Mackie May I?

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Soooo this story is going to be the follow-up to Bringing Back Hallie, but you don't at all have to read BBH to understand Mackie, May I? But before I let you read it, I'm going to say one main thing.

--There will be sex/sexuality in this book. I'm going to try and keep it PG-13 so it won't be super graphic, but it's going to go into some detail. I'm telling you this now because I absolutely hate when authors warn readers that there will be sexual content in a chapter because it gives away what happens. So I'm telling you now :)

-Other than that, I really hope you like it :) I'm super proud of this one so far, so I hope it shows! Please leave comments and vote and let me know what you think.

___

"Da fuck is going on?" I hear the minute I creak open the door to my dorm room, and I can't help but grumble underneath my breath a few choice four-lettered words. This morning has been horrible enough. All I wanted was to sneak back into the room, crawl underneath my covers and forget that last night and early this morning never even happened.

But of course this can't happen because my roommate, as much as I love her, is the lightest sleeper I've ever had the courtesy of dealing with.

"Nothing Carl," I whisper, shutting the door softly behind me once I've gotten into the room. Thanks to our amazing black light curtains it feels like nighttime in our room, and it immediately calms me down. It'll just make it even easier for me to forget that I spent the majority of the actual night with some guy like a girl I've sworn to myself I wouldn't become.

When I hear her turn over in her bed at the far side of the room and grumble something about how she'll force it out of me later, I thank my lucky stars I have such an amazing roommate and then after peeling off my dress and slipping on one of my dad's old shirts and some thermal socks, I slide on into bed like I've been wanting to since I woke up.

But of course the minute my head hits the pillows and I get into the position I always fall asleep in, hot flashbacks of last night invade my mind. His large hands touching every inch of me, his stubble rubbing my skin in all of the right places, his lips...everywhere. I literally squeeze my lips closed so that I don't make any groaning noises at how difficult falling asleep is going to be, knowing that it'll wake up Carly once more and then she'll definitely be asking questions.

It takes me about an hour to actually fall asleep, and so unfortunately, when my alarm clock goes off at noon, I feel like I got no sleep whatsoever. Between last night and this morning, I probably got a grand total of four hours of sleep. And, unlike the majority of college students I know, I have the sleeping habits of a grandma. I need my eight hours or I just won't function correctly.

Sighing and cursing myself for the umpteenth time since I woke up in a stranger's bed this morning, I reach over to my end table and shut my phone up. Knowing that I can't go back to sleep because I have a huge test tomorrow morning I haven't yet studied for, I sit up in my bed and run my hands over my face, ignoring the slight ping of pain there is from where the guy's stubble rubbed my skin pink.

And then I see my roommate sitting up in her bed; her back resting against the wall and her MacBook perched in her lap, her eyes narrowed accusingly at me. I feel my stomach drop at the realization I'm going to have to talk to her, and the moment she realizes the same thing she says simply, "Spill."

"Do I have to?" I whine, pulling the covers up to my chest and feeling like such a horrible person that I can't stand it. I've always sworn to myself that I wouldn't be one of those girls who slept with guys she didn't know the names of and let them use her. Not after high school. Not after everything that happened.

But here I am, completely used and sore and everything that a girl is supposed to be after she's had sex for the first time in years. And I feel like the scum of the earth.

She nods, her short brunette hair so unlike my own falling into her face. She says, "I have to know, Mack, and I bet twenty bucks you'll feel better after you talk to me."

"Yeahhhh...." I trail on, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, "I don't exactly think that's the case."

"Why?" she asks, her voice so understanding and maternal-like that it makes me want to cry. She's always been so good to me, such a good friend. We met freshman year at orientation, bonded over ridiculous celebrity gossip, and the rest is history. Now we're roommates who finish each other's sentences and paint each others' toe nails. "Did you sleep with someone?"

I nod my head shamefully, not knowing if I can look her in the eye afterwards. Carly's definitely no Mother Theresa, and I've caught her going at it with a couple guys in the room, but it's kind of understood that I just don't do that. I've never wanted to, honestly. Which makes last night even more confusing.

