“Okay, boys. Let’s pack it up.”
Mac tossed his old, worn, falling-apart ball glove onto the bench and directed the four kids fooling around in the dugout to head back onto the field and retrieve the bases. He watched as the tallest one, Finn Bigelow, put Maggie’s boy into a headlock instead.
He glared at the boy, but he was too busy trying to overpower Michael and his grunts only grew louder. The other two boys took one look at Coach Draper and didn’t have to be told twice. They hightailed it out of the dugout, glancing over their shoulders at Finn.
“Bigelow!” Mac’s voice was sharp, and since he’d been a bit of a bastard for the entire practice, he wasn’t surprised when Finn dropped Michael like a hot potato and turned to Mac, shoulders hunched, a wary look in his eyes.
“Ah, sorry, Mac—” He gulped. “I mean, Mr. Draper. I didn’t…” The kid tossed a furtive look toward Michael. “We were just fooling around.”
“I can see that,” Mac replied. “Now get your butt out there and stow those bases in the shed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when you’re done, I want twenty laps around the diamond.”
Finn looked taken aback and glanced at his cohorts, but they were already heading out to the field.
“Okay,” the kid said weakly and followed Michael and the other two out onto the field.
“Jesus,” Cain said. “This isn’t football.”
Mac shrugged and drained his water bottle before tossing it into the bin beside the bench. “That kid bugs me.”
“No shit. Seems as if everyone was bugging you tonight.”
Mac glanced at Cain and scowled. It’s not like he could deny it. He’d been in a pissed-off mood since noon. He’d snagged Lily’s cell number from Jake’s and gave her a call, thinking a nice boat ride and maybe a late dinner at his cottage sounded really good.
That’s when he’d found out Lily wouldn’t be around this evening because she had dinner plans with Blair Hubber. Apparently, she’d made her plans a week earlier and they couldn’t be changed.
He called bullshit. If Hubber meant nothing to her, then why the hell didn’t she tell him to stuff it?
He’d been pissed. Hell, he’d been more than pissed.
But Mac had played it cool—what else was he going to do? She told him that the dinner was a “nothing kind of thing” and he needed to respect that. But the knowledge that she would be with Hubber tonight worked on him all afternoon. It was the reason for his current state of—“You’re being a dick. You mind telling me why?”
Mac ran his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
Cain gave him a questioning look before he glanced out at the field where the boys were stowing the bases.
“Does it have anything to do your sister?”
“No.” His answer was curt, and most people would have heeded the warning and backed off. But this was Cain. And Cain Black had been in Mackenzie’s business since they were younger than the boys they’d been coaching.
“Then it must be Lily.”
Mac shot Cain a warning glance, which only managed to make his friend chuckle.
“Holy shit. She actually turned you down?”
“Who turned who down?”
Both men turned to the end of the dugout as Jake Edwards jumped inside.
“What’s going on?” Jake asked.
Christ. Jake was going to love this.
“Can we just get out of here?” Mac said roughly. “I need a drink.”
Jake shrugged. “Raine’s out of town with Maggie for a few days, so I’m good.”
Cain grinned. “Yes, our Mr. Edwards is rocking the single life.”
“I don’t know about rocking, but a night out with the boys sounds good to me,” Jake replied.
“Okay.” Cain grinned. “I’ll meet you guys at the Coach House. Michael’s spending the night at Timmy’s, so I’ll drop him and then swing by for a drink. But I’m not staying out all night.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” Mac grumbled.
Mac grabbed his gear and jumped out of the dugout, following Jake back to the parking lot. He tossed his stuff onto the seat and watched Jake pull away. Some loud rap shit blasted from the radio, and with his ever-present scowl deepening, Mac changed the station to alternative rock.
He put the truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove a few yards when he skidded to a halt, his eyes on his rearview mirror. Staring back at him, from the dugout, stood a kid.
“Shit,” he whispered to himself.
Liam.
Great. Just fucking great. The kid was going to tell his sister that he’d almost forgotten him at the damn ballpark, and he’d have to listen to her barking in his ear for God knows how long.
Reversing back into the parking lot, he honked the horn and waited for his nephew to make his way over. By the time Liam reached the truck, Mac’s temper was starting to flare because the kid was walking slower than Mrs. Lambert from the Market—and that woman had a bum knee and used a goddamn walker.
“I don’t have all night,” Mac said tersely as Liam climbed into the cab and stowed his gear on the floor.
Liam shrugged but didn’t say anything. He pulled his seat belt into the clip and turned toward the window.
Mac was quiet for a few moments as he navigated his way back out of the parking lot. They pulled onto the street and cruised along until they hit their first traffic light. He stopped behind a shiny red Corvette and cleared his throat.
