“Jesus, you are more ornery than a wet cat,” I remark, which turns her into more of a hissing, spitting, angry little kitten. I have to bite my cheek to keep from smiling because Mac’s super sexy this way.
“I am not going to a party organized by the woman my ex-boyfriend left me for. Why would you even think to say yes?” She sits on a stool at the kitchen island, plants her elbows on the counter, and drops her head in her hands.
I grab an open bottle of red that looks like it’s been sitting on her counter for ages, yank out the cork, and pour some into the wine glass from our mimosas. “Drink this.”
She uncovers her pretty but pained face to look at the glass in my hand. She shakes her head. I lean over the island with my arm extended, pushing it closer to her. "That's the wine I use for cooking."
“Still wine. Drink it.”
“Alcohol doesn’t fix anything.”
“Sometimes you can’t fix everything and it’s a nice distraction,” I reply, and she stares at me with a look on her face that says things she’s too polite to say out loud. “Mac, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t going to let him think he had an ounce of power. He thinks you’re so upset you’re running from him.”
“Spoiler alert. I was. I am.”
“Why?”
She looks like she might scream, and not in a good way. “Do I have to remind you of my origin story? I wasn't born into hockey royalty like you, Prince Conner. I was born to a drug addict and bounced around the foster system for over a decade until Alex Larue, hockey's court jester, and tough guy, found me and saved me with his girlfriend."
"FYI, I once heard Alex tell Callie you saved him," I reply calmly like that's not the most goddamn heart-melting thing I could have ever said. I know it is and I see her eyes flare and then get a little more watery than normal. I remember when I heard Alex tell Callie that. I was about fourteen, I think, and he was bragging about how Mac was on the Dean's list and she was paying for her own tuition. I remember thinking I hope I make my parents that proud.
She clears her throat and shakes off the soothing emotions I've just poured over her because Mac doesn't want to be soothed right now. She glares at me. "Okay yeah. Two-way street there, but my point is, I'm not like you. I wasn't born into the one percent."
“What does that have to do with Buttface Echolls?” I ask.
I sigh. "I worked really hard my whole life not to become the statistic I was born to be. And to heal. To be worthy of the luck that had come my way when my dad saw me in that alley in New York. And, most importantly, to fit in. I thought I had. Beckett… the way we broke up… made me feel like that was a lie. That I wasn't whole, wasn't worthy, and wasn't good enough to be a normal person or the girlfriend of one. Like Beckett. And before you tell me it's all bullshit, somewhere in my heart I know that, but it's a lot of emotional work to fight against those voices of past trauma and inferiority in my head. And I haven't had time to do that work because I'm busting my butt to finish this medical degree."
Her words have knocked the wind out of me. She’s staring at me with such brutal vulnerability and it kills me that I look like someone who can’t see his own silver spoon hanging out of his mouth. But also, that she thinks she’s not worthy. This woman who has earned her place in life every damn step of the way. She’s worthy of a hell of a lot more than Beckett Echolls.
“Well he isn’t going to make you feel that way anymore,” I announce as I sip straight from the red wine bottle I put in front of her. “You may have started broken Mac, but you put yourself back together, which makes you better than all of us. Frankly, I'm disappointed you don’t realize that. Hurting you was the biggest mistake of Beckett’s unremarkable, boringly average life.”
“I don’t know about that, but he definitely felt a sting today,” she admits after a full thirty seconds of letting me do nothing but stare at her and hope she doesn’t hate me. “The dates I gave Beckett for when we allegedly got together was before he broke up with me so… now he thinks I cheated too.”
“Yeah. I figured that by the look on his face.” I smile and watch her as she finally reaches for the glass and takes a sip of the wine.
I lift the bottle. “Here’s to giving him a taste of his own medicine.”
