The Friend Zone
Page 6
But Mac? She’s got to be around six feet tall. The top of her head fits nicely under my chin. And though she’s nowhere near fat, she’s not a twig either. Just long limbs and soft, sweet curves.
Shit. I’m ogling her. I take another step back and meet her eyes. I can’t help but smile. I’m so fucking happy to see her, it’s a little scary.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” I tell her, still nervous. “You look…different from the picture your dad has on his desk.” It’s the only one I’d seen of her.
Mac’s blunt little nose wrinkles in disgust. “God, not that one of me at fifteen?”
“Pretty sure that’s the one.” I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s hard and she sees it.
Her scowl grows. “That’s a horrible picture. I’m going to kill Dad for leaving it out in the open.”
I don’t blame her. She was a round-faced, braces wearing teen in that picture. In my mind, I’d still viewed her that way: chubby cheeks, button nose, big brown eyes.
The reality is different. Her eyes are still big and brown beneath almost straight brows, but the baby fat is gone. Her cheeks are high and defined, her jaw a smooth curve. And, no, I didn’t think she’d still have straggly hair pulled back tight in a barrette. Or maybe I did—but it’s not straggly or pulled back.
Her glossy dark brown hair is cut fairly short, coming to rest just above her shoulders, with a strong sweep of bangs over those eyes of hers. I gravitate toward women who wear their hair long and flowing, but Mac’s cut is kind of sixties retro.
My girl, I realize, is hot. Not obvious, sex-kitten hot, but girl-next-door, I-gotta-know-what-she’s-hiding-under-that-shirt kind of hot.
No. Not going there. I’m just proud, is all. Mac won’t lack for attention. Frowning, I bend down to take hold of her luggage. “Let’s get you home.”
We fall into an easy pace, her long legs keeping time with mine, which is so novel to me that I find myself relaxing into my natural stride, not the shortened steps I usually take around women.
I can’t seem to stop looking at her. It’s weird, every line and curve of her is utterly new to me and yet familiar in some bone-deep way. It makes me think of amicable numbers, each one capable of summing up the other.
Fuck, this girl is already turning me into an emotional sap. But it doesn’t make me any less happy.
“Your dad sends his apologies.”
“I just bet,” she mutters, hurt and anger simmering beneath the surface. And I feel like shit for her, and more than a little pissed at Big Mac for putting that hurt in her eyes.
“He was stuck—”
“Taking care of a client,” she finishes for me with a wave of her hand. “I know.” A small sigh leaves her. “I’m used to it, believe me.”
I do. Doesn’t make it any better, though. It makes me even more pissed off at her dad.
“I’d have been here on time, but ah…” Hell, I don’t want to tell her that I’d only just gotten the call to pick her up. But she figures this out on her own, and her mouth tilts in a smirk.
“So I’m guessing he hit up Fiona. Only Fi was out, so he begged you.” Her brows draw together. “What’s Fi’s excuse, do you know?”
“Puking her guts out, apparently. He said she has the flu.”
“Oh.” Mac’s annoyance visibly deflates. “Poor Fi.”
I haven’t met Mac’s younger sister. I know she goes to a local all-girls college, where I’d trolled for chicks during my freshman and sophomore years. But I’m not telling Mac that. She already gives me grief for being a “man slut.” Stupid term. Personally, I prefer “equal-opportunity fuck master.” Again, not telling Mac that.
“You don’t mind, do you?” I ask as we make our way out into the bright sunshine. Fresh air mixing with jet and bus fumes assaults my lungs. “Me picking you up?”
“No,” she says quickly, maybe too quickly. “Why would I mind?”
I shrug, side-stepping a business woman booking it into the terminal. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” Until the words are out of my mouth, I don’t think I’d realized how much that stings.
It’s worse when she grimaces. “Yeah, I know…” She stares down at her red Chucks as she walks. “I should have told you. I just…”
“Ivy,” I warn, saying her real name for the first time. It’s intimate in some strange way, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Okay, okay,” she hurries on, “it was shitty. I just. Fuck it.” She glances at me and there’s steel in that look, as if she’s bracing herself. “I wanted to, of course I did. I planned to surprise you tomorrow. But, I dunno, I was afraid too. What if it got all—”
“Awkward.” I start to smile, and my step grows lighter, especially when she smiles back at me, her apple cheeks going rosy.
“You worried too?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, what if you didn’t like me in person? We’ve been so close…” I trail off, strangled by my own discomfort. And now it’s fucking awkward. Brilliant.
She solves this by slinging an arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze. The action sends warmth straight through my veins, and I find myself leaning into her embrace.