She squeals, "Who, Mackie?!"

And this is the most shameful part of it all.

"I don't know," I whisper, finally looking up from my sheets and looking her in the eye. I think when she sees the budding tears in my eyes and the ashen look on my face that she gets it. That I don't want to squeal with her and compare sex stories like I know she wants to.

"Aw honey," she coos, putting her computer off to the side and then hurrying over to my bed. She effortlessly climbs onto the bed next to me and wraps her arms around me, and I think it's finally catching up to me what's happened, because moments later I'm crying onto her bare shoulder.

She runs her fingers through my hair and says, "Sweetie, I get that you're upset, but what has you more upset? That you liked it and don't know who it was, or just that it happened?"

"Just that it happened," I mumble, once again feeling overwhelmed and used and confused. "I mean, I don't do that. You know that."

"I know," she chuckles, "Which is why I freaked out so much. Mackie, it's honestly confused me so much how you've never wanted to hook up with someone. I mean, we've been here, what, like two years now and I don't even think you've kissed someone!"

I look up from her shoulder and say, "You know why, though."

"Yeah I do," she nods, her voice once again turning soothing and maternal. "But that has to be put in the past or else you're never going to find someone. And call me crazy or call me a girl who reads way too many poorly written romances online," I snort a laugh when she says this, "But maybe you actually liked this guy. You practically run away from any other guy who shows interest, so why didn't you run from this one?"

I shrug my shoulders, truthfully not remembering too many events that led up to the bedroom. I just remember the...the during. And the afterwards. And then the during again. But I don't remember him sweet-talking me or hell, even walking up to me. All I know is that we were at some damn party and then I was in his room and he was on top of me.

"What'd he look like?" she asks me seriously, ignoring my trouble at coming up with a reply, "It's a small school. I bet we know him."

"Dark hair," I say immediately, remembering how soft it had been in between my fingers. "And I think...I think he had tattoos." I can remember running my hands over them and thinking that they were so elaborate and so damn sexy.

"Damn girl," she giggles. I sharpen my gaze at her, making her laughter quickly cease. Turning serious, she says, "Well there are a couple guys here that meet that description. And knowing you, it wasn't the fat creeper that's always hanging out at the SUB."

That gets a laugh out of me, and it's in that moment that I'm once again struck by how much I love my best friend. I shake my head, knowing that the body I'd been so enamored by last night hadn't had an ounce of fat on it.

She says, "Well how about this? How about we hit up the caf and see if we can spot him?"

Immediately my chest tightens at the thought of seeing him again. I shake my head quickly, saying, "I don't think seeing him would be a good idea."

"Why?" she asks, "Was he an ass?"

"No," I say shaking my head, "No, I don't think so. I mean he asked me quite a few times if I was okay with...everything. Still don't know why I didn't stop him."

"Aww," she coos, swatting me playfully when she sees me roll my eyes. "Well let's go to Taco Bell then. I'm dying for one of those slushy things."

After we decide to go there instead of the cafeteria on campus, I climb out of bed and just slide some black leggings on underneath my shirt. The shirt hits the middle of my thigh, and just about every damn sorority girl on this campus wears something similar, so I don't feel too ridiculous.

But it's as I'm leaning down to put my shoes on that I feel the soreness in my legs flare up. "Ughh," I groan, hating the reminder of my debauchery.

"Bangover?" my roommate asks teasingly asks, and before I can laugh at the ridiculousness of the word, I reach down and then throw a shoe at her.

"Bitch, be quiet," I giggle, reaching over to grab the deodorant off of my dresser. As I rub it quickly underneath my arms, I murmur, "All I know is I'm never going to a party on campus again. Ever."

"Hold up now," she says dramatically, her voice rising in volume. "I finally got you to go out with me just a few weeks ago. I am not letting you ruin both our future weekends because of this."

"Carlyyyy," I whine, tossing the deodorant down and then spritzing some perfume on. "If I ever see this guy again I will die. Literally will die. Do you want to pay for a single?"

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head at me as she says, "And you call me the dramatic one."

