Chapter 4
COMPLICATED
MAC
Stripping out of my clothes, I take a seat on the side of my bed in my tank top and panties. I scratch my hands down my face, thinking about tonight. I have a date. Not only do I have a date, but I have a date with Wesley. I couldn’t believe it when I looked up and found him standing in my doorway this afternoon wearing jeans, his leather jacket, and boots. His hair was mussed like he had run his hand through it a few dozen times. I had thought that I was imagining him since I had just taken his number out of my desk and dialed it—but I hung up before I pressed the last number. It wasn’t until he said my name and stepped toward me that I realized he was really there.
Flopping back onto my bed, I close my eyes. I think about the scars on his shoulder and his tortured expression when I asked about them. There was something about it that made me want to crawl into his lap and hold him, to tell him that it would be okay. I don’t know what happened to him, but I know that whatever it was still affects him. He shut down completely when I brought it up. That stung. I didn’t know how to react or what to say, so I pulled away in response.
Only that wasn’t working for me, either. I didn’t like the distance or weird energy that settled over us like a wet blanket just then, which is why I told him about being arrested when I was younger. I wanted to make him smile or, better yet, laugh. I didn’t expect him to open up to me and tell me about a piece of his childhood in return, but he did. That made the connection I feel with him grow a little more. It also made it easy for me to agree to go out with him. Well, that and the fact that he looks at me like I’m already his.
At that thought, my skin tingles and my body hums. Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t find it as hot as I do that he seems so possessive about me, but my body has other ideas. There is something powerful in knowing that I can cause those kinds of emotions. When he saw me talking to Edward, I thought for a moment that he was going to storm across the room, pick me up, toss me over his shoulder, and carry me away with him.
I swallow, and hard anxiety hits the pit of my stomach. Reality crashes down around me like a ton of bricks. The last time I thought I had a connection with someone, I was very, very wrong. Am I just as wrong this time around? I need to stop thinking of this thing between us in terms of something serious. I should just think of it as a little bit of fun. No-strings-attached fun that won’t lead to me being brokenhearted. I shouldn’t assume anything more. We are just two people who are attracted to each other and who have over-the-top, out-of-this-world chemistry.
“Mac?” Libby’s singsong hello floats from the living room, cutting into my wayward thoughts.
I sit up on the side of the bed.
“I’m in the bedroom!” I shout back, wondering why it’s necessary to inform her of that—our apartment is less than five hundred square feet. She would have found me eventually, even without looking.
“What’s up, sister dearest?” She comes into the room with her long, dark hair tied up into a neat bun and her makeup done perfectly.
“Nothing much,” I answer, watching her dump her purse on her twin bed, which is directly across from mine.
She starts stripping out of her slacks and fitted blouse—something that she always does the moment she gets home, which makes me wonder why she bothers wearing things that are obviously so uncomfortable. “Do you feel like ordering a pizza and watching a horror flick?” She turns to look at me once she has on her baggy sweats and an even baggier T-shirt.
“I’m actually going out in a bit. I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”
“Oh, can I come?”
Oh lord. How do I answer that? Libby often comes out with me when I’m meeting friends, so I know if I tell her she can’t come, she will have a million questions for me—questions I’m not ready to answer.
“Never mind. I don’t feel like getting dressed again,” she says as she heads toward the bathroom, taking her hair out of the bun as she goes.
Sighing in relief, I play it off like I’m disappointed when she comes back out. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s freezing out. They said it’s going to snow. I don’t want to be stuck outside wearing heels if it’s snowing.”
“You could just wear regular shoes . . .” I point out the obvious.
She rolls her eyes at me, making me smile. I don’t know how Libby does it, but she manages to wear heels even though she’s on her feet all day doing makeup for the who’s who of New York City at the posh upscale boutique where she works.
“I own one pair of rain boots and one pair of sneakers—and they are both still brand new and in the box they came in.” She lies down on her bed, then rolls her head toward me. Her eyes scan my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yep,” I say. Maybe I answered a little too quickly, because her eyes narrow. She lifts herself up on an elbow and rests her head in her hand.