“I’m glad you’re here, Gray.” Her fingers press into my side. “Really glad.”
Shit. I’m ogling her. I take another step back and meet her eyes. I can’t help but smile. I’m so fucking happy to see her, it’s a little scary.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” I tell her, still nervous. “You look…different from the picture your dad has on his desk.” It’s the only one I’d seen of her.
Mac’s blunt little nose wrinkles in disgust. “God, not that one of me at fifteen?”
“Pretty sure that’s the one.” I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s hard and she sees it.
Her scowl grows. “That’s a horrible picture. I’m going to kill Dad for leaving it out in the open.”
I don’t blame her. She was a round-faced, braces wearing teen in that picture. In my mind, I’d still viewed her that way: chubby cheeks, button nose, big brown eyes.
The reality is different. Her eyes are still big and brown beneath almost straight brows, but the baby fat is gone. Her cheeks are high and defined, her jaw a smooth curve. And, no, I didn’t think she’d still have straggly hair pulled back tight in a barrette. Or maybe I did—but it’s not straggly or pulled back.
Her glossy dark brown hair is cut fairly short, coming to rest just above her shoulders, with a strong sweep of bangs over those eyes of hers. I gravitate toward women who wear their hair long and flowing, but Mac’s cut is kind of sixties retro.
My girl, I realize, is hot. Not obvious, sex-kitten hot, but girl-next-door, I-gotta-know-what-she’s-hiding-under-that-shirt kind of hot.
No. Not going there. I’m just proud, is all. Mac won’t lack for attention. Frowning, I bend down to take hold of her luggage. “Let’s get you home.”
We fall into an easy pace, her long legs keeping time with mine, which is so novel to me that I find myself relaxing into my natural stride, not the shortened steps I usually take around women.
I can’t seem to stop looking at her. It’s weird, every line and curve of her is utterly new to me and yet familiar in some bone-deep way. It makes me think of amicable numbers, each one capable of summing up the other.
Fuck, this girl is already turning me into an emotional sap. But it doesn’t make me any less happy.
“Your dad sends his apologies.”
“I just bet,” she mutters, hurt and anger simmering beneath the surface. And I feel like shit for her, and more than a little pissed at Big Mac for putting that hurt in her eyes.
“He was stuck—”
“Taking care of a client,” she finishes for me with a wave of her hand. “I know.” A small sigh leaves her. “I’m used to it, believe me.”
I do. Doesn’t make it any better, though. It makes me even more pissed off at her dad.
“I’d have been here on time, but ah…” Hell, I don’t want to tell her that I’d only just gotten the call to pick her up. But she figures this out on her own, and her mouth tilts in a smirk.
“So I’m guessing he hit up Fiona. Only Fi was out, so he begged you.” Her brows draw together. “What’s Fi’s excuse, do you know?”
“Puking her guts out, apparently. He said she has the flu.”
“Oh.” Mac’s annoyance visibly deflates. “Poor Fi.”
I haven’t met Mac’s younger sister. I know she goes to a local all-girls college, where I’d trolled for chicks during my freshman and sophomore years. But I’m not telling Mac that. She already gives me grief for being a “man slut.” Stupid term. Personally, I prefer “equal-opportunity fuck master.” Again, not telling Mac that.
“You don’t mind, do you?” I ask as we make our way out into the bright sunshine. Fresh air mixing with jet and bus fumes assaults my lungs. “Me picking you up?”
“No,” she says quickly, maybe too quickly. “Why would I mind?”
I shrug, side-stepping a business woman booking it into the terminal. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.” Until the words are out of my mouth, I don’t think I’d realized how much that stings.
It’s worse when she grimaces. “Yeah, I know…” She stares down at her red Chucks as she walks. “I should have told you. I just…”
“Ivy,” I warn, saying her real name for the first time. It’s intimate in some strange way, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Okay, okay,” she hurries on, “it was shitty. I just. Fuck it.” She glances at me and there’s steel in that look, as if she’s bracing herself. “I wanted to, of course I did. I planned to surprise you tomorrow. But, I dunno, I was afraid too. What if it got all—”
“Awkward.” I start to smile, and my step grows lighter, especially when she smiles back at me, her apple cheeks going rosy.
“You worried too?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, what if you didn’t like me in person? We’ve been so close…” I trail off, strangled by my own discomfort. And now it’s fucking awkward. Brilliant.
She solves this by slinging an arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze. The action sends warmth straight through my veins, and I find myself leaning into her embrace.
“I’m glad you’re here, Gray.” Her fingers press into my side. “Really glad.”
