Chace throws a cushion at him.
Mac giggles, and the sound does something fierce to my heart. I tip her chin up, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, just a brush.
“C’mon,” I whisper, lacing my fingers with hers, “join us.”
She nods, and I lead her to the couch. She folds easily into my lap, warm and soft and exactly where she’s supposed to be. My arms come around her like instinct.
The banter picks back up, jokes flying, beer bottles clinking together, Trey pulling out his phone again to play a second angle of his stupid prank. Mac watches, amused and wide-eyed.
“Oh my God,” Mac laughs, the sound light and breathless. “Trey, that man looked like he was two seconds away from murdering poor Sam.”
“He was,” Sam mutters, lifting his drink with a deadpan expression. “I tried to tell him Trey was just pulling a bit, but he wasn’t having it. Took off like his ass was on fire.”
“Shit, yeah,” Chace jumps in, grinning, “you should’ve seen Trey run—dude looked like a Emu.”
“I’m fast when motivated,” Trey declares. “And almost dying is very motivating.”
Mac laughs again and it melts me, the way she fits here. With them. With me.
Eventually, the boys settle into the couch, quieter now, half-asleep with beers in hand, the buzz of laughter lingering like music fading out. Mac leans her head back against my shoulder and looks up at me, her eyes sleepy and soft.
“I like this,” she whispers, just for me. “All of it.”
“Yeah?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her thigh.
She nods. “Waking up and hearing your laugh. Seeing you with them. Feeling like... like I’m where I belong.”
My chest aches in the best kind of way. I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.
“You are,” I say into her hair. “You always have been.”
My stomach tightens when she freezes in my lap—right as her stomach growls loud enough to shake the damn walls.
Trey raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Jesus, Mac. What kind of pet you got living in there?”
She dissolves into laughter, burying her face into my chest. I chuckle against her hair, inhaling that familiar scent of hers—like citrus and something sweet I can’t name but crave constantly.
“I could eat,” Chace says through a yawn, cracking his knuckles. “What’d we even buy?”
That’s all the encouragement she needs to climb off me. I try not to groan at the loss of her warmth. She’s still wearing my T-shirt, the hem brushing mid-thigh as she pads barefoot into the kitchen—and damn if that sight doesn’t do something to me.
She opens the pantry and freezes. “Oh my God.”
“What?” I call from the couch.
Another cupboard opens. Then another. Her shocked laugh echoes through the room. “You guys went hard.”
Chairs scrape. Footsteps follow. We all trail in like kids summoned to Christmas.
“Freezer’s full too,” she murmurs, peeking in. “Frozen pizzas, waffles, bags of veggies, tubs of ice cream…”
She spins with a grin. “This isn’t a restock. This is doomsday prepping!”
Sam leans on the counter, arching a brow. “Just so we’re clear—you are not cooking for us.”
Mac mock-glares. “Wasn’t offering.”
“We should cook something,” Chace says, eyeing the fridge like it might give him answers.