We both sip our wine, but my eyes are glued to her. I keep thinking about all the summers she would visit, and how every year, I'd sneak glances at her as much as I could. Looking at Mac is like being in a freezing cold lake and then hitting a patch warmed by the sun. She made me feel warm on the inside back then. As kids, I was smitten and it was harmless. Now… not so much.
I remember the kiss I laid on her in front of Beckett. It was chaste, and for show, so I didn’t have time to enjoy it to its full potential. But I would like to do it again. And really feel it. The small taste I had set something on fire inside me.
“What?” she asks.
“I hope you don’t mind that I kissed you,” I say.
“I… mind? No. But it was a bit of an ambush,” she replies. “I would have tried harder… I mean, like, participated, if I’d been able to anticipate it. But it sold the charade to Beckett, and pissed him off, so thanks for fake kissing me.”
"You're welcome. I mean, it was a total hardship. Worse than a first day of training camp hungover, but I endured." She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide with horror for a split second before I wink and grin and then she blushes again. I take another sip from the bottle. More of a gulp really. "I'll likely have to kiss you again, at this party we're going to attend, so consider this your warning. Bring your A-game."
She stares at me in the most adorable, completely stunned way. But then she blinks and puts down her glass. “The party is New Year’s Eve. You won’t be here. You’ll be waived on the twenty-seventh so by the twenty-eighth you could be on a team anywhere in North America. Seattle. San Diego. Las Vegas, Milwaukee. Canada. You could be in Canada!”
“The league doesn’t have a single solitary game on New Year’s Eve so I can get back here and leave right after the party. I don’t care if I have to take a red eye or drive all night. Whatever. I’ll do it,” I say and walk around the island until I’m beside her barstool. I grip the back of it and slowly turn her to face me. “Besides I may not be picked up at all, in which case Brooklyn’s farm team is in Rhode Island and they don’t resume their schedule until January fifth.”
“You looked at the farm team schedule?” Mac croaks, her voice uneven and breathy.
I nod. She frowns and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to be picked up.”
“Maybe.”
“You will be.”
She has such a look of unwavering confidence in her eyes now that I can’t help but drink it in. I take a step closer and without hesitation, she parts her legs to make space for me in between them, which shocks me. I didn’t expect her to fight me, but somehow I didn’t expect her to be this receptive either. My ego gets an injection of confidence. I reach up and move the curls resting on her shoulder, pushing them back. “I’m taking you to that party, and you’re going to wear a sexy dress, and even sexier heels, and hold that pretty little head of yours high because he has taken enough from you. And I’m going to help you take it back.”
Her dark eyelashes flutter. I feel her exhale against the front of my thin t-shirt. “Did you really have a crush on me when you were younger?”
I smile. "Yes. And the last twelve hours make me think I still do."
She looks away, her eyes shifting downward, but her hands move up. Her fingertips run over my forearms and up my biceps, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. Mac subtly scoots closer to the edge of her seat. Her inner thighs brush my outer thighs. “I feel like I should practice or something… being your fake girlfriend.”
“Practice does make perfect…” I murmur, and my hand reaches up to move back another wayward curl. God, her hair is soft. “You should probably kiss me now, so you don’t have to worry about later.”
“That would be crazy,” she whispers as her head tilts up.
“Crazy can be good, Mac.”
“And it can be terrible,” she replies but her hands are climbing up my shoulders, her tongue is wetting her bottom lip, and my dick is coming to life in my joggers. There’s nothing terrible about that.
“A-game, Larue,” I tease. “Bring it.”
And boy, does she ever.
Her lips land on mine with intention. With purpose. And before I can even start to control this kiss, she’s taken over. Not that I’m complaining. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth and her hands go around my neck. I loop my arms around her waist and yank her to the edge of the chair. Her legs twist around my back just above my butt, her core presses against my erection, and we both moan.
This isn’t where I thought I would be today. When I drove into town with my proverbial tail between my legs, I had a million scenarios of how my time in my hometown might go. Mac Larue didn’t factor into one of them. And now, it’s the only place I want to be.