Eyes like silver
Hair like fire
Singing away my sorrow
There’s nothing I’d deny her.
--Ataxia
Mac
I’m straddling my motorcycle, head tilted back, staring. Wow. This place is huge. The garage alone is twice the size of my house, and with the tropical landscaping, it’s like a desert oasis. I’d expect a professional UFL fighter to have bank, but I didn’t think they’d spend it on a house the size of a resort.
Did I read the address wrong? I fish my phone from my messenger bag and check the text from Layla.
“I’ll be damned.” The number and street name match. “Spare no expense Slade.”
There was no way I was going to say no when Layla invited me over to the Slade’s for some girl time. I guess the guys get together to watch baseball and the girls just sit around and do what girls do.
What do girls do?
I was secluded most of my life, not having any interaction outside of doctors and therapists. We had social hours where I’d visit with others, but the people I was locked up with weren’t much for conversation, at least not the kind you could understand.
I take a few steps to the front door and notice cars parked off toward the garage. Cadillac Escalade. My breath catches in my throat. Rex.
A butterfly mutiny explodes in my belly. I was hoping he’d be here.
I ring the doorbell; it sounds as if it’s announcing the Queen of England rather than Mac the nobody. Overkill much?
The door swings open and Jonah’s wife Raven answers. Just like when I’ve seen her at The Blackout, her eyes take me aback.
“Hi, Mac, right?” She gives me a genuine smile.
I nod and she motions for me to come in. “Yeah, Raven?”
“Yes. Layla told me you were coming. It’s nice to have another girl here to help dilute the testosterone.”
Her laid-back attitude makes me laugh. She looks so comfortable in her own skin. And I really dig her style; she’s wearing a cute pair of camo leggings and a long gray shirt that hangs off one shoulder and hugs a tiny pregnant belly. I follow her through the enormous arched foyer into a state-of-the-art kitchen.
Male voices filter in from another room, but I can’t make out Rex’s. I wonder how he’ll react to seeing me here. Maybe he’ll be mad, think I’m busting into his inner circle, but I’m hoping he’ll be happy to see me.
“Mac, you made it.” Layla jumps off a stool with a handful of popcorn and throws her arms around me.
“Of course. You know I’d never miss a party.”
She drags me over to the granite-topped breakfast bar that’s covered in a variety of different food. “Party. Right. With our pregnant asses, it’s more like a crabby cry fest”—her hand sweeps across the air over the food—“with a buffet!”
Raven laughs. It’s hard to look at her this close. The distinct color of her eyes is eerily familiar. I rub the back of my neck, hoping to loosen the muscles that have tightened there.
“Here, we made mocktails.” Layla sets a martini glass filled with some chilled pink liquid down in front of me.
“Mac, what’re you riding out there?” Raven sips on her drink. “Honda?”
“CB900.”
“Is it easy to ride?”
“I think so.” I try my pink drink. Mmm, not bad. “Why? You thinking of getting one?”
“I’d like to. Jonah has a Harley and I want to learn to ride, but that thing’s huge.”
“That’s what she said.” Layla pops a ranch-dipped baby carrot into her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry. Blake’s rubbing off on me.”
Raven and I burst out laughing, and it’s the first time I’ve really felt connected to any girls other than Trix. My chest warms. It’s like having friends. Real friends.
~*~
Rex
“Fucking strike three, bitches.” Blake jumps from the couch and high-fives Owen. They’re backing the New York Mets while everyone else is a Cubs fan. “You boys wouldn’t know good baseball if it slapped you in the dick.”
“Eww, Blake.” Axelle’s repulsed reaction comes from across the room where she’s sitting with her phone under her nose, texting.
“Shit.” Blake grimaces. “Sorry, kiddo. Forgot you were here.”
A laugh rumbles in my chest.
Blake glares at me. “What?”
“Never heard you apologize for cussin’ before.” I pull my lip ring between my teeth to avoid laughing harder. “Seriously, dude, who are you?”