“You’ve been weird since before Thanksgiving. What’s going on?”
There is a six-foot-two gorgeous, giant man taking up my every waking thought, I think but don’t say.
“Nothing’s wrong. Just a little tired.” I shrug one shoulder.
“Hmm.” She studies me like a speck of dirt under a microscope.
Needing to avoid the interrogation I feel coming, I stand and head for the bathroom.
“So tell me about Wesley.”
Dammit! I pause and turn to look at her over my shoulder. “Wesley?” I feign ignorance.
She huffs out a breath. “Yeah, Levi’s hot friend Wesley. How do you know him?”
Bunching my eyebrows together to give her the full effect I ask, “Know him?”
“You know what? Never mind.” She sits up, then pushes herself off the bed and starts for the door, grumbling as she goes.
“Libby . . .”
“No.” She shakes her head, turning to face me. “You, me, and Fawn used to be close. We used to tell one another everything. Now I feel like everything is some big secret. It’s annoying.”
“It’s complicated,” I admit.
She frowns. “Life is always complicated. That’s what family is for—to help you uncomplicate things, to talk things out, and to be there,” she says. Before I can open my mouth to reply, she continues. “All I’m saying is if you guys don’t want to share what’s going on in your lives, then I won’t be sharing what’s going on in mine.” With that parting shot, she leaves me standing in our bedroom, feeling two feet tall and riddled with guilt for not opening up to her.
I should tell her and Fawn about what’s happened between Wesley and me. But the idea of doing that and having to risk seeing the pity in their eyes later if things don’t work out leaves me feeling torn. I hate that they witnessed my crush on Edward, that they saw firsthand how desperately I tried to get him to see me, how I went out of my way to spend time with him. I looked like an idiot, pining over a guy who was never more than a friend, who never led me to believe that we could be more. I’m supposed to be the oldest one, the experienced one. Instead, I’m the one who wasted two years of her life on a crush. A crush on a guy I now feel nothing for. How crazy is that?
When Edward came to my office today, I didn’t get butterflies like the ones I get whenever I see Wesley. My pulse didn’t kick into overdrive. My palms didn’t itch to touch him. My mind didn’t scream at him to kiss me. I really don’t remember any of those things ever happening before when I was around Edward. In fact, in hindsight I have no idea what I saw in him in the first place.
I run my hands down my face, willing myself to give up on figuring that out right now. I head for the bathroom, where I get in the bathtub and try not to think about what will happen tonight. Not that it matters.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in a cab and watching the city go by in a flash of dazzling lights. The glow is accentuated by the snow that is steadily falling from the night sky. When I checked the weather report before I left home, it said that New York City was expected to get at least two inches of the white stuff by morning. There will be a few more flurries tomorrow afternoon, which means work will most likely be slow. A lot of my clients are older and don’t like going out in the snow.
“Here you are.” My cab driver pulls me out of my thoughts as he comes to a stop. The steady hum of nervous energy I’ve been feeling all evening expands through every inch of me.
After running my credit card through the machine on the backseat, I put my hand on the door handle. I don’t have a chance to push it open before it’s opened for me. I look up.
Wesley is there, holding out his hand. I feel a sudden rush of excitement as our eyes lock and I place my hand in his.
“Thank you.” I smile as I step out onto the street, then hiss out a breath when my boot catches on a crack in the ground and I stumble into him.
“I got you.” He catches me before I can fall and pulls me against him, holding me there. He shuts the cab door and leads us to the sidewalk.
“Thanks.” I look up at him as the cab pulls away and swallow when I see the look in his eyes.
He cups my jaw with his warm hand, and his thumb presses into my bottom lip.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day.”
“You have?”
“Oh yeah.” He tips his head down until our mouths are a mere centimeter apart. “All goddamn day,” he rumbles.
My stomach clenches while my hands hold on to his coat. I feel his sides tighten in response.
