Mackenzie
“Is that a paintbrush in your hand or are you happy to see me?” Mackenzie Pratt snickered, accidentally dripping brown paint down her hand. Her apron had seen better days. Normally covered in spilled coffee, milk, and chocolate crumbs, tonight it also hosted red and yellow acrylic paint splatters.
“If your wrist is worn out by the time you’re done doing this, you know you did something right,” Lucy Riley called from the podium in front of the class, and the women erupted in laughter.
Tonight was the third paint night Mackenzie had hosted at her coffee shop, Coast & Roast. The idea came to her when she saw Lucy’s artwork hanging in Maggie Riley’s office, not that Mackenzie spent much time on her best friend’s therapy couch. And since Lucy had also become a friend to Mackenzie, she’d struck up a deal with the wild child.
Paint bars and paint nights were all the rage now, so Mackenzie figured she’d give it a whirl. Lucy took home most of the profits, but the shop made money on all the coffee and baked goods sold during the session. Those who wanted something a bit more grown up brought their own wine. A win-win all around.
“Should my glass be full or half-full?” Maggie asked, pouting as she studied her painting.
Tonight’s picture was a bottle of red, a wine glass, and wedge of cheese. Next month they’d do a coastal landscape, hoping to attract the summer tourists. It was mostly locals from Rocky Harbor who stopped in the shop in May, with a few out-of-towners up to open their summer homes along the Maine shore. It wasn’t uncommon to have a five-million-dollar mansion sitting next to a simple Cape Cod style cottage. And across the road, with an obstructed view of the Atlantic, you could get yourself a two-thousand-square-foot home for around eight hundred grand.
Maggie was one of the few wealthy residents of Maine but she never let class or social status come between their friendship. Thanks to Maggie’s housekeeper’s connections, Mackenzie’s mom had landed a regular cleaning gig and the Pratts had been able to upgrade from their one bedroom rental on the outskirts of Rocky Harbor to a small trailer in Arundel. Which also meant Kenzie, at ten years old, had to switch schools. Rocky Harbor Elementary was divided between the wealthy coastal kids and the poorer families who lived on the west side of town, running the farms and working for the upper crust. She’d rather be in a poorer school anyway. There were fewer kids looking down on her, making fun of her for her outdated clothing and tiny home.
Being wealthy was never Mackenzie’s game plan, but she didn’t want to live paycheck to paycheck either. She had been frugal, tucking away the money she’d earned while waitressing at night, and was granted enough scholarship money to pay for her community college. In two years she’d earned her business degree and after a few more years of saving, she had enough to invest in her own business.
Coast & Roast had been Mackenzie Pratt’s baby for the past five years. The coffee shop sat in the touristy downtown area of Rocky Harbor and catered to visitors as well as the locals. She kept the décor simple, homey and in-tune with the rest of downtown. A few nautical prints on the wall, as well as the cliché sayings like ‘Life Begins After Coffee’ and her favorite, ‘Behind every successful woman is a substantial amount of coffee.’
Rachael Riley, her friend and baker for the shop, often wore cutesy shirts about baking or cooking and inspired Mackenzie to do the same. Under her apron she wore her fitted ‘Coffee is a Hug in a Mug’ shirt, which seemed to elicit smiles from all her customers.
“Your glass is always half-full,” Mackenzie said, flashing a glance at her best friend before lowering her gaze to the sleeping baby in the car seat at Maggie’s feet. “Although for the past year it’s been completely empty. You still nursing Katie?”
“I’m hoping to nurse for another nine months. Until she’s a year.”
“So I’ll be drinking solo for a while, huh?” Mackenzie dipped her paintbrush in the burgundy paint and filled the wine glass on the canvas.
“I wouldn’t call your social life solo.” Maggie shook her head, her long red ponytail whipping Mackenzie in the face. “Speaking of, how was your date with Isaac?”
“Eh.”
“Eh? You’ve had a lot of them lately. I’ve never seen you so picky with men.”
Her best friend was too intuitive. Since being so horribly betrayed by her fiancé six years ago, Mackenzie stopped taking relationships, or rather men, so seriously. Trust was something no man had yet to earn. They were all slimy bastards.
Well, maybe not in the family Maggie had married into.