I don't respond to that, knowing that the two of us are pretty much equally dramatic and that if something of this magnitude had happened to her, she'd be doing the same thing. Instead I put my focus towards wiping off the makeup from last night with a wet tissue and then reapplying my makeup.

About ten minutes later the two of us are ready to go, so after locking the door to our room we head into the oddly empty hallway. We live in the cheapest dorm, which also happens to be the biggest dorm on campus. And it's coed. So the hallways are usually bustling with sweaty, rowdy boys who curse way too much. We were unfortunate enough to get put on the first floor, which is where the majority of freshman boy athletes are put, so we try to avoid the smelly and horrible hallway as much as possible.

But thank God it's empty today, probably due to baseball starting back up, because I don't know how ready I am to look at the opposite sex yet.

The car ride there is pretty silent, her singing along to Katy Perry's newest song while I mope in the passenger seat, sitting there and staring blankly out of the window.

I really don't even know how last night happened. What was different about him? I haven't had the urge to do anything remotely sexual with a guy since the incident in high school, so why would I jump into bed so damn quickly with this guy? I'm sure the three Strawberitas and whiskey shots I had last night had a good bit to do with it, but still. Even the few times I've been as drunk as I was last night I've turned guys down. Cute guys.

I know that this guy was hot; I remember that. And I know that he wasn't the typical kind of hot, that he was tall and lean with dark hair and tattoos. I remember all of that. Maybe I liked the fact that he wasn't the normal kind of guy I find cute? It couldn't have been the danger factor, because any kind of guy that gives off a dangerous aura gives me horrid flashbacks of high school.

Of cute basketball players with short blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

"Hey, you okay?" Carly asks when she pulls into the parking lot of the Taco Bell literally minutes away from campus.

"Yeah," I murmur, snapping my mind away from any kind of remembrance of that night so long ago. "Just confused, I guess."

"Me and you both, sister," she says, putting the car into park and then cutting the engine. She then shakes away the serious face and gives me one of her beautifully blinding smiles before saying, "But we're not going to worry about that yet, okay? The only thing we're going to worry about is how bloated we're going to be after this meal."

I laugh, wishing that it could be that easy.

But for now, I'm going to try and convince myself otherwise.

_______

"Okay class, for the last ten minutes of class I want you to get into partners and ask each other the questions that were for homework last night and let them answer. I expect to hear only Spanish from you, comprende? No hablan ingles."

I roll my eyes, wishing that the ground would just surge up from underneath me and swallow me whole. If there is one thing I hate in this life more than random one night stands with guys I don't know, it's Spanish. I knew that I should have just "accidentally slept in" through this class once again.

But no, I had to convince myself to stop wallowing in bed and be a good student. Rest assured, I was not making that same mistake Wednesday morning.

A voice comes from beside me, "You wanna be my partner?"

I look over my shoulder and see an unfamiliar guy sitting in the desk next to me, and he looks almost as enthused to do this as I do. So I just shrug my shoulders and say, "Sure," knowing that I'd rather work with him than one of those types that tries way too hard during class.

We scoot our desks close together and then before I can say anything, he looks to the front of the class, probably checking where the professor is. Then he looks back at me and asks, "Do I know you? You look real familiar."

I study his face for a second, the light skin faintly dotted with reddish brown freckles, the dark brown eyes and the strawberry blonde hair peeping out from underneath a black beanie. Never seen him before. So I shake my head and say, "Nope, no idea."

"Hmmm," he murmurs, looking at me almost so intently that it makes me slightly uncomfortable. But before I can cringe and look away the glimmer in his eye diminishes and he says, "Eh, I'll figure it out eventually. So anyway, what's your name?"

"Mackenzie," I tell him, wondering why he's so chatty this early in the morning. I'm a pretty big talker too, usually, but never this early. And never to someone I don't know. "Everyone calls me Mackie, though."

"Mackie," he says as if he's testing the name out. He then grins at me and says, "I like it."

"Thanks," I smile, before looking up and realizing that the teacher is getting close enough to us to realize that we're not speaking Spanish. I internally groan before glancing down at my paper and then speaking dryly, "¿De dónde eres?"

