Page 38 of The Playboy SEAL
“Are you there?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “I’m here. I’m trying to figure out how to respond. Sorry,” I explain.
Macs lets out a groan that sounds more like a growl. “Listen, forget I said anything.”
Shit. “No. No. I understand what you’re saying. It surprised me. I thought we were on the same page,” I lie. “I want you to know me better.” I chose my words carefully by flipping his statement.
“It would be helpful for when you meet my parents,” he says. The butterflies that were in my stomach sink faster than theTitanic. “Especially my mother. She’s in the business of asking too many questions.”
“Oh. For the game.” I click the light back off and roll over, keeping the phone by my ear.
“Of course,” he says. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” I ask. “Don’t pretend you care. I’ll respond to texts with words from now on. What do you want to know about me? What would be prudent to understand for your parents?”
“Are you mad?”
I sigh. “What do you think?”
“I have no clue. It’s why I’m asking.”
Sometimes men can be so dense. I don’t have anything to compare this to, though. “Why don’t you sleep with other women? If it’s just a game, then why act differently?”
Macs clears his throat, and I can tell he’s moving, the phone scratching against his stubble. “I don’t want any other women.”
“That doesn’t sound like a game to me,” I reply.
“It doesn’t.”
“You go back and forth between it being a game and actually giving a damn about whatever is going on between us. I’m trying to figure out what’s real andwhat’s not. That is what’s wrong with me.”
He stays silent on the other end, so I bluster on.
“Which is it?”
“I want to understand you,” he whispers.
I let out a pent-up breath. “I want to know about you too.”
“Good. So what’s the moral of this story? We kind of lost our way,” he says. I hear the smile in his voice. He’s blaming me for detouring the conversation.
“We’re on the same page then. It’s a game, but we care enough to know about each other?”
“No,” he replies, zero hesitation.
“The moral of the story is you want me to use words to text back. I’ve agreed, but now you’re saying we’re not on the same page, so you’re going to have to enlighten me.”
“No. It’s not a game.”
My heart leaps again. I roll out of bed and sit on the edge. When I steady myself, I walk over to the huge window and throw the drapes open. I’m giving him a few more moments to explain before I pepper him with questions.
“I care,” he mumbles, so low I barely hear him.
A car races by on the street below me, and a few office lights are on in the building across the way. “What was that?” I ask, letting a smile slip.
“Seriously? You heard me.”
“I didn’t,” I say. I bite my lip.