The Rileys were a rare lot. They came from a variety of backgrounds, all adopted by Doreen and the late Keith Riley. Mackenzie had formed friendships with all the brothers and sisters since Maggie met Graham a few years ago.
Well, all but Blake. They almost hooked up at Maggie and Graham’s wedding awhile back. Close call. His black-as-sin hair and sultry latte eyes had called to her the second his fine ass walked through the church doors. Late as usual, his family had mumbled before his brothers greeted him with slaps to the back and his sisters with kisses on the cheek.
Mackenzie had stood on the outer edge of the circle, mesmerized by the family dynamics. She’d always thought her family to be close, but they didn’t have the special bond that the Rileys had.
She’d never forget the moment Blake noticed her. She’d nearly dropped the silly bouquet of ribbons she’d held for Maggie when his gaze met hers and his lip tugged up in the sexiest grin she’d ever laid eyes on. The man had to have known the effect he had on women. The easiness in his swagger, the confidence in his stare, the slow, predatory lick of his lips.
Unaccustomed to being looked over like a piece of cake after a six month diet, she dropped her gaze and fiddled with the pink and white and silver ribbons in her hand, pretending she had a purpose.
“You must be the best friend I’ve heard so much about.” Blake Riley practically pounced on her, his scent spicy and rustic, heat emanating off his too-near body. Personal boundaries he did not respect.
“I highly doubt you’ve heard so much about me.” She didn’t come off as coy or playful and later she’d regretted the bit of snark that followed. “If so, what exactly do you know?”
His lips had quirked, as did his eyebrow, and he’d leaned against the pew behind him, not one bit abashed at her sullen attitude. “You’re the gorgeous coffee shop owner who is friends with Maggie.”
“I stand corrected. You do you know all there is to know about me.” Mackenzie had pushed past him and tried not to stumble when his laughter followed her retreating back.
She didn’t like how his cocky good looks made her quiver, or how his confidence made her blush. It reminded her too much of the old Mackenzie. The one who was a sucker for a pretty face and a convincing lie. Who forgave too easily and got burned too often. She’d worked hard to build her wall and with one quick grin Blake Riley had dented her fortress.
The rehearsal dinner had been busy and chaotic, even with Sage Riley’s meticulous planning, and Mackenzie was able to hide from Blake’s smooth lines and smoldering look. But when he’d taken her hand and pulled her on the dance floor after the wedding—
“You’re flushed, Kenz, but you haven’t had a sip all night.”
Maggie’s concern brought Mackenzie back to the present. She looked at her painting, the glass on the canvas sloppy and uneven, and picked up the real deal, gulping the chardonnay down quickly.
“I didn’t mean you had to play catch up. At least you’re not driving.”
“Sorry. Distracted. I suck at this.” She looked at her painting, then around the room at everyone else’s. Lucy was a great teacher; each student in the class, no matter their level of talent, had been able to follow her directions and had a decent looking piece of art in front of them. But Mackenzie wasn’t feeling the love.
“The muffin and coffee mug canvas you painted last month came out beautifully. What’s going on? You okay?” Maggie set her paintbrush down and swiveled in her chair so she faced Mackenzie. She’d do anything for her friends and family. And her clients. Mags was an awesome therapist, so calm and gentle and comforting. Nothing like Mackenzie, all hard lines and abrasive.
“Just lost in my thoughts. All is good.”
“Is it your mom?”
Her mother’s dementia had gotten worse over the past few months and her father wasn’t holding up well. Mackenzie woke at the crack of dawn to open Coast & Roast and would take off mid-day when things were slow, leaving Diane to run things, to help her mother around the house until her father got home from work.
Simon Pratt should have retired years ago from the sanitation department, but with Renee’s health issues, he couldn’t afford to. The Pratts weren’t in dire need, but never had enough to live carelessly.
Renee hated being waited on, always the one to do the cleaning, cooking, and shopping when she had been healthy, and often snipped at Mackenzie when she stopped by to check in or help.
“Mom’s okay. Obviously she’s not going to get better. Dad’s coping. Logan stops by every few weeks.” Being one of four kids should have meant that her siblings would help out with their parents. Since she was the only girl, her older brothers expected her to take care of their mom, claiming ignorance in the domestic department, which was true. Still.
