Chapter 1
STOOD UP
MAC
Looking around the crowded bar, I pull in a breath. There are lots of people here, and I can tell that most of them have come to have a drink before heading home after a long day at the office—men still wearing their suits, women in skirts and heels with their hair still perfectly styled. This isn’t the kind of place where I would normally hang out. There are no TVs playing in the corners of the room with the game on or men drinking beer while talking too loudly. It’s too sophisticated for that, with black-and-white photos in elegant frames hanging on the walls depicting Manhattan years ago, when the city was hardly more than a few blocks. Dark wood tables aren’t scratched or worn. The leather chairs aren’t peeling or falling apart at the seams; they all look new. Everything about this place screams class. Feeling a breeze come from the door, I turn to look at it and let out a disappointed breath when I see a beautiful woman walk in, followed by a good-looking man.
Picking up my cell phone off the top of the bar, I pull up my text messages and check to make sure that I haven’t gotten the time or date wrong, that I’m at the right place. Seeing that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, my hand tightens around the phone in embarrassment. The guy I was supposed to be meeting for a drink is now thirty minutes late, and he hasn’t called or replied to the text I sent more than fifteen minutes ago. So I’ve officially been stood up. I drop my cell phone into my purse, then drain the glass holding my lemon-drop martini. I feel my face pinch as the sour taste hits my tongue, then I gasp when the vodka burns down my throat.
“Would you like another?” the bartender asks. My watering eyes meet her brown ones.
I should say no and just go home, but I know my sister Libby will be disappointed if I show up not even an hour after my date was supposed to begin. I really don’t want to see the pity in her eyes when I tell her Chris didn’t show. She was way more excited than I was that I had a date tonight, especially after my self-inflicted dry spell.
“Sure.” I give the bartender my answer and a smile. Without a word, she picks up the empty glass and carries it down to the other end of the bar. As I wait for her to come back, the woman reflected in the mirror across from me catches my attention. Even knowing she’s me, I still stare in disbelief. When I told Libby I was going out on a date, she insisted on doing my makeup and hair. I didn’t fight her like I normally would have because I wanted to make a good impression. I wanted my first date in two years to go well. But I look like a stranger. My hair, normally tied back in a ponytail, is down in a mass of wavy red curls. My eye makeup, normally only mascara, is smoldering and sexy, making me look mysterious. My lips, used to only ChapStick, look full and plump, thanks to the pink stain she used.
I wonder what Edward would think if he saw me right now.
With a deep sigh, I quickly push that thought aside, annoyed with myself for even wondering about him. Edward has been my friend since we met two years ago at a baseball game. We bonded over our love for the Mets and beer. He was easy to talk to, funny and kind. Since that day, I’ve had a crush on him—and have been trying to no avail to get him to notice me as more than just a friend.
I thought my plan was working until a few weeks ago, when he introduced me to his apparently longtime girlfriend. This caused me to realize the connection I thought we had was all in my head, and that I’d wasted two years of my life waiting for him to see me as more than just a beer-drinking buddy. Which brings me to sitting alone in a bar on a Friday night, all because I wanted to prove that I’m completely over my Edward crush. Well, that and seeing how happy my sister Fawn is with her new boyfriend. I wanted to see if I could find that for myself. So, really, this is all Fawn’s fault. If she wasn’t so happy, I probably wouldn’t have said yes to the first guy who asked me out. Shaking my head, I think about the time Fawn tried to get my other best guy friend, Tex, to ask me out. Not only is he married but happily—and to my good friend Elizabeth. That was embarrassing—but nothing compares with getting stood up tonight.
“Would you like me to start a tab?” The bartender brings me out of my thoughts by dropping a napkin and my drink in front of me on the bar.
“No, thanks.” I shake my head and pass her the fifty-dollar bill I got out earlier to cover my first drink.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, thank you.” I smile, and she smiles back while smoothly taking the fifty from me. Picking up my fresh drink, I take a sip and then look toward the door when cool evening air rushes inside. Disappointment hits me when I don’t see my date—but that feeling is quickly washed away when my eyes lock on the man coming through the door, and my body tingles from head to toe.
