The Real

Abbie’s Mac: Exactly. No dead weight.

Cameron’s Mac: Sounds perfect, but if we do it this way, we do it with one condition.

Abbie’s Mac: Shoot.

Cameron’s Mac: We won’t deal in perfection and absolutes.

Abbie’s Mac: And no promises we can’t realistically keep.

His slow nod was confirmation we were onto something.

Cameron’s Mac: I’m just going to point out now I hate that I have to stare at the forbidden fruit instead of what’s behind it.

Abbie’s Mac: That’s kind of a two-sided thing.

Cameron’s Mac: Lend me that dress you wore the other night so I can make it as hard on you.

I grinned and shook my head.

Abbie’s Mac: Sense of humor, I like it. My mom thinks I’m a world class smart ass.

He picked up another cup hidden behind his Mac and took a sip as if he were ready for me. It read Only the Sarcastic Survive.

Abbie’s Mac: I should make that my first tattoo. How many cups do you have over there?

I leaned to the side and peeked behind his Mac to see several more.

Cameron’s Mac: I’m prepared today.

Abbie’s Mac: Okay, let’s see them.

He slowly lifted the first cup. Good Morning, Beautiful. I gave him a lopsided grin that quickly turned into a scowl when he lifted another that read Show Me Your Kitties. I palmed my mouth to hide my smile.

His third cup came up. I love Clit.

Abbie’s Mac: Really?

Cameron’s Mac: Too crass, I agree. But I was taking your friend Bree’s advice. And for the record, I know the clit is not a fictional character.

I threw his word back at him from the night at the bar.

Abbie’s Mac: Noted.

He held up a wait-for-it finger and gave me remorseful puppy dog eyes as he showed me his next cup that read I Love Your Face.

Abbie’s Mac: Much better.

Thick, sculpted brows double tapped his forehead as he lifted the last cup. Call Me El Jefe Grande. I rolled my eyes as he shrugged.

Abbie’s Mac: You’re somewhere between perfect and a pervert at this point.

“I was in a hurry,” he said across the space. I pressed a librarian’s finger to my lips.

Cameron’s Mac: Really? No talking at all?

Abbie’s Mac: Plenty of talking. Just like this.

He sat back briefly with a devastating smirk before he leaned in and typed.