing.
“So... can I look at you or not?”
“Yes. But carefully. Let’s practice.”
“When?”
“Now. Look at me right now the way you’d look at me at the Christmas party.”
He looks at me perfectly normally for a microsecond. Then his eyes drop to my neck, down to my chest, and stay there.
“Zach! That’s your casual face? You look like you’re about to unhinge your jaw and swallow me whole.”
“I’m just looking at you!”
“You’re looking at my boobs!”
“It’s very hard not to!”
“Dial it back about forty percent. Pretend I’m the turkey.”
He tries again. His eyes lock onto mine with an intense, unblinking focus.
“Okay, now you look like a serial killer who’s in love with the turkey.”
“I don’t know what to do with my face!” He laughs, dropping his head back against the cushion.
“Oh my god,” I say, running a hand through his hair. “We have so much work to do.”
We practice for another five minutes and it gets worse. Every time he tries to casually look at me, his eyes drift south and I have to smack his arm to reset him. At one point he tries to maintain eye contact so hard he doesn’t blink for a solid ten seconds. I’m laughing so hard I start wheezing.
“Okay,” I gasp. “Okay, we’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll just wear a turtleneck.”
“To the Christmas party.”