Her mouth dropped open. “You… You can’t… What? Stage a sit-in?”
His brows rose. “Is that what I have to do? How long have I committed myself?”
Cassidy finished off the orange juice and handed the glass back to him. She tried to reel in her emotions. There was panic, but it didn’t make sense—why would she panic over having to eat something? “You haven’t committed yourself to anything. I’m not your problem. Remember, you don’t want the drama; you don’t care. Go. I’m fine.”
Dark eyes clashed with her lighter hazel before he informed her, “You don’t tell me what I care about.” He stood up, his look bordering on a glower.
“You already said you don’t have time for the drama,” she reminded him. “And I amnotyour concern. I can take care of myself.” The orange juice was working, evidenced by the resentment building in her tone.
“Then why don’t you?” he challenged.
She wished she had the glass back so she could throw it at him. “I misjudged! I made a mistake!” Lurching off the cushions, she stood toe to toe with him. She thought she caught a flash of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve learned from it, now go!”
Mac glanced toward her kitchen with a calculating expression before returning his attention to her. He handed the empty glass back. “Have another cup. Take a shower and put on clothes.”
“Don’t you tell me—”
“Do it,” he ordered. “You’ll feel better.”
Realizing the instructions meant he was leaving, she acquiesced. “Okay.” She would agree to anything to get him out, to relieve her of the power of his presence and the overwhelming effect he had on her.
God, she hated him for it.
He looked at her skeptically.
Cassidy shrugged. “Of course I want to feel better. You rub me the wrong way.” That wasnotthe thing to say to a man like Mac. He grinned, eyes darkening in a silent promise he knew all the right ways to rub her.
Thatlook did all sorts of things to her. Her cheeks reheated. Good lord. Looking down at the dregs of orange juice in the glass she held, she reminded herself he’d kicked her out.He didn’t want her. His back and forth of innuendo and sexy looks while pushing her away would drive her crazy. Maybe he was like an alcoholic who hadn’t had a drink yet, so mouthwash would do—he hadn’t gotten laid yet today, and here she was—someone with a vagina.
Moving cautiously away from him and the devastating expression that made her want to throw herself at him all over again, she lifted the glass to draw his attention to it and away from her. “I’ll get a refill. Seriously, go.”
Go, before she made more of a fool of herself in her already weakened state.
She was aware he watched her as she made her way across the room and around the bar. He watched as she removed the orange juice container and refilled the cup. It wasn’t until she lifted the cup to her lips that he inclined his head in acknowledgment. Only then did he look away, shifting his gaze to Fred, who stood between them like a kid watching his two at-odds parents.
Throwing one more assessing glance her way, he turned without a word and walked out.
Cassidy sighed in relief, falling forward on the counter. Being near him was like a physical battle, and she was already struggling. Damn it. Why did it have to be him driving down the road? Where had all of her friendly older neighbors gone off to? A cop, a murderer? Anyone other than Mac Boyer?
Pushing herself back up, she peered out the sliding door to confirm he’d left, sure, but he’d also left his truck in her drive. “Idiot.” Finishing off the juice, she left the glass on the counter.
A shower was in order, and it had nothing to do with his suggestion. The lycra was beginning to feel tight and uncomfortable, even on her small frame. The hot water would revive her. Already, her nausea had disappeared, her heart rate was normalizing—coinciding with his departure—and her headache was dissipating.
Her stomach growled as she headed toward her glass hallway. She slapped the bared skin and grumbled, “Shut up, you’ve gotten me into enough trouble today.”
She stood under the heat of the spray of the shower longer than usual, leaning back against the wall. Today had exhausted her.
Dressing in a pair of plaid-patterned shorts and a low-cut cotton shirt, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and headed out of the bedroom. Before she hit the hallway, the scent of cooking pasta reached her.
“What the hell?” she asked herself. Her heart bottomed out. Of course, she knew who to expect as she walked down the glass hallway. His truck was still in her driveway.
Sure enough, Mac was standing next to her stove, wearing the same beige Henley shirt and jeans he’d been wearing earlier, watching a pan as he drank from a bottle of beer. Both items he’d clearly brought back with him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“Door was unlocked.” He smirked, looking her over, attention lingering on the low scoop of the shirt and the swell of breasts displayed before flicking up to her snapping eyes.
Hands on hips, she demanded from across the room, “Is your stove broken?”