Meg
“Okay, troops!” I announce from the middle of Aubrey’s living room. “We’re settled on “Uptown Funk,” two dozen dancers, and October twelfth. First rehearsal is October first!” That’s the day after my last episode wraps. I’m going to have to hustle back here to make this work. But it’s totally worth it.
“Sweet!” Aubrey says, and her assistant flips her notebook closed. “I’ll let you both get back to your Saturday.”
“Thanks, baby! Can’t wait for this.”
I’m not exaggerating either. I really can’t wait for it. When Aubrey called me with another flash mob job, I didn’t even think twice about jumping into my car and racing back to Michigan for the meeting.
I loved our farmers’ market wedding proposal. I think I have a real future in creating small theatrical events that change people’s lives. And nobody has opened a business like this in West Michigan yet. It’s waiting for me! I feel all sunshiney inside when I think about it.
My stint in Chicago, on the other hand, has been a real eye-opener. It’s a great experience, and I’m still excited to see my episodes air. But it’s not fun. The producer and the director are fighting. One of the lead writers quit in front of me yesterday. They’re not a happy bunch.
Oh, and now I know exactly what Danny-From-Downtown-Blues would do in various situations. Good Ol’ Danny Boy would drink Scotch between takes and then fall asleep behind the sets. Also, Danny would kiss like a real loser. Ugh. My scenes with him require every bit of my acting talent.
I have three more episodes to shoot before my character is killed off. And then it’s back to auditioning again. Back on the treadmill.
Or is it? I haven’t decided if I want to keep auditioning. Right now I could literally go either way. And that alone says something significant. When you lose passion for something, isn’t it time to try something new?
Like Meg’s Mobs. My fledgling business already has a name. Meg’s Mobs is totally going to happen. Meg’s Mobs gets me all a flutter. I’ll start my own business the minute I’m back from Chicago. Hell, it’s pretty much already started. And I’ll make all the casting decisions. I can’t wait to be in charge, for once.
There are so many ways to be successful. And I’m done waiting for my flipping fairy godmother to show up and make me queen of Hollywood.
I kiss Aubrey goodbye and then head for my car. Just as I’m about to get in, she calls out her front door to me. “You’re going home now, right? To your apartment?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I want to grab some things.”
There’s an awkward pause and I think I see her tapping on her phone.
“Why?” I call.
“Oh, nothing. Just asking. In case I need to stop by later. But I probably won’t. In fact, if I need to stop by later, I’ll make sure I call first.” She gives me a final wave and then closes her door.
That’s weird.
But that’s Aubrey.
I start up my car, and immediately my thoughts go back to Meg’s Mobs. Can I start a business while also hustling for more on-screen work? What kind of life do I want? Who do I want to be, exactly?
These are my thoughts as I drive to my apartment for the first time in three weeks. When I pull into the lot, Mac’s car is there. That’s too bad, honestly. I hadn’t wanted to think about him this weekend. It’s almost tempting to turn around and go right back to Chicago.
I sit in my parking space for a moment, the engine idling.
But then I grab the key and twist it. Because fuck him. This is my home. And if he’s so frightened of my love that he needs to put some distance between us, that’s on him.
In fact, I’m going to let him know I’m here and I am totally fine without him.
A few minutes later I’m marching down our shared hallway and unlocking my door with a flourish. Since it’s stuffy in my apartment, the first order of business is opening all the windows and welcoming in the fresh air.
The song “Uptown Funk” is stuck in my head, because we played it a few times at Aubrey’s house just to get the feel of the beat. This new flash mob will kick off a surprise party. The birthday boy is supposed to think he’s been sent to the mall for just an errand or two. But his boyfriend has orchestrated a surprise party at one of the restaurants. And the flash mob is just the beginning.
“Uptown funk gonna sing it to you!” Whoops. Those aren’t the words, but I’m probably close. “Uptown funk gonna ring it for you. Bling it at you! Something-something and someTHING!”
Fine—lyrics aren’t my strong suit. But this is my home and I can butcher tunes if I want to.
I find when I’m working out a new flash mob scene, it helps to butcher with aplomb. And volume. So I am singing to my heart’s content when suddenly I hear a thud against the wall.
I immediately go silent. The only thing beating is my heart. I’d know that thud anywhere. It’s Mac. My copper.
But he’s not mine, is he?
My blood stops circulating. Because that thud might mean he’s already someone else’s.
