Page 55 of The Playboy SEAL
It truly is a marvel what this space looks like now compared to what it did when I first came over. He turned it into a home. I can imagine myself spending time here. My stomach starts spinning, but I don’t let it control me. I open a door and see a large, disassembled bookcase. Books are neatly stacked in piles, lining the bare walls. Some titles I recognize as the classics. The thick tomes that you have to be in just the right mood to tackle, he also has an equal number of non-fiction works. The types of books you read when you want to read, but you also want to learn. I’ve never really understood that practice, but I can appreciate it.
I walk in and head for the back window. It’s long and rectangular. The view is just as stunning as my view at home, yet completely different. The sun is rising, and the colors are magnificent. Buildings block my view of the sunrise. The pinks create a halo around the burnt oranges and reds. It’s silent still. The time of morning I usually spend by myself, flipping through social media on myphone, huddled over oatmeal before I head in to teach the early class. I swallow at the reminder of change. Not all change is bad, or even that life-altering, I remind myself. Some change happens without disturbing anything else. It’s possible. It has to be.
“Your gourmet oatmeal is ready. I sweetened it with honey and raisins. Figured it was a morning to celebrate,” Macs says, his voice commanding the small room. His bare feet make a firm noise as he approaches from behind. “Some view, huh?”
“I was just making a pros and cons list. This might top my view, and I never thought it possible.” Because I never considered any other options. The dark of night is giving way to the dark royal blues of morning, the sky lighting the surrounding area.
Macs pulls me against him, my back against his chest. My head tilts back automatically. “What time do you have to go into work?” he asks, his lips already skirting the edge of my neck. It’s a whisper of a kiss.
Tilting my head to the left so he can continue his assault, I close my eyes and grin. “My thighs are still sticky from sex less than an hour ago, Macs,” I breathe.
There’s no conviction in my statement. He knows it. My appetite for him is probably even larger than his for me. My core clenches a few times at the thought of having him inside me again.
“Let’s go eat, and then we can take another shower,” he rasps into my ear.
I make a joke about the zoo, and he holds my hand all the way to the high bar in his kitchen. He goes to switch on the news, but then turns the television off again. He’snot used to having company in the morning. Old habits die hard. I understand completely.
“Should we talk about last night?” I ask in between bites.
The oatmeal is a little firm. I make a face when I crunch on a bite. He apologizes with a cute grimace.
Macs has a way of masking any emotions he may not want to show. The thing is I now know when he’s doing it, so I’m able to see when he’s trying to hide something. It’s just as telling. He does it now. I clear my throat.
“I’m not sure what to say. Can we let last night speak for itself?” he asks, taking a bite.
I take a sip of coffee. “The thing is I’m going to have to answer to people, and I’m not sure what to say, and it seems crazy I even have to ask. But assuming makes an ass out of you and me.” Humor. Again.
He shrugs. “Call it what you want.”
Macs doesn’t comment on the fact that all of my friends know about us, but his friends don’t even know what the hell is going on. He’s like me. A master at evasive techniques. We decided not to label it, so I decide we’ll be together. That’s good enough for me.
We finish our breakfast and our coffee. The conversation is light and breezy as we discuss the facets of his kitchen. I don’t have to pretend to be interested. I truly am. I tell him I want to redo my kitchen, and his eyes light up at the prospect of another project. He takes our bowls and mugs to the sink and disappears down the hall to the bathroom. It’s where my stuff is, so I can’t get ready yet. Approaching the sink, I wash the dishes myself.
I startle when someone pounds on the front door. My heartbeat leaps into my chest as I peek around the corner to peer out the window. His driveway is hidden by the garage, but I see the uniform right away. I’ve never seen Macs wear it, but I know merely by sight this is one of his teammates. The severity of the slamming on the door forces me over. I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open as quickly as my fumbling hands allow. This man, this beast of a man, looms over me like a goddamn nightmare. Where Macs is beautiful, this man is…rugged. His eyes flare the second the door opens and he sees me.
“Oh,” I say, pulling at the hem of my shirt. “I’m sorry. You didn’t seem very patient,” I explain. “I’ll go get Macs.” For a second I think I should introduce myself, but then I decide against it. Macs should do that.
He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I knew it. I fucking knew it,” he says under his breath.
Macs rounds the corner with his towel slung over his shoulder, wearing only his boxer briefs.
His whole demeanor changes when Macs sees this man. “Tahoe. What the fuck?”
“Time to stop playing fucking house. Grab your shit. We need to leave. Like now. Like fucking yesterday,” the man named Tahoe explains using a gruff, emotionless voice.
I step to the side and take a few steps back.
I’ve never seen this side of Macs, and I watch his face change as he processes the vague information given to him. His brow furrows, and his lips turn down in the corners. No dimples or smiles or warm eyes. His face ismade of stone and ice. You could carve a fucking swan out of it and set it on display on a cruise ship. This is work Macs, and I don’t know him.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. No one looks at me. “Macs,” I say, my voice pleading. I look between the men, and it’s only been a matter of seconds since Tahoe spoke, but it feels like years.
Macs is heading back into the bedroom, and I’m left standing in this beautiful room with a man who looks like he deals out death for a living.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. It matches the pit in my stomach that sinks further and further every second.
The beast named Tahoe flicks his gaze to me instead of the hall Macs disappeared down. “Stay here today. Don’t go out,” he says.
My brow crinkles in confusion. Tahoe doesn’t notice, though. He’s eyeing my bare legs up and down, wearing a smile that looks like it belongs in Shark Week. The dread is so deep I don’t even give him a zing or readjust the tee. I stare at his uniform. The camouflage-printed fabric that looks starched to death, the seams, his boots, the collar, and the trident emblazoned over his heart. It’s weird to see it, but I know what it means. I can’t look at it another second. I retreat to the bedroom. The first thing I notice is the bed. It’s still in a disarray, the covers and sheets a tangled mess from our morning sexual escapade, then I see Macs. He has the bags out of their hiding place, and he’s tucking his white shirt into his twin camouflage pants.
