Page 46 of One Last Summer
“Um,” I cracked. My throat was the entire Mojave Desert, dust storms and all. “I guess I was wondering, like, what if I wanted to. You know. Do that.”
“Do what, Millen?” I could tell from the way he lowered his chin to watch me, his gaze unrelenting: He was going to make me say it. This was a game to him, just like everything else between us. And now I was desperate to play.
“Make things weird.”
“Well, I think you know I can be very, very weird.” Mack took a step forward until our bodies had nowhere else to go but together. “And I happen to think weird is good.”
My eyes fluttered closed as his mouth pressed against my bare shoulder, teeth grazing my skin along the edge of my bra strap. He moved up my neck, kissing along the edge of my jaw so, so slowly. It was a spot on my body no one had ever paid attention to before, but under his touch it felt like it was made of one million nerve endings.
Sam was right. Mack wasn’t out of my system yet. Not even close.
“Mack.” His name crested on a moan I didn’t know was inside me. Instinctively I leaned into his lips, pressing myself closer to him. How, I wondered, did I make it through all these years, not seeing him, not touching him like this?
“Mack,” I said, louder this time. He pulled away, his face unreadable, breath rapid. “I’m still holding your rock.”
Silently, he grabbed it out of my hands and placed it back on the shelf next to us. Then, without a word, he locked his arms back around my waist, pulling me against him until I had no choice but to bring my hands to his chest, nipping at his chin with my mouth.
“The reason I didn’t talk to you after we kissed that summer,” he said, planting a single kiss down my neck in between each word, “is because I was scared out of my mind.”
“That’s not like you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “You’re not scared of anything.”
My fingers inched up the curve of his neck to the tight line of his jaw, which was covered in rough stubble. I toyed with a strand of his hair, wrapping it around my index finger.
“Oh, I’m scared of a lot of shit, Millen,” he mumbled. “Especially letting people down.”
“Well, you’re not letting me down right now.” I exhaled with a shiver, and a soft “Oh” escaped my lips as his hands pressed firmly into my hips. He pulled away for a beat, a ravenous, feral look on his face, as if he couldn’t decide if he was going to devour me or take his sweet time.
And then his phone rang.
“Fuck!” he hissed, pulling me closer as if the sound might somehow break our bodies apart.
“I really think you should get that.” The words came out garbled, my mouth flush against his collarbone, wanting so badly to stay there.
He fumbled around for his phone, but by the time it was in his hand the ringing had stopped. His eyes scanned the screen, and I watched as his face went from flustered, to confused, to terrified in the span of a single heartbeat.
“Shit,” he said finally, digging a hand through his hair as he handed off his phone to me.
“What is it?” I asked, watching as he jogged over to a drawer and yanked out a T-shirt, putting it on so quickly he didn’t notice it was backward.
“We have to go,” he said, tossing me a sweatshirt that landed at my feet. “It’s Sam.”
I glanced down, and on the screen was an endless stream of messages from Nick, the most recent one catching my eye immediately.
Just got to the hospital where are you??????
20
“MILLEN.” IT WAS the first time Mack had spoken since he’d rushed me into the passenger seat of his ancient, wood-paneled Jeep Wagoneer with a gruff, “Come on.” It was a tone I’d initially read as grumpy and then, after watching him drive the twenty minutes to the community hospital with a scowl, I realized that he, like me, was nervous.
We hadn’t said a word to each other in the car, driving in tense silence as James Taylor crooned about flying machines thanks to a cassette tape I’d found at my feet.
“Yeah?”
Nick had assured us that Sam was okay, even if she was possibly in labor, but my anxiety still clung to me like an oil spill.
“You okay?” Mack asked as the car sputtered to a stop in the hospital parking lot with one final crank of the gear shift, and he tilted his head to get a good look at me, hair flopping in his face.
His voice was softer now, reassuring even.