The guy is handsome. No, not handsome. That word doesn’t do him justice. He’s gorgeous. But not model gorgeous. He’s too rough-looking for that. He looks like he’s recently spent time in the sun; his dark hair is slightly wavy and curls around his ears and neck, accentuating his strong jaw and full lips. I can’t tell the exact color of his eyes from where I’m sitting, but even from a distance they seem bright because of the dark lashes surrounding them. Pulling my eyes down from his face, I take in the expanse of his wide shoulders covered in a plaid shirt and leather jacket and a trim waist encased in a pair of jeans that mold to his thick legs. Drawing my gaze back up to his, I find him studying me with heat in his eyes. I shift in my chair, wondering what it would be like to run my fingers through his hair while he kissed me. Blinking at that forward thought, I shake my head and pull my eyes from his. I look down at my drink before picking it up and downing it in one shot. Hopping off my bar stool, I hold on to the edge of the bar because I’m wobbling in the heels that Libby insisted I borrow. Heels that almost killed me twice on the way to the bar because I can barely walk in them.
Getting the bartender’s attention, I point toward the hall that leads to the restrooms at the back of the bar to let her know I’m not taking off. She nods. Making my way through the crowd, I head down a long hallway and get into line behind two blondes who smile at me before resuming their conversation. “So did you finally try the lipstick I sent you?” one of them asks as I pull out my cell phone again to see if I have any missed calls or messages, which I don’t.
Stupid men.
“I forgot to tell you!” The other laughs. “I tested it out, and you were right! It didn’t come off even after the forty-minute blow job I gave Charles.”
Forty-minute blow job? I rub my own jaw just thinking about it.
“I told you it’s awesome stuff,” the friend replies as the door to the restroom opens and a woman comes out.
“You were right!” the other agrees. Then they both disappear behind the closed door.
Knowing Libby loves makeup, I smile while sending her a text.
I just overheard two women talking about lipstick that doesn’t come off when you’re giving head. I think you should check it out.
Not even two seconds later, my phone buzzes.
Ummm . . . thank you . . . I think?
It was actually a forty-minute blow job, I clarify.
A forty-minute blow job is way more impressive than lipstick that doesn’t come off, she replies.
I giggle, dropping my cell phone back into my bag just as the door opens and the women come out, laughing.
After finishing up in the bathroom, I start back to the front of the bar.
I stop suddenly—when I feel a hand hit my ass hard enough to sting.
“What the hell?” I start to spin around, but my heels wobble once more. Causing me to stumble right into a warm chest that smells like leather and mint.
“Are you all right?” Large hands capture my waist, and I blink up at my savior. Who also happens to be the guy I noticed earlier. One of his arms wraps around me, and he pulls me flush against his solid chest, making every inch of me come to life. “You okay?”
“What?” I ask, in shock.
He drags me up his body, then drops his face closer to mine.
“You okay?” I see his mouth move, but it takes a few seconds to register that he asked if I was okay. All I can seem to focus on is the way it feels to be pressed against him.
“I . . .” I shake my head to clear away the lust that is suddenly overwhelming me. “Yes . . . sorry. Thank you.”
“Good.” Smiling, he lets me go.
I wonder briefly if it’s too late to say I’m not okay just so he’ll hold on to me for a moment longer.
Sheesh, this guy is deadly.
“Thank you.” I bow at the waist while backing away.
He chuckles.
Turning on my heels, I head back for the bar as quickly as I can, thanking my lucky stars that I make it there without incident. I hop up on my stool—luckily still available—then motion for the bartender. As soon as I have her attention, I point at my empty glass. She nods.
“Do you mind if I join you?” I don’t even have to look to know who’s asking that question. My body reacts to him the same way it did seconds ago. Goose bumps break out across my skin, and a shiver slides down my spine. The guy who has suddenly become the object of all my fantasies slides onto the empty stool next to mine.
“Sure.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.
He smiles.
“Wesley.” He leans closer to me, and my breathing goes funny.
“Pardon?” His grin shows off a perfect smile and straight, white teeth. I’ve never thought teeth were attractive until now, but there is something sexy about his.
“Name’s Wesley. You are . . . ?” He sticks his large hand out in my direction, and my stomach dances with nervous butterflies as I drop my eyes to it before looking at him once more.
That’s when I notice that his eyes are blue, but not just any blue. They remind me of the beach out on Long Island near my parents’ house, where I spent most of my childhood.
“I’m . . . um . . . Mac . . . Mackenzie,” I stutter, placing my hand in his much larger calloused one as I watch him smile.
“Nice to meet you, Mackenzie.”
“Uh . . . yeah. Nice to meet you.” I nod, feeling his thumb slide over the pulse at my wrist while our eyes stay locked.
