Mack Daddy(12)
“Practically jerked me off?”
My stomach sank. “Oh, my God,” I muttered.
“Francesca, calm down. I’m just joking around with you.” He looked down at the broken glass then back up at me.
After a moment of silence, I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t do this very well.”
“Do what very well?”
“Humans.” It was the first thing that came to mind. Even though it sounded weird, it was technically true.
He suddenly bent his head back in laughter. “You don’t do humans? Are you a simian or something?” He looked me up and down, and it gave me the chills. “I don’t notice any fur on you.”
“I don’t do well with new people and new situations,” I clarified. “Moving in here was hard enough and then to get off on the wrong foot…”
“So you did get off on it last night?”
“I didn’t mean get off that way.” Looking up at the light fixture, I whispered to myself, “Kill me now.”
“Again…I’m just joking! Jesus Christ, you’re breaking out in these weird blotches on your neck and chest.”
Why was he looking at my chest?
“They’re hives. I get them when I’m nervous.”
“You might want to consider calming the fuck down. Stress isn’t good for your health.”
Neither are smoking hot, shirtless men whose boxers play hide and seek from the top of their pants.
Mack crouched down and began to silently pick up the shattered pieces of glass from the broken carafe. I watched his ab muscles flex as he moved. He then grabbed a dustpan and brush from under the sink. I just stood there observing all of this like an idiot.
“Thank you for doing that. You didn’t have to.”
“Well, I did if I didn’t want to get shards of glass stuck in my foot later.”
“I know. But I could’ve done it.”
He ignored me and just kept cleaning it all up. He didn’t stop until each and every shard was gone.
After he put everything away, he stood up and said, “Let’s have a do-over, one that doesn’t involve you grabbing my cock or suffering a nervous breakdown.” He stuck out his hand. “Mackenzie Morrison. But call me Mack.”
I accepted his handshake. Another chill shot down my back at the contact. My mind may have been terrified of interacting with him, but my body was experiencing an unwelcome arousal from the mere touch of his firm hand, which unfortunately reminded me of something else that was firm and warm. I cringed at the thought of last night.
“Francesca O’Hara.”
“Why don’t you do humans well, Francesca?”
“I’ve always suffered from a little social anxiety.”
His brow lifted as if to challenge me. “A little?”
“A lot. It’s just something that’s in my nature.”
“We’re not born scared. Something must have made you this way.”
“Nothing that I can pinpoint.”
“Are you an only child?”
“Yes.”
“That couldn’t have helped. Siblings would’ve knocked you into shape, wouldn’t have let you get away with that shit. Checks and balances.”
“Do you have one…a sibling?”
“One sister…Michaela.”
“Michaela and Mackenzie? That has a nice ring to it.”
“Or it’s annoying, depending on how you look at it. I tend to side with the latter. My parents are pretty vain people. My father is Michael—thus Michaela—and my mother’s maiden name is Mackenzie.”
“I see. What does Mackenzie mean?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Like what’s the significance behind the name?”
“I told you. It was my mother’s last name.”
“No. Every name has a meaning. You can look it up. What you find is scarily accurate sometimes.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit.” He took out his phone. “But let’s look up yours.”
“Mystical is one,” I said. “For Francesca.”
He nodded. “Yup. It says mystical here. But it also says—get this—eccentric and solitary.” He laughed. “ Holy crap. That’s pretty funny. I barely know you, but that does seem to fit you.” Looking back at the screen he added, “It also says imaginative and philosophical.”
“Yes. I think that’s right. Look up yours.”
After he typed in his name, he squinted in confusion. “Mackenzie means comely. What the fuck does that mean?”
I could feel my face heat up. “Comely means…”
“What?”
“Pleasant to look at. But it’s typically associated with a woman.”