Arms akimbo, hip cocked as he shifted his weight to one side, he greeted Marge, “Hey, darlin’.”
Marge gave him a look teachers reserved for mischievous boys: tolerant but ready to smack him with a ruler at a moment’s notice. However, she still praised him, “Nice job parking your boat.”
Cassidy fought to keep her eyes from rolling.
“What’re you up to this early in the morning?”
“Thank you. Laundry.” His eyes slid back to Cassidy.
No, she wasn’t going to offer up her washer and dryer for his convenience. She raised a brow back at him, her expression one of crafted boredom. In her mind, she congratulated herself for achieving the height of polite disinterest.
Mac frowned. “You okay, Day? You don’t look well.”
Marge looked over at her. “Are you sitting funny?”
“Good grief,” she muttered. Standing up, looking at Mac, ignoring all of the little thrills running through her, she reminded him, “You have something of mine.”
Holding her gaze with a small smile, he moved his right hand from his waist to caress his stomach, glide toward his abdomen, fingers slipping beneath the band of his jeans. His eyes darkened with satisfaction as she tracked his hand, her own eyes widening before flicking upward. They both knew full well what she was talking about, but his response alluded to something else entirely. “Welcome to come by anytime.”
Incensed that he would make light of it and proposition her in front of Marge at the same time, she glared at him and snapped, “You asshole.” She ignored Marge’s sharp intake of breath.
“There’s no call for that, Cassie!”
“But he just…” She stopped. Marge hadn’t noticed anything other than Mac telling her to come by for Fred. The smug expression on his face told her she wasn’t winning this one. “You are impossible.” She headed toward the house.
“Day.” He reached out and grasped her arm.
“I just want to see him! How long are you going to keep him? You’ve kidnapped my dog!”
All signs of humor gone, Mac stared down at her. “We have a conversation to finish.”
“What? No.”
He raised a brow, dropping his voice as he said, “Day.”
His tone reverberated through her like a pinball in a machine. “We don’t have anything else to say to one another.”
His eyes narrowed as his jaw tensed. His fingers gripped her elbow tighter.
Marge interrupted, “What’s the last thing you remember, Mac?”
Cassidy turned her head, glancing over her shoulder to cast Marge a silencing glare as she tugged on her arm, trying to free it from his grasp. But she stilled when he took too long to respond, as if he was thinking about his answer.
“The last thought I remember having was that I needed to get away.”
Returning her attention to him, expression hard, she asked, “From me? Fred? Danger? Save yourself?”
“Grady and I have gone round and round with that; Silas, too.” He looked at Marge before flicking his gaze back to Cassidy. “I needed to get away fromyou.”
She’d heard these words before, so of course she was suspicious to hear Marge’s explanation filtered back through Mac. “Are you sure that’syourexplanation? That it wasn’t an easy and convenient excuse provided to you?”
He gave her a pained frown, but he didn’t take issue with her tone or accusation. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”
“Good, because I don’t.” Her suspicion was clear as she exchanged a look with Marge. “I’ve heard a version of this somewhere before.” Marge scowled back in disappointment.
“No one else was in my head that night, so I don’t know who’s telling you what I thought. I was thinking I had to get away. Away where? Away from what? Why? Got a perfectly secluded place right here, plenty to drink. Coulda drunk my ass into a fucking coma.”
She gave him a guarded side-eye.