Renee didn’t raise her boys to learn to cook or clean, wanting them to be big, brave tough men who would support their damsels in distress. Instead, Mackenzie was blessed learning how to do the “woman” chores around the house. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, waiting on her man. None of which she did well.
She loved her family, she really did, but their ideals in life were way off base. Being the helpless female didn’t pan out so well for her.
“You’re not one to brood.”
“I’m not brooding.” Mackenzie tilted her head and showed a cheeky smile before refilling her glass and chugging again. Classy, she was not.
“Avoidance.”
“Don’t turn shrink on me.”
“It’s a guy.”
“Margaret Anne.” It hadn’t been a guy. Or at least, not until recently. She hadn’t paid Blake much thought until he started showing up around every corner, at the grocery store, her friend’s houses, the coffee shop. And in her dreams.
“Oh, the full name. I pushed a button. A guy. Okay. I get it. I don’t think he hurt you or you’d be pissed. I’ve never seen you so…distracted.” Maggie scrutinized her and Mackenzie squirmed in her seat. “You like him.”
“Who?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ignoring her BFF, Mackenzie picked up her brush and pretended to study Lucy’s painting up front. She dabbed her brush in the brown and added a hint of gold and red to give the wooden tabletop some depth, only the amber color reminded her of a pair of laughing eyes that made her belly flutter with nerves.
“More avoidance.” Maggie chuckled. “I had planned on setting you up with…someone, but if you’re already interested in a man…”
“Nope. Not interested in a man and not interested in being set up.”
“Sure. If that’s how you want to play it.”
“You know, for being a happily married wife, a new mom, and a reputable therapist, you sure can be a bitch.”
Maggie laughed loudly, startling little Katie from her sleep. “I haven’t seen you like this since Troy Carmichael.” She unbuckled her crying infant and cradled her tight.
“That was like, so forever ago. Eighth grade.”
“And it’s bringing the middle school back in you.”
“Whatever. Give me my goddaughter. You’re in a mood to stir up trouble and Katie shouldn’t have to put up with it.” Mackenzie dropped her brush in the cup of water and took the tiny bundle from Maggie. “Your mommy’s a mean old crab. You remember who the cool, fun people in your life are, okay, princess? Your favorite auntie will always protect you.”
Mackenzie never had a longing for babies, but Katie Riley was one adorable little cutie. She was happy that her BFF found what she’d always been looking for. A place to belong, someone to look at her like she was the center of the universe and who would always be home at night. And now a little nugget to hold and nurse and love as well.
When Katie started gnawing on her fist and then rooting for Mackenzie’s chest, she handed her back to Maggie. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. That’s one thing auntie can’t help you with.”
Lucy gave out the final instructions to add depth and dimension to their artwork, and the class finished their wine and their paintings. When pictures had been taken and prizes given out, the students slowly piled out, all thanking Lucy and Mackenzie for hosting a great event.
“Thanks again for tonight. Everyone had a good time. You’re a great artist and teacher.” Mackenzie picked up the remaining coffee cups and empty wine glasses, loading them onto her tray.
“I never pictured myself giving art lessons. It’s kinda fun. And hell, I’ve sold a few of my own paintings and gained two clients through classes, so I’d say it’s a win-win. I feel bad that you’re not making much on the gig. We should go fifty-fifty.”
“Nah. All I’m doing is opening my doors. You’ve got all the work of picking up the supplies and teaching. I get to paint for free, hang with the girls, and people buy my coffee. Works for me.”
Lucy followed Mackenzie, her arms loaded with paint bottles and dirty brushes, into the kitchen where Rachael once baked for the shop before she got hired to cook for the Rocky Harbor Inn.
There were two deep sinks in the kitchen. Lucy used the smaller one to wash her tools and a few cabinets to store supplies. The rest of the kitchen was underutilized. It held a few ingredients for emergencies and baked goods for the shop. Rachael did most of the baking at the Inn—it had a killer state-of-the-art kitchen now that Colton was around to do upgrades—and delivered baked goods every morning for Coast & Roast.
Over the past year or so she’d added simple soups to the menu and she kept them plugged into crockpots along the counter in the kitchen. Small, simple, just enough to have a good, easy-going life. That’s all Mackenzie wanted. Nothing glamorous, although she wouldn’t turn down a winning Powerball ticket.
