Mac ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck.
Fuck her for tapping into his protective instincts; that’s all this was, like being pissed she didn’t lock her fucking doors. Until tonight, of course. Again, if it had been Jemma or Sarah or even Darlene: same outcome.
Bullshit, that fucking voice in his head whispered.
Chapter thirty-five
Cassidy
GIRLS PEE
Thepressingneedtopee woke her up.
She became aware of the darkness, heat, and her body’s discomfort.
Her mouth was like a cotton ball, and she blinked around, a panicked sensation taking over: she didn’t recognize the dark room. Holy hell, what had happened to her? Struggling to sit up, acknowledging she was still inebriated, the contraption she was on creaked beneath her, which caused her body aches.
A cot. She was on a cot.
Looking around again, confused, puzzle pieces began falling into place: she was on Mac’s cot. In Mac’s cabin. But why? It was clear he wasn’t in here with her. Looking down at herself, it was also clear she was still wearing her clothes.
Well, thank goodness they hadn’t had sex, and she’d forgotten it!
Easing off the cot, needing to answer the insistent call of nature, she went to the door and turned the handle. It wouldn’t open. “Oh, come on,” she whispered to herself. Did he lock her in his room?
Doing a little dance, she rapped on the door. “Mac?”
No answer.
Son of a bitch, if he left her here…
She smacked her hand on the door. “Mac!”
Fred barked once.
Fred! Thank goodness. “Fred! Get Mac!” she ordered through the door.
“Here,” came the response from the other side, followed by the sound of the key in the door.
No sooner had the lock clicked than Cassidy was shoving open the door, glaring at him while simultaneously pushing him back. “Move!”
“Thought you’d—” He stopped when he noticed her determined destination.
Cassidy slammed the bathroom door, saw to her immediate need, washed her hands, soothed her parched throat from the faucet, and sheepishly came out of the bathroom. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms folded over his bare chest, still wearing his jeans. He watched her, blinking against the light streaming from the bathroom.
“Thought you’d sleep it off through the night.”
Cassidy’s eyes darted to the screen door; not yet dawn. “Nope. Girls pee, Mac, you can’t lock us up. And it’s super creepy.”
He frowned, looking down as he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “For your own good.”
She scoffed out a laugh. “I’m that irresistible when I’m passed out?”
“Nah, you snore.”
She opened her mouth on a retort, but she snapped it shut again. Fair enough, Elijah had made the same claim that—on occasion—she’d snored. “Not always,” she defended herself.
His glance upward was knowing, but before she could question how he would know, he was moving. “I’m going out to the hammock. Lock the screen behind me.”