“Here’s your change, and a fresh drink,” the bartender says, breaking the moment.
I pull my eyes and hand from Wesley’s as the bartender slides the cash across the top of the bar toward me and sets my new lemon drop down on a fresh napkin.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat, trying to get myself under control. This proves to be impossibly hard to do since I can feel Wesley’s eyes still on me—as well as his wide-spread knees on either side of my thigh.
“What are you drinking?” the bartender asks him.
I pick up my drink, realizing I need to do something with my hands so I won’t fan myself.
“Bud, in the bottle,” he says.
I feel his hand come to rest against my lower back and burn into my skin through my sweater.
I try not to look at him.
The bartender bends at the waist and straightens back up a second later with a beer in her hand that she sets in front of him after she opens it.
“Do you want me to start a tab?” she asks.
I watch in the mirror as he lifts his chin and hands her a credit card. She sets it behind the bar at the register before walking off once more to tend to her other customers.
“So what brings you here tonight?” Turning my head toward Wesley at his question, I wonder if I should lie. Then I wonder why the hell I’m wondering that since he doesn’t know me anyway. It would make no sense to lie to him.
“I was supposed to meet someone here for a drink, but he stood me up.”
“Someone stood you up?” he asks, sounding appalled on my behalf.
My lips twitch into a smile as I laugh.
“Yeah.”
“Idiot.” He shakes his head as his eyes roam over me. He takes a pull from his beer, and my stomach dances once more.
“Why are you here?” I ask after a moment, needing to fill the silence that has settled between us.
“I needed a beer.” He nods toward the bottle in his hand. “It was a long day.”
“Work?” I ask.
He nods once more as his eyes fill with something I can’t understand yet, but know I don’t like. Something about it makes me feel uneasy, like I want to protect him.
“Sorry,” I say softly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.
“Don’t be. I’ve got a cold beer in my hand, and I’m talking to a beautiful woman. Gotta say, my day’s looking up.”
The word beautiful makes me feel a little bit guilty. He has no idea that the woman he’s sitting with isn’t who I really am. I don’t normally look like this or drink martinis. He doesn’t know that I prefer to drink beer and never wear makeup unless I have to. Even the clothes I have on aren’t mine. They’re Libby’s. My closet consists of mostly T-shirts and jeans. I want to tell him all that, but I don’t. Instead, I decide to pretend for a little while longer that I’m someone else, that I’m the kind of woman a man who looks like he does would be interested in.
Two hours later, as I settle into the backseat of a cab with Wesley next to me, I wonder what the hell I’m doing.
I’ve had only two lovers in my life—both of them long-term boyfriends I didn’t sleep with until months into the relationship. I don’t do one-night stands. Or at least I’ve never had one before, but something came over me when Wesley asked if I wanted to get out of the bar. I don’t even think I realized that something inside me knew if I didn’t go with him, I would regret it for the rest of my life.
The door slams, and I listen as Wesley gives the driver directions to his place. I’m suddenly unsure of my decision.
“Hey.” His voice washes over me while his hand moves up my leg to the junction between my thighs.
My pulse quickens, and white-hot lust shoots through my system. The same lust I’ve been feeling all night. Meeting his gaze, I see that the same lust is staring right back at me. Licking my suddenly dry lips, I watch as his eyes drop to my mouth. A whoosh of breath leaves my lungs as he leans in.
The first touch of his lips to mine is soft and exploratory—a tease of what’s to come. Touching my tongue to his bottom lip, I feel his chest vibrate against mine. I whimper as he deepens the kiss, thrusting his tongue into my mouth to toy with mine while his hand in the hair at the back of my head tightens and tilts it, sending a sting of desire through me.
Pulling back when the cab comes to a stop, I pant as he pays the driver. I take his hand when he offers it and allow him to help me out of the backseat. Shutting the door behind us, he keeps my hand firmly in his as we walk down the sidewalk and toward a set of stairs that leads to the bottom level of a townhouse. After he unlocks and opens the door, I start to walk inside ahead of him. He stops me, wraps his hand around my waist, and moves his face close to mine. He’s so close that I can feel his warm breath brush against my lips as he speaks.
“You sure about this?” he asks.
My pulse, already thundering away, speeds up.
“Yes,” I whisper without having to think about my answer. Raising my shaking hands, I run my fingers through his hair. It’s just as soft and as thick as I thought it would be. I pull his mouth down toward mine.
