I may not be able to give Tricia a piece of my mind, but I can let her and anyone else who’s wondering know that I have Mack’s back.
That’s what friends do, right?
And Mack and I are friends.
Friends who cuddle.
It’s fine.
I drive in the direction of his job site.
When I pull up to the under-construction multi-unit building, there aren’t a lot of trucks around. Dang it, I hadn’t thought about the fact that Mack might not be here. If I’m taking my lunch now, it tracks that he might be too, and I didn’t tell him I was coming.
I wanted to surprise him.
Mostly, I wanted to see him.
Again.
Does that make me a sucker for punishment? Maybe so.
The roughed-in eight-unit apartment complex that Mack’s been working on for the past week appears to be deserted, but the sound of drilling is coming from somewhere inside, and through the open walls, I catch sight of a worker.
I cross the gravel walkway and step through some of the framing on the front half of the building, carefully picking my way over power tools and two-by-fours left strewn about the space. The drilling gets louder and louder as I approach. When I come around the corner to what I’m guessing is the unit at the back right corner of the complex, I stop dead in my tracks.
There’s Mack.
He’s drilling a sequence of holes through the studs of the walls. The drill he’s using is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s oversized and requires both hands. I know what you’re thinking, that sounds like a metaphor for something, but I swear it’s what I see with my own two eyes. I cannot make this up. My gaze roves from his drill—theactualdrill, people…I promise—over his arms, which are vibrating with the exertion of controlling the tool.
My word. This is a problem. My mouth is all of a sudden very dry.
I’m going to go ahead and blame that on the sawdust Mack is generating.
But what grabs my attention and refuses to let go is Mack’s back.
Sweet honey and molasses.
He’s in a familiar-looking Mack Electric t-shirt, but this one has been modified. The sleeves are cut off, and his shoulders are on display for all the world to see—or in this case, for me to see.
When he raises his arms and lifts that giant drill thing over his head to make a hole through the joist in the ceiling, my breath catches. Mack’s lats are all strong hills and smooth valleys. I tell you what, I could pull up a chair and watch the man’s muscles tense and release for the rest of the day. Is it weird that I sort of want to trace my finger across the grooves of his skin while he works—to feel the power under the surface? There is something supremely sexy about a man who can work with his hands like this—or, as it were, his arms. And his back.
I’ve been frozen in place and speechless since I came around the corner and Mack came into view, so when he turns and catches sight of me, his head snaps up in surprise.
And wouldn’t you know it, his front is as good-looking as his back. The knob of his shoulders into his biceps is on full display, and his forearms are tense as he wields the drill. He sets it on the ground and removes earplugs from his ears.
“Boo, what are you doing here?”
I blink. WhatamI doing here…other than watching the best-kept secret in Cashmere Cove?
“I…uh…” I hold up the bag from the café, finally regaining my wits. “I brought you lunch.”
Mack unloads a full-throttle grin and takes a step toward me. “Have you been here long?”
Have I? Who knows? What is time? I’ve forgotten how to read a clock. All I can seem to focus on is how powerful Mack’s body looks as he draws nearer. There’s sweat on his brow, making his hair stick to his forehead. He smells rugged and manly, and I kind of want to lick him.
No licking, I scold myself.
Mack chuckles. “What’s that?”
