Page 11 of Blindsided
“No, you’re not,” Mac replies flatly.
“I’m going to die!” I sob and feel snot dripping out of my nose.
“No, you’re not.” Mac exhales heavily. After a short pause, he reaches across the centre console and pats me reassuringly on the back. “You were drinking cherry grenadine, Cookie. That’s why your vomit is red.”
“Oh,” I reply stupidly and sit up to wipe the tears off my face. “I didn’t think of that.”
“You clearly didn’t think about a lot tonight,” he grumbles through clenched teeth.
“What does that mean exactly?” I growl like a pirate and close the door. I turn to look at Mac, and his stony face is illuminated by the dashboard lights. “Why are you cross at me?”
Mac’s nostrils flare. “What the hell were you doing back there, Cook?”
“Having a laugh,” I reply with a shrug.
“Drinking like a fucking fish and saying you did all that stuff in that ridiculous game when I know damn well you haven’t isn’t having a laugh.”
“How do you know I haven’t done all that stuff?”
“Because I spend nearly every night with you. If you were out giving blow jobs in cars and masturbating in public, I think I’d notice.”
I cringe at the last one, only vaguely remembering drinking to it. I brush off my reaction and square my shoulders to reply, “You don’t know everything about me, Mac. I had a life before I met you.”
How dare he act like he knows everything about me? We don’t talk about our past relationships. Never have! It’s a bizarre no-fly zone we’ve had for the past year. Mac doesn’t ever mention his sex life around me even though I’m sure he’s getting laid on a regular basis when he’s travelling for football. So for him to assume I’ve never done any of those things gets right up my nose.
“There are several hours in a day when you don’t see me, you cow. How do you know I’m not on dating apps, swiping right for lunch dates?” I quip, internally shuddering at the thought of those stupid apps and how horrible an experience I had the last time I used them.
“Well, are you?” Mac asks, pinning me with a look I can’t altogether decipher, especially since I’m seeing two of him.
“It’s none of your business!” I point at the road. “Just take me home. I don’t want to be in your presence anymore. ”
Mac eyes me harshly for a moment before he finally puts the car in drive and continues towards my flat. When we arrive, Mac gets out to walk me inside. I don’t bother arguing because my tummy heaves like it wants to be sick again.
A strange urge to cry comes over me when I can’t find my keys in my bag. As if reading my emotions, Mac gently moves me aside and unlocks the door with the spare set I gave him several months ago when he took care of Hercules for me.
“Took care” is a bit of a stretch, considering Hercules won’t go near him. But Mac made sure Hercules had food, water, and a clean litter box, so perhaps I shouldn’t be so hard on him right now.
Mac rides the lift up the five floors with me. Once we’ve arrived, he unlocks my flat door just in time to see orange-spotted Hercules bolt back into my bedroom.
“Even Hercules is cross at you,” I state as I undo my heels and drop them on the ground with a loud thud.
“He’s always cross at me,” Mac replies flatly. “I forgot he was orange until just now.”
“He’s shy,” I reply as I shuffle into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Not everyone likes to be the centre of attention like you.”
Mac follows in my wake, glaring at me with narrow, accusing eyes. “You definitely weren’t shy tonight when you played that game and made a complete tit of yourself.”
“Don’t have a go at me! I was just playing along,” I groan defensively as blips of the game come back to me. I cringe inwardly at how right he is. “And you don’t know that I haven’t done all of those things.”
Mac exhales roughly out of his nose and crosses his inked arms over his chest. “You’re right, but I know for a fact you didn’t do at least one of them.”
“How do you know?” I hiss.
He splays his hand out on the counter and lowers his eyes so they’re level with mine. “Freya, do you even know what a dirty Sanchez is?”
My brows furrow, and I take a swig of water before replying, “Of course I do.”
He stares at me expectantly. “I’m all ears.”