“Wesley?” I call softly after a moment.
His forehead touches mine. “Yeah?”
“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask breathlessly.
He growls right before he captures my mouth with a kiss that makes me so light-headed, I see stars.
When his teeth nibble my bottom lip as he pulls away, my body quivers and the space between my legs tingles.
“Gorgeous.”
“Hmm?” I slowly open my eyes and find him looking down at me and smiling.
“As much as I want to keep kissing you, we have a reservation.”
“Oh . . .” I look around, then shake my head to try and clear my lust-fogged mind. “Right,” I say.
His laughing lips touch my forehead. Taking my hand, he leads me toward a restaurant at the end of the block. The place is really nice, and its dim lighting makes the large room feel intimate. Small booths line the walls, and round tables dot the middle of the space. It’s all white tablecloths and fancy folded napkins and gleaming place settings. As I look around, I feel like I should have looked up the restaurant online to check the dress code.
“Are you okay?”
“Um . . .” I look around again before looking up at him. “I think I might be underdressed for this restaurant,” I admit.
His eyes roam my face, then the thick scarf wrapped around my neck, and move down over my long, black wool coat. It hits me midthigh, covering my sweater and jeans.
“You look beautiful.”
I want to kiss him for the easy way he made that compliment, but I don’t. I shake my head instead and squeeze his hand. “I have on a sweater and jeans.”
“It’s okay. There isn’t a dress code here,” he says.
Judging by the way everyone else in the restaurant is dressed, I have to disagree with him. They might not have a formal dress code, but I have no doubt they will frown at my choice of clothing the minute I take off my coat.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he starts to lead me back toward the door we just entered moments before.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, and I can tell that you are.”
“But you made a reservation.”
“Yeah, and I can make another one another time.” He opens the door, leading me back outside.
“Are you sure?”
He stops on the sidewalk, turns me in his arms to face him, and dips his face toward mine until we are eye to eye. “Tonight is just about us spending time together, us getting to know each other. I don’t care where we are or what we’re doing as long as you’re with me.”
I look into his eyes. I know I could definitely fall for this guy.
“Now, where are we going? It’s your choice.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him we should go back to his place, but I know the smart thing to do is to get to know each other outside of his bedroom.
“Do you like pizza?” At my question, his eyebrows shoot up, and his hold on me tightens. I don’t know what that response means. “It’s just that I’m dressed for pizza, and there is a really great pizza spot not far from here—”
“Pizza it is!” He cuts me off before I can blabber anything else. “Is it close enough to walk to in the cold, or do we need to get in a cab?”
“We can walk,” I say softly.
He brushes his mouth over mine, then takes my hand in his. “Lead the way.”
We go three blocks down, to Tony’s. I listen to him tell me about the rest of his day as I soak in the feeling of his hand holding mine. His towering presence at my side makes me feel protected. I know if something were to happen, he would do whatever he had to do in order to make sure I was okay. I have never felt that before with anyone. When we finally reach the restaurant and step inside, I expect to be greeted by Tony, like always. He’s not there, which surprises me since he’s always behind the long counter laughing with customers or his employees.
“What kind of pizza do you like?” Wesley asks, pulling my attention back to him.
I shrug. “Anything with meat on it.”
“My kind of girl!” He smiles, and my heart flips. “Do you want to grab us a booth while I place our order?” he asks, looking around the packed restaurant.
“Sure.”
I release his hand and head toward the back just as a couple leaves one of the tables. Tonight, like most nights at Tony’s, seating is a rare commodity. It’s not a fancy place, but it doesn’t have to be—the pizza brings people from all over Manhattan.
Sliding into the empty table, I rub my freezing hands together and blow on my fingers while I watch Wesley place our order. Feeling more at ease, I slip off my coat and set it on the bench next to me, then unwrap the scarf from around my neck and drop it on top of the coat. This place is definitely more my style. Okay, really this place is like a second home to me. Libby and I spend a lot of time here together because pizza is one of the few things we can have without blowing our monthly budgets. Over time, we’ve become close to Tony and his wife. We’ve also gotten to know his son, Antonio, who helped out his dad after he got out of the military and still does now, whenever he isn’t working as a firefighter.
