Page 8 of Play Fake
“Fine.”
I lay her down in the chair, and she immediately curls up and closes her eyes. A few moments later I hear soft little snores. I run a hand over my face and stare at the couch.
I have zero doubts if she wakes up, she’ll make good on her promise, and I’ll be too dead to the world to stop her before she starts. I glance at the door, thinking about heading to sleep out in my truck or in the bathroom. Except we’re not the only people down here sleeping off the alcohol, and there’s about zero chance one of them won’t need this bathroom before the end of the night.
My eyes drift back to the dining room and the back steps. I wouldtechnicallybe breaking a house rule, but I’m sure they’d forgive me if I explained the reasoning tomorrow. Besides, we’d all be too hung over and busy cleaning to argue.
I glance back at Holly, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over her before I head to the stairs. I pause and take my boots off before I climb up them, hoping my socks are enough to deaden the sound.
When I get upstairs, I stare at the little couch in the alcove where Mac and I had been earlier tonight. There’s no way I could sleep on the thing without contorting into a pretzel and the rug laid out on the floor in front of it looks too expensive for me to be sleeping on.
I glance across the hall. Mac’s door is shut, but there’s a small light glowing from under it like she might still be awake.
I wonder what she’d do if I knocked on it. If I asked if I could sleep next to her. But when I hear the creak of the floorboards in her room, I panic, darting into the bathroom next door and closing it behind me.
I lean against the door, trying to slow my breathing in hopes she won’t hear and rip into me. And then I realize I’m a fucking lineman hiding in a bathroom terrified of a woman at least a half a foot shorter than me while I’m trying to escape a surprise blow job, and I can’t help but laugh.
Quietly, though because I value my life.
THREE
Mackenzie
Even though Ibarely drank last night, I feel the feather’s edge of a headache coming on. The sun’s still a little too bright in my face in the bathroom this morning, pouring in from the frosted window. I cringe a little when I see my reflection in the mirror, and groan as I stretch to kick off my tank top and bra.
I’d taken off the fake eyelashes and the lipstick, but my lids had gotten heavy while I was looking for my makeup wipes. So, I’d laid down on the bed to close my eyes and promised myself I’d get up in just a minute to finish.
And a minute turned into… the whole night, apparently, because it was morning, and I desperately needed a shower.
I yawn and reach around the shower curtain encircling the clawfoot tub in the bathroom, cranking the hot water on. Or what will eventually be hot, once 4 minutes of ice water clear the line. The pipe rattles, gurgling and groaning as it complains about doing the job it’s been assigned to for the last 130 years.
I turn to hang my towel up when I hear something that makes my blood run cold.
“Whhhhat the ffffucckkkkk” a male voice lets out a guttural groan.
The voice was close. Way too close.
It had come from behind the curtain. In my fucking bathtub. I scream out in response, shrieking and jumping back as a figure jumps up and out of the tub with lightning quick reflexes, nearly bowling me over.
I blink to try to make sense of what’s happening and in doing so catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, remembering I’m naked except for a pair of lace panties.
My clothes are on the other side of the male body that’s just erupted like a fucking volcano from my tub; so close and yet so far. I reach for the shower curtain, but stumble in my attempt, bumping into the male figure who reacts by grabbing me and practically slamming me against the wall.
And if I wasn’t already awake, being pinned against the wall by a giant man, having every bit of adrenaline surge to my brain has definitely done the job. I scream bloody murder again.
“Fuckkkkkk,” he lets out a pained groan at the sound of my shriek, and his hand goes over my mouth.
I need to make sense of this. If it’s an intruder, I need to think fast. Come up with a plan to bash him over the head and escape. Figure out a way to get help from my roommates. I was pretty sure Liam was here too. He might be able to beat this guy’s ass if I just stall for time.
I look frantically over the man’s shoulder scanning the counter for something I might be able to use as a weapon. And that’s when I see the back of him in the mirror.
He’s naked. Very naked except for boxer briefs, anyway. But so very naked otherwise. A wide expanse of skin on display, with tattoos splayed over his back… and a blond bun. One I recognize. One I would likely know anywhere like it was the warning colors on a poisonous snake, if poisonous snakes came in the species fuckboy.
I swallow heavily as I register the brute who had me pinned against the wall was none other than Waylon Prescott. And then the questions come flooding in.
Why was Waylon in my bathroom? Why was he pinning me against a wall? Why was he naked?
Oh shit. My dimwitted morning brain catches up. There are very few reasonable answers to that question.
