Page 7 of Naked Coffee Guy
Despite the way my mind is cringing at all the woo-woo stuff about the Universe and company, my heart is becoming a believer.
I could remain bitter about my parents turning their back on me when I needed them most. I could chalk up my current eviction crisis as more proof that my life is fucked and that’s just the way it will always be. I could stay in this dark place, white knuckle my addiction, give up control, and sabotage the seven years of sobriety under my belt.
Or, I could make the choice to move forward and figure out what to do with my circumstances.
And suddenly, I feel a million pounds lighter. I don’t have a solution to my problem yet, but I do have choices. I just need to let go of my ego and ask for help. It’s so simple that I laugh, tilting my head up toward the stars, and I swear the sky is so brilliant it’s maroon.
“Something just happened, didn’t it?” Mac murmurs. Then, before I can answer, he’s unlacing my boots.
“Uh, Mac?”
“Maren, do you trust me?”
Trust him? I barely know him. And yet, when I look into his eyes and see the intensity of his expression and feel the way he sees me—truly sees me—I know my answer.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He removes one boot and then my sock, his hand lingering on the sole of my naked foot before he sets it on the cold ground of the rooftop bar. He does the same to the other, his eyes on mine the whole time. Never has anything felt more erotic, more tantalizing, more intense.
He takes his own shoes and socks off, then stands. He holds out his hand, and I place mine in it, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
I’m struck by how things have changed in a matter of moments. How I came here to forget, to step off the treadmill by undoing everything I worked so hard to achieve. But now I’m here, all my senses absorbing the intoxicating scent of this man, my mouth watering as my eyes glance off his lips, my body straining to move closer to him, my fingers aching to feel the silky cotton of his shirt, the solid smoothness of his chest, and the thick roughness of his beard.
“We’re standing on holy ground,” Mac says, looking down at me as he moves closer, resting a cautious hand at my hip. He raises an eyebrow, almost like he’s asking permission. I nod, just slightly, and his hand tightens. It’s subtle, but the message passed between us is loud and clear. This man could own me, but only if I let him.
Mac sways slightly, his firm hand moving to my back, guiding me to move with him, dancing with no shoes under a burgundy sky.
“To hold on to an experience, I like to get as close to the earth as I can, no barriers.” He looks down at our feet, and I do too.
“But we’re on the rooftop of a seven-story building,” I remind him, looking back into his blue eyes.
He smiles, then nods in agreement. “Yes, but by taking off our shoes, we’re asking the earth to meet us where we are. And for what I’m about to do, I want the earth as my witness.”
I brace my bare feet on the cool surface of the rooftop, feeling his feet slide around mine as he comes even closer. He rests his hand behind my neck, his fingers curling into my hair as I tilt my head toward his.
“Can I…”
But he doesn’t finish the question because his mouth is on mine, hands in my hair as he draws me in.
And me? I’m consumed. It’s apparent I have never been kissed before, because it’s never felt like this. Mac kisses me with fire, pouring lava into my veins, burning me sweetly as I slowly turn to ash. The whole world disappears, and it’s just us and the earth under the building, rising to meet our feet.
His mouth lifts from mine, and he cups my face, his thumb brushing over the lips he just kissed. And even though I’ve just met him, and there’s so much I don’t know about him yet, I am thoroughly aware that I am now ruined for anyone else.
“I’m a selfish man,” he whispers, still holding my face. “I just had to be a part of whatever you experienced.”
“Mac, you are an experience,” I laugh. But inside, I’m dying. Deceased. Obliterated. How the fuck did I breathe before this man?
He looks at his watch—a Salvatore Ferragamo that I know costs close to $2,000 because Nina told me about some guy she dated who flashed his money through unaffordable fashion, including expensive timepieces.
It brings me back to reality.
Despite the fact that I’m still reeling from that kiss, from our connection, and every single way Mac makes me feel, I realize I still don’t know him. The fact that he’s wearing a watch that costs more than my soon-to-be defunct rent proves that we’re from vastly different worlds. I take a split-second to gather information about this former runaway foster kid based on his attire, and notice for the first time that he’s dressed in a suit that probably costs five times the watch on his wrist.
This guy is way out of my league, and I’m a fool to think I belong in his world.
“It’s getting late,” Mac says, snapping me out of my thoughts, “but I don’t want this night to end. Can I get you another soda water? Maybe something to eat? Or we could go back to my place where it’s a little warmer than a rooftop bar.”
I know what he’s suggesting—and oh goddess, do I want to take him up on this offer. If he looks this good in a suit, I can only imagine what he looks like without the expensive threads. If he’s dressed like this, his place is probably unlike any home I’ve ever entered.