Chapter 19
Riley
I somehow managed to sleep hard when I fell asleep, but that didn't keep me from waking up like I'd run a marathon all night.
My dreams were wild and full of things I could never see myself doing in real life, and when the sun peeked through my curtains early this morning, I found myself fighting to go back to sleep. I've never been one to sleep in, and no matter how high I pulled the covers back over my head, I couldn't fall back asleep.
It's weird waking up in a home you've woken up in alone for years and years knowing that there's someone else in the house.
I'm not sure if Mac has work today. With it being Tuesday I presume he does, but I'm as quiet as I can be as I make my way down the hall and into the kitchen. It's not my responsibility to wake him up and make sure he's ready for the day. He's a grown man. I'm sure he's perfectly capable. Clearly, he's been doing it on his own for years if his successful business is any indication.
Coffee is made with little to no sound, and within ten minutes, I'm standing at the sink, looking out over the backyard, and trying to get a positive start on my day.
Before the holidays, I'd be working today, helping Sage cover one of the busier days of the week because Tuesday is a major release day in the publishing industry, but the post in the community group didn't get approved. It was rejected for some reason, although Bobby John Pritchard never gives feedback on why it might've not met the standards. I swear that the old man has more bad days than good and tries to ruin others' days or he hates women altogether.
Sage posted on her business page, but the interactions that it got were less than what we'd like to see. She did mention a chance of calling me in if it started to get busy, but Lindell University hasn't even begun its spring semester yet, so the influx of college students for the new discount isn't likely.
I lift my coffee to my lips, only to discover that I've already drained my cup without realizing it, and when I turn around, I find Mac standing several feet away staring at me.
I'd feel self-conscious in the worst sort of way if I didn't know exactly what that look in his eyes meant. What I do know is that him standing there somehow ready for the day but still looking a little sleepy lights my skin on fire.
I have to swallow twice before I dislodge the lump that has managed to wedge itself in my throat.
"There's coffee," I say, my voice less sure and more of a whisper than I intend.
His eyes drift down the front of me once more before he heads toward the coffee pot.
It's weird. It's going to be weird with him staying here, and I don't know if that's something I'm going to be able to handle. This home is my sanctuary, and his mere presence here is throwing everything off-kilter. It's enough to drive me mad.
I open my mouth to tell him the agreement is off, that he needs to go back to the hotel or at minimum find some other place to go. Staying here is no longer an option, but after he pours his coffee and turns back around to face me, his eyes once again dropping down the length of my body, I find it impossible to ask him to leave.
He's a complication, the very last thing I need in my life, but I still can’t formulate the words to ask him to leave.
"What are you doing today?" I ask instead.
"Working on my house," he answers, a glint of something unsaid in his eyes when he lifts them back up to my gaze.
"I could help," I offer, feeling like a fool for even making the suggestion.
I don't know a single thing about construction. There's still a massive hole in the wall in the tiny closet where I keep my cleaning supplies in because I attempted to hang a battery organizer and made some miscalculations.
"I have to confess that I don't know much about any of it," I add awkwardly when he just continues to stare at me. "But I'm teachable."
As if it's his main goal in life to make me squirm, he doesn't immediately respond, instead he takes another slow look down the length of my body, and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel when he has to clear his throat before he speaks .
The swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip sends an electrical current up my spine, forcing goosebumps along both of my arms and tightening my nipples as if that attention was directly against my skin.
"You'll have to wear more clothes than what you have on," he says.
I instantly feel naked in front of him despite wearing a sleep-set I snagged on sale last year.
"You don't like it?" I ask, my voice so husky that I don't even recognize its sound in my own ears as it bounces around the room.
That devilish tongue of his snakes out once again and I swear the man is taunting me in the best way, and with the way my body responds to him, I don't know if he's oblivious to the way I react to him or if he's purposely trying to torture me.
"Oh, I more than like it, Riley," he says, his tone low and welcoming. "But the electricity has been turned off at the house because of the fire, and you'll freeze. Plus, it's a demo day. You'll need long sleeves, pants, and boots if you have them."