“Shut up, fu—er . . . just, shut up.” Blake turns his attention back to the game.
I eye the spread of food on the coffee table: chips, dips, and those little hot dogs wrapped in dough. I double-fist my sixty-four ounce water, reminding myself that the fight means more to me than indulging. Dieting sucks.
“Heard Reece and his camp show up tomorrow,” Jonah says, popping a chip into his mouth. He chews and swings his gaze to Blake. “Wade too. You boys are fired up. Need to hold your shit together if you see ’em.”
“Please.” Blake glares at his best friend. “You think I’m scared of that dipshit? He can skip his little fairy ass all over the training center if he wants. Fact remains on fight day he’s toast.”
“Yeah, I’m with B. Reece won’t be a problem for me.” Feeling the pressure in my bladder from all the water I’ve been drinking to drop weight, I stand to hit the bathroom. “It’ll be me who’s his problem once we step into that octagon.”
The guys all grunt in agreement, and I step around the oversized sectional headed to the bathroom.
The room erupts in cheers, and I turn to see the Cubs hit a homerun. Nice.
“Hey, guys?” Layla says from behind us.
Blake turns around, but everyone else keeps their eyes to the TV, watching the action.
“I want to introduce you to someone,” she says, getting the attention of the room.
I turn around and my jaw goes slack; my lips curl into a smile.
Mac.
She’s wearing a tight white tank top, and I can see the hint of her black lace bra through the thin fabric. Her faded skin-tight jeans are the picture of sexy-as-shit casual, even shredded a little around the hem that circles her black biker boots. Her hair is long, loose, and wild as it falls over her kick-ass black leather jacket. Pale skin, deep cherry lips, and cheeks pink from the sun or the wind, I don’t know, but either way she looks amazing.
“Guys, this is Mac. I’m sure most of you know her from the club. Mac”—she waves her arm across the room in an all-encompassing sweep—“these are the guys.”
Mac’s eyes hit everyone in the room then land on me. She does a good job keeping a straight face, but I don’t miss the way her eyes widen a fraction. “Hi, guys.”
“Okay, get back to baseball.” Layla takes Mac’s arm and turns her away, but her eyes stay on me until she’s forced to follow.
Caleb and Killer stay turned toward the spot she disappeared from. I’m not surprised. She’s gorgeous and not in a subtle way. Her long legs and striking appearance make her stand out even in jeans and a leather jacket.
“Good-looking woman,” Caleb says before turning his attention back to the game.
A violent surge of possessive energy pulses through my body. She’s not mine. She’s not mine. I repeat those three words, hoping that it’ll squash my urge to land a haymaker on my friend.
“She got a man?” Caleb directs his question toward Blake.
“How the fuck should I know?”
“Have Layla set me up.”
“What? You can’t ask a chick out on your own?”
“I can, but have Layla feel it out for me first.”
The urge to piss disappears, and I take my seat back on the couch. “She’s got a man.” I’m usually a horrible liar, but those four little words flow effortlessly from my lips.
Caleb looks at me. “She does? You sure?”
I shrug and pretend to watch the game. “Her bike got a flat after work, and her man came and took care of it.”
Aw, shit. My chest swells with blooming warmth at the truth in my lie. I’ve considered what it would be like to be the man that Mac calls hers. The voice in my head tells me she deserves better. The shame trailing my issues screams that I’m not worthy of her. I drop my head and study the carpet, heavy with the physical weight of all the reasons why she shouldn’t want me.
But the thought of her being with anyone else is something I can’t bear. Now that I’ve felt her lips on mine, I’m craving more. My body reacts as it always does and nausea piggybacks my arousal.
I excuse myself and hope a quick splash of cold water will do the job of a cold shower. Walking down the long hallway to the bathroom, I hear female voices coming from Jonah’s bedroom. I stop and peek inside the open door to find Raven, Layla, and Mac all sitting on the bed. Raven’s sitting cross-legged with one hand on her small pregnant belly. Layla is lying on her side, her head propped in her hand. But my eyes are drawn like magnets to Mac. She’s sitting on the bed, one leg cocked up and her other foot still on the floor. Her head is thrown back in laughter, and the smile that accompanies it sucks the air from my lungs.