I feel nauseous at the thought.
Welp. More singing then. Some sounds need to be drowned out. “Uptown junk gonna sling it at you!”
And now there’s another sound! But it’s not a headboard banging. Instead, Mac answers with four little knocks in quick succession. And those four knocks... That’s our code. That means he wants me to come over!
For a hot second I’m elated. But then I put the brakes on. Of course I do. I can’t run over there and throw myself at his feet. Not. Happening. If he wants to see me, he needs to come over here and apologize. Preferably on his knees.
An image of Mac crawling on his knees toward me is almost enough for me to lose my balance. So I start singing again.
But then I hear his voice. “Meg?” It’s so soft, I can barely make it out. I tiptoe over to the wall and press my ear against it.
“Meg,” he calls again, louder this time.
I don’t say anything. Because he doesn’t deserve a response.
“I need…”
My heart stops for a second. What do you need, Mac? Just say it!
“I need you!” he calls. My traitorous heart leaps. Because that’s all I ever wanted to hear him say.
Except I don’t trust it. He could have called me to say so. I’ve been in Chicago, for craps sake. Not Ouagadougou.
“You need me,” I say to the wall. “Because you chose this moment to realize it? Or because you’re trapped under something heavy.”
He chuckles, low and sultry, and the hair stands up on my arms. God, that laugh. I miss it so much. “It’s a little of both,” he says. “Come see.”
“Maybe later.” Or never. I have so many feelings for Mac. But I’m not sure he’s capable of returning them. Some wounded people never get over their wounds. And I won’t spend my life waiting to find out if he’s one of them.
“Now, Meg,” he says. “I need you now.”
There’s a definitive tone to his voice that I can’t ignore. My feet point toward the hallway before I can even stop myself.
“You’ll have to climb the fence,” he says.
That stops me. “What? Why?”
There’s that chuckle again. “You’ll see.”
“No I won’t,” I snap. “You can’t play games with me, okay? I’ve had enough.”
“I know you have.” Because we have such thin walls, I can even hear his sigh. “The irony is pretty rich, but I need you to break in just one last time. I’ll never ask you to again. My front door is probably locked, and I can’t open it myself.”
I feel a tingle at the base of my skull. “Why not?”
“You’ll see in a minute. And maybe you’re not ready to believe anything I’m saying. But ten bucks says you’ll think the sight is worth a couple minutes of your time.”
The sight of…?
Okay, fuck it. I’m intrigued. And something tells me that there’s a setup at work.
“Hang on a sec!” I call. I think back to how awkward Aubrey was and how she wanted to make sure I was coming home.
So I text Aubrey…
ME: WTF is happening at Mac’s apartment?
…
AUBREY: Oh, good! You’re home!
ME: Yeah but???
AUBREY: Rosie told me to tell you happy birthday. She left something for you in Mac’s apartment.
ME: Is it by any chance...Mac?
AUBREY: My lips are zipped. But maybe you should go over there really quick in case your birthday gift has to pee. Okay?
My friends are a strange crew. But I guess I’ll worry about that later. Mac can’t open his own door? I’m going to have to find out why. But on my own terms.
I clear my throat. “Mac?”
“Yes, Trouble?”
“I’m in the middle of alphabetizing my sock drawer. I’ll swing by in a few.”
He snorts. “I’m not going anywhere. Apparently.”
I tiptoe to my closet. Mac hasn’t seen me in three weeks. This is one of those moments that calls for something outrageous. I start plucking hangers off the bar, asking myself: what would a sexy cat burglar wear? If I’m already breaking and entering, I might as well do it in leather...
...TWENTY MINUTES LATER
“Meg,” he demands as I’m checking out my bustier in the mirror. “If your sock drawer is in order, how about you come over.”
“Soon!” I grin at my reflection. That’s showing him.
“Just, please, come over. Were you waiting to hear the magic word?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But the magic words are: I am a stupid fucking asshole.”
“Well then I am a stupid fucking asshole.”
I blink. Because that was a little too easy. “You’re not dying, right? You’re not bleeding out, or anything?”
“No, Trouble. I don’t have so much as a paper cut. My ass is numb but I’m sure it’s not fatal. Nice of you to ask, though.”
While it’s tempting to leave him in whatever situation he’s in, I’m also dying to see what Rosie’s done. And—let’s be honest—I’m also dying for him to see me in this getup I’m wearing. So he’ll remember exactly what he’s given up.
