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And all the while, I grin like a fool. I can’t help myself; he’s just so cute. I’m still grinning when his gaze finally collides with mine.
Distracted as he is, his eyes almost scan past me, but he sort of stutters and then freezes. For a moment we stare at each other. His soft mouth parts and his arms slowly lower. Recognition clears the haziness from his blue eyes, and a flush of color rises up his neck.
A current crackles between us, lifting the tiny hairs along my arms. My breath catches then turns swift.
This is joy, unfiltered and pure. And so heady I almost don’t know how to handle it.
As if he feels some strong emotion too, his cheek twitches. He takes one step toward me, then pauses, tilting his head to peer at me as though trying to make sure.
I smile wider. Seeing me smile has his lips curling, a slow, tentative move.
“Mac?”
Although he’s at least twenty feet away, I read my name on his lips with ease. And then I’m laughing, a total goofball snort.
“Gray.”
Even from a distance, he hears me. And then he’s moving, so fast he’s almost a blur. On the next breath, I’m enveloped by a wall of hot skin and hard muscles.
He gathers me in his arms and swings me around like it’s effortless. For the first time in a year, I feel delicate and small. He smells of sunlight and sweat and, strangely, of home. I press my nose into the warm crook of his neck, as he laughs and squeezes me tight.
We’ve never touched before now, never even seen each other in person. Yet there is nothing awkward about wrapping myself around him. It feels perfect.
Gray’s hand engulfs the back of my head as he holds me close. “Holy shit,” he says in a voice that’s resonant and yet light with happiness.
We’ve been texting back and forth so much I had to pay extra on my phone plan, and I’ve never heard his voice until now.
“It’s you, Mac. It’s really you.”
And it’s really Gray. The person I’ve communicated with almost nonstop since that first text. So quickly, he became a friend, a necessary part of my day. My strange addiction. The thought leaves me shy. Yet I don’t want to let go.
Gray
I can’t believe I’m holding her in my arms. Ivy Mackenzie. Aside from Drew, I’ve never clicked with someone so quickly. Now she’s here.
And, God, she feels good. Solid, real. Soft, warm. She smells of airplane food, stale coffee, and travel. Not the best scent. But beneath that, there’s a hint of something sweetly feminine, like sugar and vanilla. I draw it into my lungs and feel a stab of alarm because it’s going to my head—the smaller, greedy one. Not the way I want to think of my best girl. And if she notices my reaction, I’ll feel like a dirty perv.
I should let her go. Take a step back. But a sudden and not-altogether-unexpected shyness hits me. What if it isn’t like before? What if now that we’re face-to-face everything turns awkward? I’ve never had a close female friend. Never really wanted one.
Part of me doesn’t want to let her go because then we’ll have to talk, to look each other in the eye. Another part of me just wants to hold her because it feels so damn good—perfect. But I can’t stand here forever. Eventually, she’ll want to be let down. Only she’s clinging to me too. Her long limbs wrapped up around mine. Maybe she’s just as nervous.
The realization gives me the courage to ease my grip and let her slide down my length.
She doesn’t go far. She’s tall. Amazonian tall. I didn’t expect that. But I like it. I’m six foot six and two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, which means girls are usually dwarfed by my size. I’m constantly having to bend down to so much as wrap an arm around them, let alone get a kiss. And fucking them? I worry about crushing some girls. Literally.
But Mac? She’s got to be around six feet tall. The top of her head fits nicely under my chin. And she’s not a twig either. Just a perfect run of 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.
Her scowl grows. “That’s a horrible picture. I’m going to kill Dad for leaving it out in the open.”