She didn’t like getting dolled up or having to worry about offending someone by not being PC. Not that she was crude or rash, like Lucy—although she’d matured a lot over the past few years—but she wanted to be free to be herself and not mold into someone else.
Rachael had an ex who tried to do the same. Mackenzie didn’t know her then and only saw the new, awesomely perky and funny Riley sibling who snagged a tattooed biker boy.
Yeah, biker boys, cowboys—not that there were many in Maine—and contractors were more her type. Dark haired men with coffee ice cream eyes and lickable lips.
A man who worked with his hands, had a killer body and loved the outdoors. Hell, the last thing she needed was Blake Riley invading her thoughts before she went to bed.
Again.
***
Blake
“We need more mud.” Blake Riley studied the track, frowning at the dust kicking up under his steel-toed boots. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, the air cool enough that they could see their breaths, and in another hour they’d need to shuck their sweatshirts. Weather in Maine. Like a woman, it was complicated but, once you figured out her idiosyncrasies and knew which buttons to push and which to avoid, could be quite pleasurable.
“Seriously?” Colton scowled and shook his head, which was typical. His brother didn’t smile much growing up, and since he was away in Afghanistan for nearly a decade, where he lost a lot more than just his leg, Blake assumed he didn’t smile much in his twenties either. However, now that he’d married his secret high school crush and was reunited with his ten year-old son, the smiles were becoming an almost regular occurrence. Just not with Blake.
“Hell yeah. The dirtier the better.” Blake wiggled his eyebrows and envisioned a mud hole filled with dirt, water, and bikini-clad women.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” Colton muttered and swiped his hand across his forehead.
“Just because you’re tied down to a ball and chain doesn’t mean I have to be. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to see half-naked women rolling around in mud.”
“I don’t want to see half-naked women rolling around in mud.”
“Bullshit.”
“Grow up.”
“I bet Graham and Luke would be interested. They may be married but they’re not old and ornery like you are.”
“Ornery?” Colton picked up his hammer and shoved it in his tool belt. “Big word for a little shit like you.”
“I got a lot of big things on me.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“I’m telling Mom you swore.”
Colton couldn’t hide his smile before smacking Blake upside the head. “I’ll tell her you’re planning on hosting an orgy on my obstacle course.”
“Not your course. My course. I’m the brainchild behind this. You’re just the muscle. The ugly bouncer who takes care of the riffraff.”
“Our course. And who the hell uses the word riffraff? Are you using that word of the day toilet paper again? You spend enough time in the bathroom.”
While Colton had spent most of his twenties fighting the war on terrorism, Blake had spent his traveling across the country building obstacle courses for the diehard risk taker. Or crazy-ass athlete. His courses covered anywhere from twelve to fifteen miles, with an obstacle thrown in nearly every half mile.
Some were tame, like climbing over a ten-foot wall. Others were dirty, like crawling under barbed wire that rested eighteen inches off a six-inch layer of mud. Next year he planned on adding a thirty-foot slide that could only be reached by climbing a knotted rope, the end of the slide doused in fire before you went flying into in a mud bath.
Wicked fun.
There was the warped wall, similar to the one on American Ninja Warriors, only bigger and badder. Not many men, and very few women, could get up the wall without someone at the top offering a hand and a hoist.
The course wasn’t meant to be done on your own or to beat a time. It was about the challenge, the risks, and asking others for help when needed. Teamwork. Of course there were the badasses who refused help. They often got hurt or paid for it the next day. Hell, everyone paid in some way, shape or form the next day. Bruises, scrapes, tears, sore muscles, and bragging rights were all a part of the deal.
But the sense of accomplishment and the beer waiting at the finish line was enough to have them coming back for more.
When Colton had returned from war, bruised, battered, and crippled, Blake knew he had to come home too. His family had left their separate corners of the earth, coming together as a family, and Blake felt like the odd man out. Colton needed a rewarding job, preferably outside, and Blake wanted to be with his brothers. And sisters.