Groaning, “Fuck,” his mouth captures mine as his hands slide down my back to my ass. He cups it, then lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing at all. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I moan into his mouth. He walks us into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind us.
When I blink my eyes open, the early-morning light greets me through the partially opened blinds next to the bed. I realize I’m not home; then I feel the heavy weight of Wesley’s arm draped over my bare waist. I pull in a quiet breath and let it out slowly as I look around. The room is small—just big enough for the queen-size bed I’m lying on and a dresser tucked in the corner. There are no curtains covering the windows or pictures on the walls. There’s nothing to tell me anything about the man I just spent the night with. The man who held me throughout the night, the man still curled around me.
Worrying my bottom lip, I debate what I should do now that I’m awake. The idea of having to face Wesley when he wakes up sends panic pulsing through my system. I know enough from talking to friends that the morning after is always awkward for both parties, and I want to save us both that experience. Figuring it’s better to get out now, I carefully move out of his grasp. This isn’t easy to do because his hold on me seems to tighten whenever I make any leeway. Finally extracting myself from him and the bed, I quietly get up and search through our clothes—scattered across the floor—until I find my stuff.
Once I have everything in my arms, I head for the bedroom door. I pause with my hand on the doorknob and look back at the bed. Running my eyes over Wesley’s dark hair, his face relaxed in sleep, and his big, strong body makes something uncomfortable shift in my stomach. It’s like my soul is telling me that I’m an idiot for just taking off and not seeing what will happen if I stick around.
Shaking off that feeling, I quietly open the door and step out, closing it behind me. Walking into his living-room-slash-kitchen, I put on my clothes as fast as I can. I grab my bag and toss it over my shoulder. Nibbling my bottom lip some more, I wonder if I should leave him a note. I close my eyes at the ridiculousness of the thought. What would it even say? “Thanks for last night?” “It was fun?” Yes, we had a good time, but he had a good time with the Mackenzie who dresses sexy, wears makeup, and drinks martinis. He wasn’t with the real me. Mac the tomboy. The beer drinker, the girl who is always just one of the guys.
My eyes sting at that realization. I like Wesley, but he has no idea who I really am. I doubt that he would like me if he did.
As I leave his apartment, I stop at the top of the steps on the sidewalk and look both ways. I’m not far from the train, so instead of getting a cab like I planned on doing, I make my way toward the subway station at the end of the block. I swipe my MetroCard, then take the stairs down into the mostly empty platform.
Since it’s Saturday, I know it might be a while before my train arrives. I take a seat on one of the benches lining the wall, then dig through my bag for my phone and come up empty-handed. I close my eyes and grit my teeth.
I know I had my phone when I was with Wesley because I sent a text to Libby to let her know not to worry about me. I typed that message in Wesley’s bed while he tried to distract me with his mouth and hands, something he succeeded in doing two seconds after I pressed “Send.”
Groaning, I drop my face to my hands. I left it back at his place.
“Now what?” I ask myself aloud.
I can’t go back and knock on his door. I would look like a complete idiot if I did that.
What would I say? “Hey! I just snuck out of your bed and apartment, but I came back because I think I left my phone behind. Can I come in and search for it?”
“Google is the answer.” Pulling my hands away from my face, I sit back and look at the man standing in front of me. His white hair is wild and sticking out in every direction, his face is pale, and his clothes are dirty and torn. “Google is always the answer. Follow Google.”
He twists his neck back and forth as he gets closer to where I’m sitting. Seeing the way his eyes are dilated and the pulse in his neck is thumping away, I know he’s high. Meaning he’s unstable. My dad has always told me never to show fear, never to allow anyone to think they can intimidate me. That has always stuck with me. I raise my chin, and he stops moving, but I don’t relax. I know better than to let my guard down. Sliding my hand into the pocket of my coat, I wrap my fingers tightly around my can of mace and stand up.
He doesn’t move, but his eyes stay locked on me as I slowly back away from him down the platform toward a young couple who is making out and an older gentleman who is reading the paper. Hearing the sound of the train rushing through the tunnel, I sigh in relief when I see that it’s mine. As soon as the train stops and the doors open, I get into a crowded car and take a seat across from the doors. I watch them shut as the train pulls away.