“Mac!” I turn my head when I hear my name. I smile at Antonio when he comes over to greet me with a hug.
“Hey, how are things?” I ask when he lets me go.
“I’m guessing you didn’t hear?” he says, taking a seat across from me.
I notice the exhaustion and worry in his eyes, which puts me on guard. “Hear what?”
“My dad had a heart attack.”
“What?” My heart splits open just thinking about Tony—happy, smiling Tony—in the hospital.
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “He had to have surgery, and he’s been in the hospital for a couple days now. They are getting ready to move him to a nursing home to recover and get physical therapy.”
“Oh my god.” I reach over and take his hand. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Mom’s a mess, which is probably why she didn’t tell you. She’s been staying with him as much as she can and working here when she’s not.”
“What can I do to help?” I ask immediately.
He smiles softly, and I realize then just how good-looking he is. He’s so not my type—my type seems to be just Wesley—but he is attractive. Why didn’t I see that before?
“Do you know how to make pizza?” He laughs, but I can tell he’s serious.
“I don’t, but I can learn. Libby can also help out.”
“Libby the never-a-hair-out-of-place, high-heel-wearing princess?” He snorts.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’d be surprised. She’s a hard worker, and she worked at the pizza place by our house when she was in high school,” I say to defend her, but he shakes his head.
“No, thanks.” He waves the idea away.
I want to ask him why not, but I don’t have a chance. A shadow envelops our table, and I tip my head back to find Wesley looking down at us—or more like glowering down at the man across from me.
“Can I help you?” Antonio asks.
Wesley’s jaw shifts.
“Ant, this is my . . .”
“Boyfriend.” He sticks out a hand toward Antonio. “Wesley.”
“Oh?” Antonio looks from Wesley to me. “Seems like we both have news.”
“Um . . .” I look up at Wesley, half wanting to kick him and half wanting to tear off his clothes. I don’t know how he is able to make me feel so conflicted.
“Nice to meet you.” Antonio stands and shakes his hand. “Keep an eye on her—she’s a wild card. I think it has something to do with the red hair.” He smirks, and Wesley grunts something I can’t make out before Antonio leans over to kiss my cheek. “I’m happy for you, kid. It’s about damn time.”
“Thanks, I think,” I mumble as he laughs and walks away.
Sensing Wesley slide into the booth, I keep my eyes off him. I’m not sure what to say.
“How many other men are you friends with?”
“Pardon?” I look at him, slightly appalled at his question.
He sits forward. “Edward. Antonio. Who else is there?”
“Is that a question you really want me to answer?” I ask only because he already looks annoyed.
“I’m guessing by that response my answer is going to be no.”
“I’ve always had more male friends than female.” I shrug.
“Why?”
“I find men to be more easygoing. I don’t have to worry about what they are thinking, or that they’ll talk about me behind my back. It’s simple with men. Give them a beer and a game and they’re happy. Women are a whole different world.”
“Have you ever had a relationship with any of your male friends?” he asks, making me squirm in my seat. “Is that a yes?”
“No, I . . . I had a crush on one of them, but nothing ever happened.”
“Who?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Who?” he repeats quietly.
“You’re really annoying,” I huff out.
His eyes narrow. “That’s not an answer.”
“Edward.” I roll my eyes. “Are you happy now? I had a crush on him, but he never even knew about it. He never saw me as anything more than a friend. Really, I don’t know what I saw in him to begin with.”
“The guy from today? Your next appointment?” He sits back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus,” he curses.
I look up to find him rubbing his forehead. “What?”
“You touched him,” he growls.
I feel my brows pull together. “What?”
“You touched him. You gave him a massage after me.”
“Yeah, he’s my client,” I agree, wondering where he’s going with this.