He’d pitched the idea to build the course on Colton’s hundred acres and run it together. They’d made dozens of trails through the woods growing up, mowing them down with their tractor, then riding over them with their four-wheelers in the spring and summer, walking them in the fall to hunt, and taking their snowmobiles across them in winter.
Good times, the boys had.
Blake wanted to incorporate year-round events at Mud on the Rocks as well. During the spring, summer, and fall months they’d run five to six events. They would be the biggest moneymaker, bringing in media and diehard enthusiasts from all over New England, and beyond.
This past winter they’d erected a simple aluminum warehouse and set it up as an inside warrior gym. Once a month they held events for charity. Wounded Warriors and kidney transplants were the beneficiaries of the first two scheduled events—Colton’s son being a recipient and Colton a donor. They’d set up smaller runs for domestic abuse programs, his sister’s favorite cause, and firemen’s challenges, for his brother Luke.
And there would be a huge kid-friendly fundraiser at the end of the year for foster families, his mother’s baby.
Doreen and Keith Riley adopted all six of their kids during their most troubled years, adolescence. They’d all seen their share of shit before being welcomed into the nurturing arms and kitchen of Doreen.
Keith had taught his boys, as he’d called them, to hunt and fish, to work on cars, to study hard, to fight for what you believe in, and to always respect a woman. His death a while back hit them all pretty hard. At the time, Lucy had only been with the family for a year and had been working on her GED requirements.
Blake had been working at the gym and taking on odd jobs at construction sites. His father’s death was too much to handle so he’d looked for a job away from the grief and spent the past six years having the time of his life.
“Are we going to be ready for September? Registration is near capacity,” Colton grumbled, bringing Blake back to the current state of affairs.
“We’ll be ready. The trial run is in August, which gives us another three months to finish up the obstacles and get our buddies out here on a test run.”
“If you say so. I still can’t believe people pay this much to run through the woods and get their ass kicked.”
“Isn’t this what you did in basic training?” Blake searched the ground for any stray nails and, not finding any, headed back toward the warrior gym.
“Times a hundred. And we did it so we wouldn’t get our asses handed to us.”
“There’s a rush in running one of these. Makes the little people feel like they too can conquer the world.” Colton snorted. “I realize we may look like idiots after what you’ve been through—”
“I don’t want your pity,” Colton barked.
“Dude. Never. You’re too ugly and sour to be pitied. I still don’t know how you landed such a hot wife. I’ve heard you’re as lousy in bed as you are on the dance floor.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Nope. Do you ever converse?”
“Converse?”
“You know, words and such. I know you like working the caveman thing, one, two word responses, but I figured with a wife and kid you’d have learned to speak in sentences. Maybe work your way up to a paragraph. Hold a conversation, Iceman.”
Blake loved getting a rise out of his stubborn brother. They were the opposites in the family, playing up the Top Gun Iceman and Goose characters to a T.
Nearly twenty years later and he could still provoke his serious brother into a smile.
“You plan on growing up? Ever?”
“Not if I’m going to turn out like you.”
“You’re done growing, Goose.”
At just shy of six feet, Blake was not a small man, but next to his hulk of a brother he often felt like a dwarf. And his brothers didn’t let him forget it.
Blake held the door open to the gym for Colton, aware of the limp he worked so hard to hide. No one knew how much pain Colton was in; he didn’t complain or share much. He didn’t like to be pitied or given special treatment and was determined to do every job any two-legged man could. The prosthetic was always covered in jeans and work boots, and Blake wondered if his brother would wear shorts in the summer or go for a swim in the ocean with his son.
Colton was a big boy and could take care of his own problems. In the meantime, Blake had his share of complications. The bills were piling up and if the Mud on the Rocks Run didn’t go off as planned, he and Colton would lose a lot of money. Blake wasn’t concerned about himself. He had a small rental and zero bills, while Colton had a family and medical bills coming out his ears.
It would take a few years before they’d make a decent profit, if any, and in the meantime Blake would fudge the numbers a bit, depositing sixty-five percent in his brother’s account instead of the fifty they decided on. Colton would kick his ass if he ever found out, but Blake didn’t give a shit. His brother and his family needed the money. The security.
After another hour doing an equipment check and making sure the mats were cleaned and lined up under the climbing walls, he settled behind his computer in their makeshift office and crunched some numbers before the women showed up.