A flash of black catches my attention, and I turn my head. My eyes widen when I see Wesley. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats, a black hoodie, and sneakers—and he’s running down the platform after my train. I stand without thinking, and his disappointed eyes meet mine through the window right before he disappears out of sight as we head into the tunnel.
Taking my seat again, I close my eyes, lean my head back, and tuck my purse in front of my stomach. I hold it there tightly, trying to stop a wave of nausea.
He came after me.
I don’t know how he knew I would be getting on the train, but he did.
He came after me. Or at least I think he did.
I furrow my brow, then feel my heart plummet when I realize he probably found my phone and was just trying to catch me so he could return it. Opening my eyes again, I take a deep breath. I need to figure out how to get my phone from him. It will be more awkward than waking up with him, but I can’t afford to buy a new one.
As soon as I reach my stop, I head up the steps out of the station and then walk the three blocks to my place. Libby and I share a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a three-family house. The house is a traditional New York City brownstone, with a wide stoop in the front. In the summer, I sit there and watch the kids in the neighborhood play as I drink my coffee in the mornings.
I got the apartment when I moved to New York. It was the only thing I ever had that was just mine, the first thing I didn’t have to share with my sisters. Well, until Fawn came to the city to go to college. Libby joined us not long after that. Thankfully, Fawn no longer lives with us. I love my sisters, but the three of us sharing the small space led to a lot of fights.
As soon as I’m inside the foyer, I stop at the mailboxes and open mine. Pulling out a handful of mostly junk mail, I see Miss Ina open her apartment door an inch to peek out to see who’s in the hall. Doing the nice thing, I give her a smile. I regret it instantly, because she takes it as an invitation to open the door completely. Miss Ina is eighty years old, a tiny thing with a humpback that makes her appear even smaller than she already is. Her white hair looks like a big puffy cloud on top of her head, and her frail skin is practically transparent, but her brown eyes are so dark, they look almost black. I swear when she looks at you, it’s like she’s looking into your soul. Scanning it for all the wrongs you’ve done in your life. Nothing happens in the house without her knowing about it. She knows everyone’s business—sometimes before they even do.
“We need to talk,” she says as she pushes her walker in front of her and moves out into the entryway.
“How can I help you, Miss Ina?” I ask, watching her hobble closer with her walker squeaking as she sidles up to me.
“I can’t sleep with all the banging around upstairs.”
“Miss Ina, we’ve talked about this. The house is old. It’s not soundproof. Libby and I both try to be quiet, but you can’t expect us to tiptoe around upstairs all the time,” I say as nicely as I can.
She huffs. I do feel bad for her. I know exactly what she’s going through, since there’s a family who lives above us with three small children. We can hear everything they do upstairs—and I mean everything—from the kids playing with cars on the floor to Mrs. and Mr. Kind’s bed banging against the wall at night as they work on a fourth baby.
“I need my rest. You girls need to be more considerate of your neighbors,” she says.
I sigh. I’ve been down this road with her enough times to know that she won’t give up until I agree, even if I don’t really agree with her.
I give in. “We will try to be quieter.”
She huffs again in response. Giving up on making her happy because it’s impossible, I tuck my mail into my bag and scoot around her and her walker. I move toward the stairs.
“Have a great day, Miss Ina!” I call over my shoulder when I’m halfway up the first flight. She doesn’t respond—not that I expected her to.
Unlocking the door to my apartment, I push it open and listen to it groan. I step inside and shut it behind me. Okay, I slam it a little to get it to close—and to piss off Ina. I shrug off my purse and jacket, then lay both of them on the couch. Next, I take off my boots and drop them to the floor near the couch. The apartment is small, just about four hundred square feet. The living room is just inside the front door and is barely big enough for the couch that sits under the pass-through window into the kitchen. The TV is directly across from it. The kitchen is also tiny, but it works for Libby and me since neither of us can cook. The apartment might not be fabulous, but the bathroom is amazing—or rather, my bathtub is. The old claw-foot tub is the only reason I haven’t moved out.
Knowing Libby is at work, I start to undress as I make my way into the bathroom. I have always loved taking baths, and a bath is exactly what I need to relax after the morning’s excitement. Filling up the tub, I dump a handful of bath salts into the water, then climb in. After an hour of soaking, I get out and put on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I plant myself on the couch in front of the TV with a bowl of Cheerios. I tell myself that I won’t worry about getting my phone back from Wesley until after the weekend.
But I do worry, and when I’m not worrying, I spend every moment thinking about him.