He shakes his head and grumbles, “Not anymore.”
“Pardon?”
“He can’t be your client anymore,” he states, sitting forward and getting as close as he can with the table between us.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, pointing at him. “First of all, you do not ever get to tell me what to do. Second, you are a jerk for even thinking that I would be anything less than professional with the men and women I have as clients.”
“I wasn’t saying that.”
“Yeah? Then what were you saying?”
“I don’t like the idea of your hands on him while you’re locked behind a closed door.”
“Too bad,” I mutter as I pick up my scarf and wrap it around my throat with an angry jerk.
“Where are you going?” he asks, looking panicked when he sees me slip on my coat.
“I’m leaving. Enjoy the pizza—it’s the best in New York City.” I stand and start to walk away, but he takes my hand, forcing me to stop and look at him.
“You’re running again.”
“Call it whatever you like.” I tug my hand free and head for the door.
Out on the sidewalk, I rush as quickly as I can toward my block. I feel him hot on my heels as I go. As soon as I make it up to my apartment, I hear him enter the foyer behind me and follow me up the steps.
“Stop!” he pleads as I put my key in the door.
Everything in me fights the urge to listen to him.
“Please!” His body presses into my back, his hand slides around my waist, and his lips touch my neck as he speaks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you who you could or could not have as clients.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Can you please look at me?” he asks.
I shudder as I slowly turn around to face him, wondering vaguely if Miss Ina is downstairs listening to this conversation take place. I have no doubt that, if she is, I’ll get an earful tomorrow.
“This is new to me.” He takes my face between his hands. “I’ve never felt the way you make me feel. You make me crazy. The idea of someone else touching you—or you touching them—makes me see red.”
“Do you know how insane that is?” I ask while asking myself how insane I am for enjoying his reaction.
“I do.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “Believe me, I know. And I’m sorry.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Wesley. And you can never tell me how I should do my job, or who I can have as clients or friends. That is a deal breaker for me. I like you, and for some insane reason I like that you feel as jealous as you do about me, but that can never spill over into my work life or erode the friendships I’ve had for years.”
“I know,” he agrees, placing one hand on the door above my head and the other on my hip while dipping his face close to mine.
I swallow, then lower my eyes so I won’t have to look at him when I say what I’m about to. “I think we should just slow this down a little,” I whisper, peeking up at him through my lashes. “This thing between us has been very intense from the beginning. M-maybe we need to take a step back,” I say, hating the very idea of doing that.
“Do you want that?” he asks. I try to force myself to say yes or to nod, but I can’t do it.
Pulling my body deeper into his, he lowers his face until we are eye to eye. “Do you really want us to take a step back?”
No! my mind screams as he trails hot kisses across my cheek and toward my ear.
“Invite me in so I can remind you of why you want this,” he murmurs.
My eyes slide closed.
When he pulls my hips into his and I feel his arousal between us, I whimper, “I can’t. My sister’s home, and I . . . I don’t want her to find out about us.”
“You don’t want her to find out about us?” He steps back suddenly, like I burned him.
I realize what I said and how it sounded. Looking into his eyes and seeing the hurt there, I reach out to touch him. He backs up a step.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .” My apology dies in my throat when he turns and starts down the steps, taking them two at a time. “Please stop!” I shout at his back, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even turn around as I try to catch up with him. “Wesley!” I stumble to a stop at the bottom of the steps and watch him disappear out the front door.
“Let him go, child.”
I turn my head to find Miss Ina standing in her open doorway. “He’ll calm down, and then you’ll be able to talk to him,” she says gently as her frail fingers wrap around mine and tears fill my eyes. “Men get like that from time to time. It’s best you let them work through their anger.”
“I messed up,” I whisper.
Her fingers tighten. “It will be okay. Come have a cup of tea.”
Wiping at the tears that are running down my cheeks, I shake my head. “Miss Ina, now’s not a good time.”
“Now is the best time.” She tugs my hand, leaving me no choice but to follow her into her apartment.