He looks at me strangely for a second, as if he's wondering why I'm actually doing the work, but I direct him with a quick nod of my head towards the professor who's quickly gaining on us. "Ohhhhh," he draws out silently, before looking down at his notebook and uttering "Soy de Nashville."

Luckily class ends just a few minutes after that, my new class friend and I having to communicate solely in the worst language ever for the remainder. But then she dismisses us and my insides rejoice because that means I can go back to my dorm and crash for two hours before having to go to the Boutique.

As I'm walking the length of the hallway after class, I hear him come up beside me and say, "Name's Fred by the way."

"Fred," I say simply, mocking his tone from earlier. "I like it."

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that's pretty darn adorable. He says, "And I think I like you, girl. So tell me, what year are you?"

"Junior. I'm only in beginner's Spanish because I've been dreading taking the one semester I actually have to. You?"

"Sophomore, actually. I was in a bad place after my freshman year, so I took a year off. Now I'm back. What major?"

A bit surprised that he's giving so much information to a girl he doesn't even know, I answer simply, "Psych."

"Ooohhh watch out. I bet you're analyzing me and all that shit right now, huh?"

I laugh, knowing that that's pretty much the standard reaction of anyone I tell my major to. And it's partially the truth at times. I've always wondered why people did they did the things they did, act the way the act, like if there was some guiding reason for it. It's probably attributed to the fact that I overthink everything humanly possible, but still. My psychology classes are the only classes I've ever enjoyed reading for.

"Woah wait, do that again."

Snapping out of my thoughts, I look at him confusingly, wondering what the hell he's talking about. "What?"

He says, "Laugh again."

"What, why? That's so awkward," I point out.

"I know your laugh," he says, and when I look at him I can practically see the wheels in his head spinning. And then I see them stop abruptly right before he slowly turns and looks at me, his mouth wide open in shock. "Oh my fucking God," he laughs incredulously. "Dude!"

"What?" I demand, stopping my walking and crossing my arms over my chest. I'm so confused and frustrated and I'm starting to wonder if it's even safe to be talking to this guy.

"You fucked someone Friday night, didn't you?"

And that's when I feel my heart fall into the pit of my stomach.

"What?" I ask, my voice sounding hollow and pathetically scared.

"I knew it!" he laughs excitedly, obviously not seeing the terror that I know is so blatantly covering my face. "Jess is gonna flip when I tell him!"

I can't help myself. Even after all of the self-loathing and guilt and confusion, I want to know who the guy was. Who it was that made me into a girl that I'm not, even if it was just for one night. "Jess?" I question, my voice coming out as a pathetically terrified squeak.

"Mhmm," he nods, looking oh-so-pleased with himself for figuring all of this out. "He hasn't said much about it, 'cause let's face it, he doesn't really talk, but I know he's been thinking about Friday night nonstop."

He doesn't say much of anything? So he's...quiet? Shy? No, there's no way he could have been shy Friday night. I know myself and I know that he must've been pretty damn charming to get me into his bed that night. "Are you sure...it was me? I mean..."

"Welllll," he draws out, and I'm so anxious with this damn conversation that I want to smack him for dragging everything on. "This guy you obviously hooked up with Friday night...what'd he look like?"

"Dark hair with tattoos," I say for what feels the umpteenth time since this whole mess happened.

"Yep!" he says excitedly, his eyes lighting up. "That's him."

Feeling so damn overwhelmed with this whole situation, with the fact that this guy actually exists and I could meet him again, I breathe out, "Well I gotta go."

But before I can even turn over my shoulder to leave, Fred grabs my wrist and says, "You don't want his number or anything?"

My breath quickening, I shake my head and tell him, "I don't...look, I'm not that girl, okay?"

"I get that," he says, his lips downcast and his voice apprehensive. "But come on, you were all over him on Friday. I figured I could hook y'all up again."

I shake my head once more and say, "You're a good friend, but...no. I'm still kind of freaked about Friday."

"Why? The way Jesse was acting Saturday, I figured it was the best

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