That’s what gets me onto the patio, where I shimmy carefully over the divider (because leather isn’t cheap) and make a very ungraceful plunk onto Mac’s deck on the other side. Good thing that the director of Pierson of Interest didn’t see me just pull that stunt. She’d make me do another take.
I’m moving stealthily, like any self-respecting bad-girl would. Mac’s sliding glass door is already open. Almost as if someone left it this way, knowing I’d be walking through.
Hmm.
I tiptoe across the living room. The bedroom door is open, too. Taking care to stand back, out of sight, I peek into the room.
And there is Macklin Maguire, spread eagled on his bed, arms handcuffed overhead. He was right—he’s not going anywhere like that. My mouth falls open, and I quickly catalog two problems with this whole scenario. 1) He’s clothed, and 2) We’re not together anymore.
I’m fairly sure I can change one of those things.
I clear my throat and Mac swings his rugged chin to catch me staring. “Holy shit,” he breathes, because I’m wearing a leather bustier, leather pants, and my black stilettos. Okay, this may be an old costume leftover from summerstock when I played Sandy in Grease, but it’s a fucking great outfit. “That getup is…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. One glance at his pants, and the bulge that pops up there says everything.
“You happy to see me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“God, yes,” he says. His eyes take me in from head to toe. Then he closes his eyes. Maybe he just doesn’t want to look at me. And that hurts a bit. It does.
“I don’t know, Mac. It’s nice that you’re happy to see me. It’s nice to hear you yelling for me. Except you’re only yelling because you need someone to unlock you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I snort. “You’re going to pull a Houdini and free yourself?”
“Nah,” he says, and then a slow grin forms on that irresistible mouth. “I’m yelling for you because I need you. I get it now. The handcuffs are just a mild inconvenience.”
“So you don’t mind if I turn and leave again?” I yelp.
“Oh, I’d mind very much.” His eyes are warm and lazy. “Come closer.”
I hesitate. Maybe it’s a trick.
Except I know better than that. Mac never tricked me. Even though he let me down, he never lied to me. I don’t do relationships. I hadn’t wanted to hear it.
I still don’t.
“What do you want, Mac?” I need to cut my losses and go.
“You,” he whispers. “Just you.”
“For what?” I’m so confused right now.
“For everything. Dinner. Lunch. Breakfast. Hobbit-style snacks. Fruity drinks. Party dates.” He looks up at the ceiling, as if considering. “Not too many parties. A man can only change so much. And I don’t think karaoke will ever be on the table. I probably have a few limits.”
“But none of that sounds like you.”
“I know. But…” He actually tries to beckon, but the handcuffs clank against the metal bed frame, so it doesn’t quite work. Instead of getting frustrated, he actually chuckles. “Come here already. Jesus. I need to kiss you so bad it hurts.”
There’s a new tightness in my chest, and I’m pretty sure this bustier is only half responsible. “Don’t tease me, Mac. If you don’t want a commitment, I have to let you go.”
“Don’t let me go,” he says immediately. “I get it now. You make me crazy. You’re a whole lot of trouble. You challenge me. You kick my ass. And I’m so fucking hungry for you right now my cock is about to rip out of my pants. And I’m not running anymore. You’ve caught me.”
I think about it for a second. “What does that mean...exactly? I’ve caught you? This isn’t a game of cat and mouse, Mac. I’m done with games. And I’m done with emotional drama. What are you offering me?” I take a step closer.
“I’m offering you everything you see before you. Which is, admittedly, just a guy who’s chained to a bed. But I’m loyal, I can hold my liquor, and I always say what I mean.”
“And what do you mean right now?” I press.
“I love you so fucking much, Meg. That’s the bottom line. If we can’t fix this right here and right now, then I’m going to do something really stupid.”
I take another step closer to him so now I’m standing right next to him, looking down at him, all beautiful and defenseless before me. Like a caged animal. It’s very Ben Hur. “What would you do?”
“I’ll...gnaw off my hand so I can get at you.”
“That’s graphic,” I say.
“Too much?”
“A little.”
We both smile at each other.
“Meg. If we don’t fix this right now, I’m going to be lost all over again. And it’s been really nice to finally feel found.”
“You feel found with me?” I lean over and put a hand in the center of his broad chest, because I have to touch him.
