Page 39 of The Playboy SEAL
“I said I care,” he growls.
“Was that so hard?”
“Yes,” he replies. “I’m not in the business of tellingpeople things I’m not comfortable sharing.”
“We shared our bodies with each other all afternoon, Macs.”
“That’s different. I’m used to sharing that with other women, and don’t pretend you aren’t used to sharing yours with other men. It’s to us as a coffee date is to most other people. Agreed?”
I think about it for a few moments. He’s both right and wrong. “A fucking awesome coffee date, though,” I agree. “This afternoon felt different than other times.” If we’re playing the honesty game, I’m going to dive right the fuck in.
“I know,” he says simply.
“Because we care.”
“So you care, too?”
I narrow my eyes. “How can you possibly wonder that?” I mean, we’re both sort of at a disadvantage where emotions are concerned, but surely he’s able to tell that I feel for him more than my average date. “Of course I care. Every time we’re together, I find myself trying to keep my mouth shut before I say something that scares you off. Intimacy is an easy place to hide. For me, anyway. Everything else is what’s difficult.”
“I couldn’t be sure. I’ve never done this before.”
“Did this just turn into a real relationship?” I have the express desire to call my friends and squeal like a pig, then I remember they think this relationship has been real for weeks. It’s a killjoy.
“Somewhere in between car head and you screaming profanities at my ceiling while you came a half dozen times, it happened without our permission.”
I can tell he doesn’t like admitting that, like perhaps it makes him a lesser individual for not being able to control his feelings. Doesn’t he know I feel the same way?
“It wasn’t because of the, well, the messing around, right? I established rules about men spending the night for this very reason. You know this probably won’t end well?” My stupid insecurities force me to ask questions that embarrass me.
Macs laughs and swallows hard. “No, Teala, it’s not because you have the mouth of an angel, though I’m sure that helped things along. I like you. And you’re right, it will end with fire and venom, I’m sure.” He says it with a serious voice, and I can’t help but laugh.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m sort of easy-going. I’m not the kind to hold a grudge and promise destruction of your life if it doesn’t work out. I’m good by myself,” I remind him. “I like you, too.” I imagine his face right now, and I sigh.
“See how much was accomplished with words?” he asks. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He clicks off the phone, and I’m so fucking giddy I scream out loud and stand to jump around on my bed.
My mom flies into the room and throws the light on. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes wild, her head looking left and right for a threat. The gesture reminds me of when I was a little girl and she’d save me from my nightmares. Her gaze finally lands on me, standing in the middle of my bed with a grin on my face, and her face softens. She smiles, shaking her head in confusion.
“It’s official!” I yell out, jumping once more just forgood measure. I sit on the edge of my unmade bed and hug my cell phone to my chest.
“You’re officially something,” she says, walking toward me, her sleepy smile warming me. She sits next to me and pats a hand on my bare thigh. “What’s official, honey?”
She wouldn’t know the truth, either. She’s in the same category as my friends. I want to tell her how Macs was a womanizer, how he hasn’t slept with anyone else since he met me. I want to tell her how we haven’t even had sex yet, even though we probably would have on our very first date. I want to tell her how it all started off as pretending, and then things turned into something real and visceral. I can’t tell her any of those things, though, because I’m messed up and I don’t want to put it on display.
“Macs and I,” I state. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
“Was it not before?”
“It was,” I say quickly. “We just kind of solidified it. That’s all.”
She smiles at me again, her white teeth gleaming. “I could have told you that earlier. Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”
I don’t, and it makes my stomach roll in disbelief. Viola is an expert at reading people. After my father broke her, she spent a lot of her time studying those around her. I think she was trying to figure out how she didn’t see the blow coming. She trusted too much. Loved too much and got destroyed because of it. Now she sees things the normal human can’t possibly understand. It’s a gift thatonly those who have been tortured in a very specific way can claim. She pats my back.
“He’s crazy about you,” she says.
I’m lost in thought—in revelation. Could she be wrong? Or am I that unseeing? Just like Viola was before she was crushed? Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Why did he do that to you?”