He loved Ladies Night. It was Ellie’s idea and of course Colton was going to cave to his beautiful wife. Not that Blake minded one bit in this case. This was only the third week of Ladies Night and he’d hoped Ellie would bring more than his sisters and sister-in-laws. Rachael said word had spread fast and Maggie said she’d mentioned something at a paint thingy the girls did.
She’d tacked a flyer on the message board at Coast & Roast. Maybe Mackenzie would come tonight. He knew if he asked about her the women would go in a matchmaking frenzy and all bets would be off. Maggie must not know of the near miss—or was it near hit?—with Mackenzie at her wedding.
They’d been dancing. Close. The music soft and romantic, the candles glowing, alcohol flowing, and the scent of her surrounding them, wrapping them in their own special cloud of vanilla and spice.
Mackenzie was resistant when he’d grabbed her hand and pulled her out on to the dance floor. She’d been avoiding him ever since he introduced himself to her at the rehearsal the night before. Well, he hadn’t actually introduced himself, but he figured she knew who he was.
No one told him the bride-to-be’s best friend was a freaking bombshell. She’d worn her hair down, black ribbons of lust ending in the middle of her back, and her pale blue dress clung to curves a racecar driver would have a hard time maneuvering around.
Curves meant for a lover’s hand to caress and squeeze. He’d caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye at the rehearsal, alone yet not sad, the ridiculous ball of ribbons in her hands. She’d surprised him by giving him sass.
From the disgusting amount of gush coming out of Graham about Maggie, Blake figured her best friend would be the sweet, old-fashioned type as well.
Not hardly.
At the wedding, he’d watched her dance with the women on the dance floor, the men safely ensconced by the bar or lounging around the tables, making idle conversation while checking out their dates or want-to-be hook-ups on the dance floor. Blake didn’t voice his claim on Mackenzie, knowing his brothers would razz him and intentionally find one of their buddies to hit on her.
Instead, he played his cool card, sneaking up behind her and grabbing her hand in his, throwing her off balance before she could refuse his offer without looking like a fool. She didn’t say anything during their dance and did her best to look every which way but at him.
When the song ended, she’d slipped away and avoided the dance floor. Or rather, avoided him.
It wasn’t until the end of the night, once the crowd had gone, leaving only family behind, that he’d found her coming out of the ladies room.
“Stalk much?”
“A little.” He stepped closer, pinning her against the wall with his gaze. “I want to kiss you.”
Mackenzie seemed as startled with his candidness as he was. They hadn’t carried on a conversation that lasted more than fifteen seconds. He knew little about her other than she was gorgeous, had a smile that lit up the entire room—even though it had yet to be directed at him—had eyes as dark as ebony and skin as white as freshly fallen snow.
Hell, he didn’t do poetic crap, yet the images and analogies sprang to the forefront of his mind. And something else was about to spring as well. Blake had inched forward, his thighs pressing against hers. She was tall in her sexy as sin shoes, her eyes nearly even with his.
“What if I don’t want to kiss you?”
“Then don’t.” Blake leaned forward, eliminating the distance between them and touched his lips to hers.
Sweet like chocolate and fruity like the pink wine she’d been sipping. Blake knew better than to push his luck, but she’d smelled like freaking heaven’s bakery. Slowly and deliberately he’d inched his hands up her back and tangled them in her hair.
She’d had it styled with Maggie earlier that day, or so Graham had told him, and he’d pretended not to care. Loose waves hung down her back, the sides pulled up and out of her face, giving him perfect access to her high cheekbones and wide mouth.
“You taste so good,” he’d murmured into her mouth, sipping at her soft lips, hoping, praying she’d open up for him.
Two delicate yet strong hands pushed at his chest and he found himself stumbling backward.
“May every sock you wear be slightly rotated, just enough for it to be uncomfortable,” she barked before storming off.
Instead of being upset at her rejection, he’d found himself laughing hysterically. The woman had layers and layers he couldn’t wait to discover.
The next time he was in town was at Rachael’s wedding. Mackenzie had stayed clear of him, always with a girlfriend at her side. Not once did she make eye contact with him and when she danced with Luke at Colton’s wedding Blake thought he’d go apeshit. Granted, Luke was happily married and didn’t think of Mackenzie as anything other than a friend of the family’s. Still. He didn’t like another man’s hands on her.