I duck back into the hallway and listen.
“What about you, Mac? Where are you from?” Raven’s the one who asked.
“Oh, um . . . I’m from a crappy little dirt town. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s about two hours from Vegas and in the middle of nowhere.” Mac’s voice gets soft, and I can picture the pink that probably colors her cheeks.
“That’s nice.” Layla’s voice is cheery, as if she’s trying to ease Mac’s discomfort. I knew she sounded embarrassed. “So you have family nearby.”
Seconds tick in silence and I resist the urge to peek around the doorframe to see what’s going on.
Throat clearing. “I don’t have any family. My parents are dead.”
A small gasp. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m not. I was really young, and the memories I have of them weren’t all that good.”
Mac lost her parents? Makes sense. Her strength and independence comes from somewhere, but I’d never guess she didn’t have a family. We have more in common than I thought.
“I know what that’s like,” Raven says. “My mom and I only started to have a relationship these last six months. And my dad, well, I . . .”
I’m stuck in place, hanging on to every word.
“Yeah, I heard,” Mac says. “Sounds like you did what you had to.” She sounds angry?
That can’t be right.
“I did,” Raven says with soft determination.
We’re like a threesome of misfits. No parents, lost to the world, and searching. But Raven found her future with Jonah. She’s pieced together her history and reconciled it with her present.
Unlike Mac.
She has no family, she’s living with a stripper who has horrible judgment when it comes to men, and from what I can tell she doesn’t seem to be surrounded by friends. She didn’t even have anyone to call the night I met her in the alley with a flat tire.
I may be like her in a lot of ways, but I could name ten people off the top of my head who would drop everything if I needed them. Sadness wells up in my gut, remembering a time when I had no one, after I was released from the hospital and before I started kickboxing. Dammit. The memory is so close to the surface, but not close enough to touch. Only the loneliness is vivid.
“Rex?” I jerk my head up to find the three girls in the hallway, staring at me. Layla steps closer. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I just wanted to see if I could steal Mac for a second.”
One eyebrow lifts along with the corner of her mouth. “Sure.” Layla turns to Mac. “We’ll be pigging out if you need us.” She takes Raven’s arm and leads her down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Only then do I have the courage to meet Mac’s stare. Her eyebrows are pinched and head cocked to the side like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Mac, I um. . .” I scrub my hand through my hair. Why is this so hard? “If you want, would you like to go, with me, on a—”
“Yes.” There’s a hint of a smile in her voice.
“Yes? But you don’t know what I was asking.”
She shrugs and steps in close. “I had a feeling. And honestly, there isn’t much you could ask that I’d say no to.”
A grin pulls at my lips. “Yeah?”
She nods.
“So . . .” I run a lock of her hair through my fingers, making sure to brush my fingertips against her cheek. So fucking soft. “What if I’d asked you to rob a bank? Your answer would be . . .?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm.” My fingers trail a path down her arm, now exposed without her leather jacket, and goose bumps chase after my touch.
“And if I asked for your bike?”
“Yes.” She’s breathless.
“Really? Huh.” I step in close, and I’m overcome by her sweet, tropical smell. “And um . . .” Hooking my fingers beneath her chin, I tilt her head back. “What if I asked . . .?”
The heat of her soft curves presses against my ribs and I’m suddenly hyperaware of my own heartbeat. Her breath is quick against my lips, unleashing a fierce euphoria that makes me dizzy.
“Yes.” She pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. But unlike the two times before, she glides the tip of her tongue along my bottom lip.
The wet heat ignites a desperate need that has me driving my fingers into her hair. She smiles against my lips before tilting her head and opening to me. I groan into the warm heat of her mouth. Our tongues slide together, the first contact so intense that my eyes slam shut and I push her back against the wall. I pinch my eyes closed, thrashing in the waves of both abhorrence and my fierce appetite for more.