“You did good out there. Who taught you to throw a breaking ball like that?”
“My dad.”
Mac glanced at the kid. Liam’s voice was soft, with a bit of a tremble.
“He knows his stuff.”
“Yeah.”
Everything about Liam’s posture screamed “leave me alone,” and not knowing how to break through, Mac remained quiet.
He pulled up to his mother’s house, and he saw Becca on the porch. She leaned against the railing and something about the way she looked, there in the shadows, hit him in the chest.
Liam hadn’t made a move to open the door—he hadn’t reached for his bag either. He stared out the window at his mother, his left fist clenching and unclenching.
“You okay?” Mac asked.
Liam shrugged but didn’t answer.
Becca took a step down from the porch, and Liam reached for his bag.
“Good,” Mac said. He didn’t want to kick the kid out, but he sure as hell didn’t know what to do or say. “I’ll see you Friday night for the first game.”
Liam slung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door. He slid outside, slamming it shut behind him, and started up the driveway, his thin frame hunched forward as he trudged toward the house. He walked past his mother without a word, disappearing inside without a backward glance.
Becca watched her son for a few seconds and then gave Mac a small wave before following Liam inside. Mac waited until the door closed, disturbed by the quiet sadness he’d just witnessed.
It was a quiet sadness he knew too well, but that didn’t make it any better—made it worse actually because he knew that the kid was probably scared, confused, and more than likely angry as hell.
He gave a bit to the gas pedal and five minutes later found a parking spot near the entrance to the Coach House. Most of the slots were full, which kind of surprised him. It was a Monday night after all, and sure it was summer, and things were always busier this time of the year, but it was the Coach House. No offense to the owner, Sal, but the guy hadn’t spent a dime on the place in years.
It was dark, filled with old tables and rickety chairs. The floors were perpetually sticky, there was always an odor of stale beer and greasy fries—but the music was always good and the memories, well, the memories, they were abundant.
Mackenzie strode inside the bar, a grin on his face when he spied Tiny, the big, bald bouncer. The guy wore a leather vest that was two sizes too small, and paired with a massive beer gut that hung about five inches over his belt, he looked about three Big Macs away from a heart attack.
Sweat poured down Tiny’s neck, and Mac winced when Tiny slapped him on the shoulders.
“Draper! Heard you were back in town!”
“You heard right,” Mac answered. “Jake or Cain here yet?”
“Jake walked in a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen Cain.”
Mac nodded and slid through the crowd as he headed for the back, where he knew he’d find Jake. A quick nod here and a slap on the back there, and Mac felt as if everyone he knew was in the place.
“There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”
A soft, feminine hand on his forearm brought him up short, and Mac paused as Shelli Gouthro sidled up beside him. The blond looked good. Hell, her pipes were almost as cut as his, and judging from the amount of skin showing above her low slung jeans, he was guessing the rest of her was just as hard and trim.
He used to like that look.
She cocked her head, slick mouth open in a grin, and shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, which thrust her girls damn near up in his face. He couldn’t help it—Mac was a guy, and what guy wouldn’t at least take a peek?
But…nothing. He had nothing going on as he gazed down at what had to be a set of double Ds. They were too large for Shelli’s frame, too round, and he knew from memory that they were as hard as a goddamn basketball.
He thought of Lily and how sweet she’d felt in his hands, how soft and feminine she’d felt in his mouth—the accompanying pull in his groin woke him the hell up.
He shook his head, squared his shoulders, and gave Shelli a polite smile.
“What’s going on, Shelli?”
He looked over the top of her head, toward the back corner where he knew Jake was.
“I texted you, like, five times.” She moved closer and the hand on his forearm crept higher.
“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”
She pouted—what was with women and pouts? Did they honestly think they worked?
“Why don’t you buy me a drink and then maybe we can get out of here?”
A flash of silky blond hair caught his attention, and everything inside Mac kind of froze. His heart sped up a bit, and he cranked his neck in an effort to see around Shelli, but she was in the way.
“Can you ah…move a bit?” he said, taking a step to the side as his irritated meter began to rise.
“Sure, babe.” Shelli’s fingers slid to his chest, and she pressed her hard body up against him, grinding her hip into him suggestively. “Anything.”
“What?” He looked down at her with a frown.
Surprise flickered across her face. “Do you want to leave now? ’Cause I’m fine with that. I just kinda wanted a shot of tequila first.”
“Look, Shells. Maybe some other time, but I’m seeing someone right now, and well, I’m not looking to hook up with anyone else.”
The surprise in Shelli’s eyes turned dark. “Seeing someone?”
He nodded, still trying to catch a glimpse of that blond head.
“Since when does the fact that you’re dating someone else matter to you?”