“I feel more than found. I feel like I’m finally whole. Like you’re my missing…”
“Handcuff key?” I offer.
He tips his head back and laughs. “I was going to say missing piece. But if you felt like unlocking these things, it would be easier for me to kiss you.”
“Would it?” I kneel on the bed. “You don’t kiss with your hands.”
His handsome eyes get hot. “I kiss with my whole fucking body when it’s you I’m kissing.”
“Oh. Well. In that case.” I smile. “In that case I’d like to see you try it without your hands.” I throw a knee over his thighs, straddling him. “I always thought it would be fun if you cuffed me. But it might be even more fun to be in charge.”
His clear eyes consider me. “You think you’re in charge right now?”
“Of course.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I can lead from any position. Just saying.”
“Can you now?” Just to prove that I’m driving, I finally lean down and kiss him.
He groans as our lips meet, his mouth beckoning to mine. And he shifts his body in a way that makes me fall against his chest.
It’s heaven. It’s amazing. It’s everything I’ve been missing. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tilt my head to make our connection even more perfect.
It wasn’t bluster when Mac insisted he was still in charge. As our kiss deepens, my thinking goes fuzzy. I let his bossy tongue rule mine. His kisses roll together like waves on the beach, and I can’t find the willpower to pull back or stop.
Then he lifts his hips off the bed, showing me exactly how much he wants me. I’m suspended on his tight body. And there’s a very ambitious erection between my legs. We grind into deeper, hotter kisses.
I moan against his mouth.
“Unzip me,” he barks. “Do it now.”
And I don’t think: hey, I’m in charge. I think: yay, unzipping! But whatever. He can win on this point. It’s a crime he’s wearing that T-shirt, too. I don’t think I’m strong enough to tear it off his body.
But there are other pleasures. I reach into his boxers and wrap my hand around his girth.
“Fuck yes,” he snarls. “More. Tighter. Taste me.”
Again, I do not play it cool. I lean down and take his tip against my tongue. And then I moan at the first salty-clean taste of his skin.
There’s a clang of metal against metal. “Fuck. I want my hands in your hair.”
I moan, because that sounds pretty good. Those cuffs are starting to be a drag.
“Suck it,” he whispers. “Show me your pretty eyes.”
I raise my head a few degrees until our gazes lock. And his expression goes from hot to warm and sweet.
“Love you,” he says. The words just roll off his tongue. “Can’t wait to show you how much. Now lose that leather. It’ll probably show up in my dreams later anyhow. But right now it’s in my way.”
I’m unzipping it three seconds later.
“Good girl. You’re going to have to find a condom. And untie all those laces across your tits.”
You know what? Sex is more fun when nobody is chained to the bed. Or maybe it’s just a matter of getting naked first. I’ll have to find out some other time, though. “Where’s the key, Mac?”
“What key?” He laughs. “It’s on the dresser.”
I pounce on it. In order to free Mac, I have to climb into his lap, stick my chest in his face and reach for his hands.
“Oooh, stay right there,” he says, kissing my cleavage.
“Oh, man.” I close my eyes a moment as his lips graze the swells of my breasts. “You’d better cut that out, though. If I drop this key behind the bed, we’ll have issues.”
He groans. “Hurry then. I already have issues. I’m going to burst unless we’re using this headboard in a more exciting way.”
Amen to that. Luckily, I’m able to free him quickly. The click of the cuff opening up is the best sound I’ve heard in weeks. Mac lets me free both his hands. But then he’s a blur of motion—tossing the cuffs off the bed, whipping off his T-shirt, rolling the two of us over.
“You okay?” I ask from my back, staring up into his beautiful gray eyes.
“Never better. I can’t feel my arms, but I’m thinking I don’t care right now.” He leans down and kisses me deeply, until we’re both panting. “Now take this off,” he says, tugging on the bustier. “I need all of you spread out underneath me.”
“Do you now?”
“I do. Oh, and one last favor?” he asks. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Just one? I freed your ass from bondage, and you’re still asking favors?”
“Deal with it.” I get another kiss. “Can you leave the stilettos on?”
“Sure,” I say, untying the leather strap at my breasts. “But you’ll owe me a favor. Fair’s fair.”
He rolls his eyes. “We can’t be back to this. I mean—I could still have you arrested.”
“On what charge?”
“Driving me crazy without a license.”
“I plead guilty, then.”
He kisses me.