She moans and arches against the drywall, shoving her fingers into my hair, fisting until my scalp burns. The sting feels so damn good.
“Fuck yeah,” I say against her lips.
Her teeth rake against my tongue and then latch on to my piercing. She pulls against it with possession, an animalistic bite that forces me to pull her back by her hair. She lets go only to tilt her head and devour me deeper. The violence behind the kiss is mind-numbing.
It’s been so long since I’ve kissed a woman like this. Hell, I’ve never kissed a woman like this.
The sound of voices reminds me we’re in Jonah’s hallway and not in the privacy of our own lust-laden room.
I break the kiss but keep my hold on her hair. “Shit, that was hot.” There’s no rush of nausea in my stomach, only the slight quiver of excitement.
“When’s the game over?” she says breathlessly. Her hands slide down from my hair to my chest.
“An hour or so.”
“Can we go out after?”
Her eagerness to pick up where we’ve left off reminds me that I was asking her out on a date before I kissed her into a wall.
I step back and admire how sexy she looks, pinned against the wall, her lips swollen and a brighter shade of red than usual. Her shirt must’ve lifted a little during our rough encounter because a wedge of the porcelain skin of her stomach draws my eyes. I take a moment to let myself imagine what it would be like to run my hands all over that skin. I’d trace the tender flesh of her belly button before shoving my hand down the front of her jeans and—ugh! Revulsion stabs me through the gut. I clench my shirt and swallow back the sour taste in my throat.
“Rex? What’s wrong?” Mac’s voice is heavy either with leftover arousal or concern. Her hand comes down to rest on my arm.
I jerk away from her and step back. Her eyes go wide and she lifts her hands in the universal sign of “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I’m okay, just a muscle cramp from training today.” I shouldn’t lie, but the truth isn’t happening.
She glares at me, not angry-looking, but more as if she’s studying me.
I release the death grip on my shirt and force a smile. “There. It’s gone.”
Her stare sears through me. “You’re sure?”
“Dude, you missed it.” Caleb is down the hallway headed toward us. “Blake just lost three hundred bucks to Killian.” His eyes move between Mac and me. “What’s going on?” The fuck-you glare he’s aimed at me says he knows exactly what’s going on here.
It doesn’t take a genius to scent the afterburn of the no-holds kiss she and I just shared.
Shit. Caleb was interested in Mac, and now it looks like I just jumped her in the damn hallway. Fuck, I did jump her in the damn hallway.
I try to play it cool, relaxing my shoulders and keeping my expression indifferent. “Nothing. Ran into Mac on my way to hit the john. Started talking about bikes.”
His eyebrows un-pinch and his scowl is wiped clean. He turns toward a now practically hissing Mac. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve talked a few times at The Blackout.” He holds out his hand. “Caleb.”
She turns her glare from me to him, and her face softens. “Mac. And yes, I do remember. Usually a pint of Blue Moon, but on rare occasions a Jack and Coke.”
He laughs, that all-fucking-American boy charm, making Mac smile back.
Fuck.
“Yeah, you remember,” he says. “You and I should go out sometime.”
What. The. Fuck.
Mac’s eyes swing to mine and back to Caleb’s.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “No pressure, babe.”
Babe?
“Just figured it’s only fair, darlin’. I mean you know so much ’bout me; I’d like to return the favor.”
Is it just me, or did his hint of a Southern accent just turn into some full-fledged good-ole-boy shit?
He’s fucking flirting with her. Pain throbs in my jaw and my stomach muscles contract. I was making out with her ten seconds ago, and already I feel some kind of proprietary claim on her. Caleb’s my best friend, but I don’t want his fucking country ass anywhere near Mac. Or his hands and lips. Shit, I’m halfway thinkin’ I’d gouge his eyes out just for looking at her.
Visions of my worst dreams flash behind my eyes. Shame weighs me down like a mudslide over my thoughts and reminds me of what I am.