Blake didn’t do possessive. He had no stake to Mackenzie. Anytime he saw the woman she gave him a look of disdain. It couldn’t be from the kiss. She’d looked at him with confusion and something bordering on interest before he’d tasted her in the hall.
Her parting words were meant to be a curse upon him and damn if he didn’t feel the uncomfortable bunch of his sock at his toe right now. Two years later.
The witch of a woman had a spell on him. As if on cue, Mackenzie in all her dark and alluring beauty entered Rock the Gym. Her entourage followed: Maggie, Lucy, Rachael, Ellie, Sage and her sisters, Rayne and Thyme, and a few others.
Like Pavlov’s dog, Colton raced to the door—the prosthetic never slowing him down—and greeted his wife with a kiss. The women greeted each other with hugs and friendly waves. Wanting his share of the love, Blake closed his laptop and strode toward the group.
“Thank you again, Blake, for opening the gym for just the ladies tonight.” Ellie kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tight.
“It was your brainchild. Besides, what’s not to love? I get to stand around and watch beautiful women work out.”
Rachael snorted and hugged him. “Always leave it to Blake to have an ulterior motive.”
“Hey, I resent that. I’m the good brother.”
“True story. He’s the only one who doesn’t chastise me for my dirty mind.” Lucy patted his cheeks and kissed him on the lips. In a totally platonic, sisterly way. Even though, his cheeks burned as he flicked his gaze toward Mackenzie.
“That’s because his mind is deeper in the gutter than yours.” Sage ruffled his hair like a little boy, even though she only had a few years on him.
“Blake’s a good boy,” Maggie offered, confirming her put-down.
“You guys make me sound like a dog. As in the perverted sense and a golden retriever puppy at the same time.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Lucy agreed.
The other women laughed. All except Mackenzie.
“Rayne, Thyme, and Claire, you remember Blake?”
They echoed hellos and friendly hugs before following Ellie and Colton toward the ropes course, Mackenzie following behind.
“Mack. Good to see you.”
“It’s Mackenzie. Mack is a guy’s name and a tractor trailer.” She didn’t stop or make eye contact as she followed the group of women, her hips swinging with sass and attitude.
He didn’t know why he called her that. It slipped, and he liked it. And the fact that it got a rise out of her made him grin like a kid sneaking a cookie from the pantry.
Twenty more women checked in during the evening, most signing up for a monthly membership. They had no trouble enticing men to the gym. Blake felt a tad guilty, but not much, when Jake, Rachael’s husband, gave him and Colton a hard time for stealing away some of the members to the Warehouse where Jake volunteered.
Rock the Gym was in a different league than The Warehouse. That’s where people went to box and lift weights and take self-defense classes. People came here for the rock climbing wall. It was just a small section of the gym, though the one that most interested the kids. The men liked the challenge of the rings, warped wall, and Jacob’s ladder, while the women preferred to test their agility on the balancing obstacles.
Colton and Blake had been right out straight teaching obstacle classes, warrior training, and kids’ classes over the past few months. Open gym was fun, but it was when most men liked to show off without understanding the dangers of the obstacles. The waivers clearly stated that each member had to go through a training period before being allowed to play on his or her own.
And since Mackenzie missed the last class, she was the only one who hadn’t gone through the instruction. Blake would let Colton supervise his wife and the other ladies while he gave one-on-one instruction to Mackenzie. Mack.
Yeah, he was all heart.
“Nah-uh.” Blake placed his hand over Mackenzie’s, releasing it from the Tarzan Rope.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You signed a waiver.” Blake shrugged. “Gotta go through the training. Lawsuits and all.”
“Colton will guide me.”
“He’s busy with your friends. Who have all passed the intro.”
“What about them?” Mackenzie nodded to the group of newcomers. Damn. How did he forget about them? Way to get someone hurt.
“I’m going to round them up and show you the ropes.” Blake nodded to the Tarzan Ropes. “Pun intended. A quick walk-through and you’ll be good to go. But I’m still going to keep my eye on you.” He winked at her as he walked backwards toward the group of ladies, hoping Mackenzie would stay put.