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I snort and stroke my chest in an idle rhythm. But it doesn’t really settle me. I’m too twitchy, my bent knee rocking as I talk to her.
“We’re coming back tomorrow. Want to do something?”
“Sure.” There’s a noise in the background like she’s moving around, fussing with something. Ivy’s never still. She’s a lot like me in that regard. “So are you going out?”
“No, I’m in for the night.”
“What? Why?” She’s so freaking cute when she’s irate. “You should be out celebrating.”
Smiling, I reach over and grab my headphones so I can talk hands-free. “I’m celebrating with you.”
Awkward silence follows, and I inwardly curse my big mouth. “Mac?” I ask when the moment stretches too far. “You there?”
“Yeah... I’m here.” Her voice is soft, hesitant. “I just... I wish I was there. I should have been there for you.”
“You’re here.” My hand stops over my heart, and I spread my fingers wide, pressing down as if it can ease the ache inside. “Now, I mean. This counts too.”
“Gray?”
“Yeah?” I whisper.
“Are we good? I mean, what I said—”
“I told you, Mac. We’re good. Can we just move past it?” Fuck if I want this tension between us anymore. It’s killing me.
“Okay, okay.” More scuffling noise comes from her side of the phone. “Grumpy Gus.”
“That’s Sir Grumpy Gus to you.” I smile a little. “What are you doing? I hear noises.”
“What noises?” Mac says in a stage voice that makes me smile full-out. “I’m not hiding a body, I swears!”
“Har.”
“I’m getting into bed, if you must know.”
Instantly, my body goes tight. It doesn’t help that I’m naked and spread out on a bed. It’s a strain to sound unaffected. “You want me to let you go?”
“Nope.”
Somehow I can hear her slide under the covers. The little hairs on my skin stand on end. My hand edges down to my abdomen, the muscles hard and tense there. I imagine Ivy’s hand running along my skin and suppress a groan.
As it is, a small grunt escapes me, and I hurry to speak. “I’m getting into bed too.”
“Jesus, you really are acting like an old man. Are you sure you’re all right?” The affection in her voice comes through loud and clear. “I feel like I should be pressing a hand to your fevered brow.”
“I’m tired, Mac,” I tell her lightly. “And if you don’t cut it out, I’m going to hang up. Would serve you right if I am sick and end up wasting away from some sort of Victorian disease. Then how will you feel? Knowing you let me go.”
“What kind of disease are we talking about? Like consumption? Or cholera?” Mac snickers into the phone. “If it’s cholera, you’re on your own, Cupcake.”
“Cute.” I rest my hand behind my head, getting more comfortable. “Mac?”
“Yeah?”
“You said it was bad. The sex, I mean, and—”
“Gray!” Her exasperation is sharp. “Didn’t we just agree not to talk about that anymore?”
I wince, feeling like an ass and cursing my big mouth.