"Ok," I whisper, a little surprised that he's actually okay with me tagging along.
I rinse my coffee cup and walk past him, but his hand grazes my stomach as I begin to pass, and it halts me immediately.
I look down at the touch, wondering why I would normally be embarrassed with a man touching me there. It's one of my trouble spots, that I can't seem to get under control, no matter how many times I cut carbs or exercise.
"I want to thank you for letting me stay here," he says, his thumb brushing back and forth until it slinks under my sleep shirt and brushes my bare skin.
"You don't even have the good bed," I say when nothing else comes to mind.
I feel a little breathless when his eyes drop to my mouth before he speaks.
"Is that an invitation to sleep in yours?"
I'm not a complete idiot. I can decipher the tease in his tone, but my body urges me to jump up and down or attempt a back flip which will no doubt put me right on my ass. Before I can formulate an answer, his hand drops from my stomach and it's as if some sort of spell is broken.
I walk away without saying a word, and despite thinking of a million and a half things that would've fit into that brief moment of silence as I make my way to my bedroom, I feel like a fool for not being able to think of anything to say .
As I move clothes around in my closet, trying to find an outfit that not only works for what he needs help with today, but will also have him looking in my direction for other reasons, an argument begins in my head. It's not the first time that I've questioned my sanity where Mac Hammer was concerned. The man has spent more time in my head than any man probably should've.
I don't know if he's manipulating me with the looks, and that touch moments ago in the kitchen. I highly doubt he's trying to fight the same draw I have for him. It's too easy for him to exploit the crush I've had on him all these years, although I'm not so sure he's even aware of it.
The man did act like he'd never seen my face before in his life not long ago at the bar, despite what we did in high school.
And that may hurt more than him actually trying to manipulate me. I can't count the number of times I've been overlooked by more than just Mac. I learned not long after leaving Lindell to go to college that there are a lot of men out there who feel like they can treat certain women with less respect because of their size. I've borne witness to it, been on the receiving end of it.
It's not fair to put any of that on Mac, but it does make me feel a little more cautious around him.
I pull a long-sleeved Henley from a hanger and pull it over my head before grabbing a sweatshirt and putting that one on as well. Layers are my friend, especially when there's any sort of manual labor coming my way.
I decide not to bother with makeup, knowing I'll probably just sweat it off in a handful of minutes. My hair ends up in a messy pile on the top of my head because I'm all up in my feelings and hating the world as I leave my room.
I know I need to work on my self-esteem, but that isn't going to start right this minute despite wanting to go out and find Mac and tell him that I won't be going along with him today. I told him I'd do it, and I always do my best to stick to my word.
"Ready," I grumble when I make it back into the living room to find him standing at the front window.
Instead of turning back to look at me, he continues to watch out the window. "Your neighbor is sweeping their driveway."
I pull in a deep breath. How could I have possibly forgotten about what a rumor mill this little town is?
"We'll be the topic of discussion in the town social media group," I say, irritation forming on my tongue as bitterness.
Mac turns to face me, letting the curtain drop closed .
His smile seems genuine, and I sort of hate him a little for it.
"I can go across the street and explain that we aren't hooking up. I'm sure they know about your house fire," I say.
"Why would you do that?"
I tilt my head and stare at him for a long moment, unsure of how he wants me to respond.
"So they don't think we're sleeping together," I mutter.
He steps in front of me, blocking my path before I can reach the front door. Mrs. Easter is one of the biggest gossips in town, and she prides herself on being the first one to start whispering. Her posts always get approved in the online town group.
"Are you embarrassed by me, Riley?"
My eyes dart across the room, trying to find a place to look that's anywhere but on his person. He pulls in a deep breath when I don't answer. "I guess that's something I'll have to work on then," he says before stepping out of the way.
When we make it outside, I head straight for his truck rather than across the street to clear things up with Mrs. Easter, and I know she gets an eyeful when he opens the passenger side door for me and waits for me to settle inside before closing it. I can't figure out who he really is. Is he the gentleman that he just acted like or the man who asked me if I wanted to walk home after that first night we spent together?