Chapter 16
Mack gets up right after that and heads into the hallway bathroom. He hasn't yet put on a shirt, and I don't know if I hope or dread that he might not put one on before he comes out for coffee. My fingers fumble with the grounds at the thought and I end up spilling a bunch on the counter.
I shake my head and start the coffee brewing, then grab a towel and sweep up my mess. When Mack does emerge five minutes later, he's wearing a shirt. I give a little huff from my nose and shake my head.
"What?" Mack says, his eyes curious.
"It's just--guys have it so easy. It took you five minutes in the bathroom and you're ready for your day."
Truthfully, he even looks ready to play the hot bad guy on a Jason Statham movie, but I don't add that part.
"Why? How long did it take you to get ready?"
I glance down at my yoga pants and the ironic Fun Run Race for the Cure t-shirt I'm wearing. "I'm not ready yet."
"You look ready to me."
His voice is sultry and low and has my head whipping toward him, but his back is turned. He's opening the cupboard that holds my mugs. He selects a My Cat will Murder You mug. When he turns around, there's not a hint of any suggestiveness in his eyes.
"Coffee isn't ready yet," I say, chickening out and heading back to my bedroom. "I'll be out in a bit."
"Ten minutes," he says, when I finally emerge. He tilts his big watch toward him, then sips his coffee. "It only took you ten minutes to look that good."
I ignore the compliment. "It only took ten minutes because I didn't do anything with my hair."
His dark eyes flick up to examine my messy bun. "I like it. It's cute."
I give a non-committal hum and grab a mug. This forces me to get nice and close to him. A normal person might move, but Mack just regards me seriously and lets me brush up against his bicep.
"Ziggy has the rest of the reports ready," he finally says. "I'm going to go grab the printed copies after you head off to work."
"Mm-hmm." I don't make eye contact.
I already took the day off, intent on looking up the cell phone numbers that Ziggy attached to addresses the night before. My boss is always begging me to use my floating holiday hours, so when I texted her that I’ll be taking a few days off, she texted me back, Huzzah!
I instinctively know that Mack won't love what I'm planning on doing.
Based on the stubbornness he showed last night, he'll probably find a way to stop me.
Which is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. I have a house, a job, a brother who's skipped parole.
I certainly shouldn't feel like I have to hide where I'm going or what I'm doing. I don't owe Mack anything.
Is that really true, though? a little voice pipes up, in my head. He's done a lot for you, and he certainly didn't have to.
That's all true, but I still don't want him tagging along on my errand. So I dress in scrubs, pack a lunch, and hop in my car when I usually do. Mack follows me out in his shiny black pickup, with Mooch left to presumably guard the house. Or poop in my shoes--whatever.