Okay. He didn’t like the tone Gouthro was taking. He opened his mouth, intending to tell her that exactly, but she beat him to the punch.
“Last fall when you were home for a few days, we got together, and I know for a fact that you were seeing some stuck-up bitch from the city because she called when you were in the shower, and she and I had a nice chat.”
“Huh,” Mac said with a frown. So that’s why Christy had been in such a pissy mood and had canceled their plans to have Thanksgiving dinner together.
“It’s okay, Mac. I know what you’re all about. Every woman in Crystal Lake does. I know you’re not into relationships or anything.”
His frown deepened.
“I get that about you, and I’m totally fine with it. So why can’t we have some fun?” Her arm was on him again. “Honestly, you’re the best fu—”
“It’s not gonna happen,” he snapped.
Mackenzie pushed his way past Shelli and strode through the crowd, head turning in all directions. Where the hell was Lily?
He reached the booth, the one in the corner that he and the guys always sat in, and spied Jake pouring out three glasses of cold draft from the large jug in the middle of the table.
“Hey,” Jake said glancing up. “Cain’s not here yet.”
“I know.”
But Mac’s eyes were no longer on the table. He turned in a circle, his gaze moving over the entire bar. “Why the hell is it so goddamn busy in here? I can’t see shit.”
“Half-priced wings.”
“Whatever,” he muttered.
“Who you looking for?”
“No one,” Mac replied. Maybe he was seeing things, because the Coach House didn’t exactly look like the kind of place that Lily St. Clare would frequent. And if Hubber was stupid enough to bring her here, well, that said a lot about the guy.
“You’re looking in the wrong direction.”
“What?” he snapped back to Jake.
His buddy leaned back in the booth, took a good, long sip of his beer, and nodded toward the bar.
“She’s over there.”
Mac slowly turned and followed Jake’s gaze. He caught sight of Sal, his round, chubby face grinning from ear to ear as he leaned over the bar toward a sexy blond perched on the edge of a barstool. Her back was to him, but as she rose up a bit and bent forward to whisper something into Sal’s ear, there was no mistaking who that sweet, round ass belonged to.
Or the fact that nearly every male at the bar was taking a good, long look.
Mac took a step forward but paused when Blair Hubber walked up to her and placed his hands low on her back. Sal was nodding at whatever the hell they were talking about, and then she twirled around in her seat, a smile on her face.
A smile that slowly slipped away when she caught sight of Mackenzie. She moistened her lips, nodding absently to whatever the hell Hubber was saying.
Mac felt like everything was stretched thin and tight. He might have fisted his hands. Or maybe growled like an animal.
Because something hot and electric passed between the two of them as they stared at each other—something that traveled across the bar like a conduit. It hit him hard and he saw the exact same reaction in her eyes. So why the hell was she here with Blair Hubber when she could be with him?
“Have a seat, Mac. You’re making me nervous.”
Mackenzie ground his teeth together but managed to calm himself the hell down. He slid into the booth across from Jake.
“And Jesus, reign in the alpha crap, will ya? Sal will kick our asses out of here if you get into it with Hubber, and Raine will have my ass if we get into fight. From what I can see, you’re looking for trouble, but Blair is not the kind of trouble you want to look for. He’s the goddamn mayor.”
Mac didn’t give a crap if Hubber was the president of the United States, the guy was homing in on his woman, and damned if he was gonna stand by and let the slick son of a bitch win.
Jake gave him a strange look. “Is this thing with Lily gonna bite all of us in the ass?”
“Nope.”
“It better not.”
Again with the warning. Mac turned to Jake and pinned his buddy with a look that said “don’t fuck with me.”
“Lily’s a big girl, Jake. She doesn’t need you looking over her shoulder.”
Jake took another sip of beer. He paused a few seconds before answering. “It’s not Lily I’m concerned about.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Jake shrugged. “It means that you’ve never met a woman like her before, and let’s move past the physical aspect. I’m talking real-life stuff. Lily can take your shit and shovel it right back in your face. She’s no pushover. If you think you can get involved with her and have no problem walking away from that, then good. I don’t know many guys that could.”
Christ. Jake was getting all philosophical on him, which irritated the hell out of Mac. Just because his buddies had found “true love” and were happy to settle down with one woman didn’t mean that Mac had any of that in his future.
And it sure as hell didn’t mean that he wanted it either.
“Jesus, Jake. I just wanted to come out for a drink and chill. What’s with the Dr. Phil?”
“I’m just looking out for you,” Jake replied, raising his mug in the air.
Mac did the same. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m good.”
He took a swig of cold beer and glanced back over to the bar. Jake was right about one thing: he needed to dial it down. He needed to come up with a plan.
He needed to figure out how to get under her skin.
With a grin, Mac settled back in the booth and, for the first time in hours, relaxed.