Perverted. Dirty. Sick—a total contrast to Caleb’s perfect family, ideal upbringing, and southern charm. He’d be able to touch her without getting sick, invite her into his home, his bed. Fuck!
“Dude, you okay?” Caleb’s voice went from sweet to parental, pulling me from my thoughts.
I lift my head not even realizing how far I’d dropped my chin to my chest. “Fine, man.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “You sure? I know you’re dropping weight, but you’re making sure to eat, right?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m surprised he doesn’t sprout damn wings and a halo.
I feel Mac’s eyes on me, but I keep mine on Caleb. “Yeah, I’m good.” I make sure to hold my head high, despite the urge to bow out and leave him and Mac to plan their future together.
He nods, seeming to buy my bullshit, and pulls out his phone. “Mac, go ahead and put in your phone number.” He hands her his phone. “We’ll hook up sometime. I’ll take you out so someone else can bring us beers.”
“Oh, um . . .” I watch in horror as she grabs his cell and hits a few numbers.
It was bad enough when I thought he would be better for her, but she actually likes him? And to hand out her number to my best fucking friend after she had her tongue in my mouth?
With all the women I’ve hooked up with, chicks that would get on their knees to suck me off then move on to the next guy in a matter of minutes, that shit never bothered me before. Why the fuck is it making me damn near violent now?
I don’t deserve her, but I’m selfish. I want her.
“Here ya go.” She hands him back his phone.
Without taking his eyes off her, he shoves his cell into his pocket. “I’ll call you later this week.” He winks—fucking winks—at her and walks away, slapping my shoulder.
I stare down at Mac, who’s staring right back at me. “What the fuck was that?” The words come from behind my still-clenched teeth.
“No clue. Why don’t you tell me?” Her jaw ticks and she’s breathing through her nose. She’s mad at me? Hell no.
“Please.” I motion down the hallway in the direction Caleb left. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“You told him we were talking about bikes.”
“What was I supposed to say? Hey, Caleb, just dry fucking Mac here against a wall. How’s the game?” I don’t want to tell her that Caleb’s interested in her, not that she doesn’t already know that now, but confirming it feels like tapping out before the competition even begins. “Nice to see that the cowboy thing works for you. Next time we hang out, I’ll be sure to wear my chaps.”
Her narrow eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across her face. The look she’s giving is sexy as hell and has me itching to touch her. She leans back against the wall, finding the exact spot I had her pinned earlier almost as if on purpose. “You’re jealous.”
I take a couple steps toward her, close enough that my height and width keep her to the wall, but without touching. “You just gave my best friend your phone number. Not jealous, darlin’. Pissed.”
I thought my jab at her Caleb-issued pet name would ignite a fire behind her eyes and maybe send her away. It’s what I deserve. But instead, she bites her damn lip while staring at mine. My body responds immediately, and it’s all I can do to keep from rubbing up against her.
“Jealous.”
I step closer. “You want me jealous.” It’s not a question; my reaction to her with Caleb is getting her off.
Her eyes flare with the heat of hunger. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because now you know how it feels.”
“You’re jealous?”
Her confidence slips a fraction, and she flashes a smile that borders on embarrassed. “I have to watch girls throw themselves at you all the time.”
“But . . . you’ve been watching me?”
The whites of her eyes show around their sandy irises and her lips part. She nods, two quick bounces of her head.
“How long?”
“A while.”
Fuck if this little piece of crazy should send me running, but instead it pulls me closer to her like a magnet of instability that anchors us together.
I reach out and slide another long strand of her hair through my fingers, watching the natural waves straighten against my draw and bounce back. “You ready for our date?”
“Yes.” The sound is all breath, and I have to wonder if she’s feeling the same thing I am.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I grab her hand and drag her down the hallway, the sound of her laughter speeding my steps.
The more I get to know about this girl, the more I feel connected to her in some way. Our nightmares, panic in small spaces, no family, and now the crazy.
She’s not all that different from me. Maybe I don’t have to hide who I am when we’re together.
It makes me wonder what else I’ll learn if I dig a little deeper.