I crunched a frown until actually feeling the furrows in my forehead. “All right, Clown,” I gritted. “Are you willing to be in one? Do you even know what that looks like?” I finished with a satisfied snort. When I’d first met the ass, he’d been working so many days straight that he didn’t know if it was day or night. Forget other basic relationship stuff like, say, remembering names or faces.
Though every time you were beneath him, he swore off every other name but yours…
Reflections that were not needed. Not now. Not for this process.
Nope. I definitely didn’t need awesome sex replays. What I needed were answers.
A healthy relationship. What exactly did that look like? Did such a thing even exist? Even Claire and Killian Stone, likely the most happily married people I knew, had one hell of a roller-coaster ride getting to where they were today. And according to the rest of our mutual friends, it was a lot of work keeping things functioning well, no matter what stage a relationship might be in. It required honesty and bravery, fortitude and forgiveness, patience and persistence.
So what the hell was Mac basing his comment on? His own personal “experience” with “healthy”? And where, exactly, was that acquired? His psychotic mother was on her third husband, if I remembered correctly. No Leave it to Beaver theme song for that upbringing. And as an adult, he’d spent the better part of his life hopping from operating rooms to race cars to strangers’ beds.
Maybe he was a neurosurgeon with a minor in family psychology. Now wouldn’t that explain a lot? At least the musing made me laugh out loud before adding a little pressure to the gas pedal. Mac’s love of driving had been rubbing off on me. I guess his promise of letting me drive on the track at Thermal was as empty as all the others he’d made.
The sign for my apartment complex came into view in record time. The nearly empty late-night roads coupled with my complete disregard for the speed limit got me home in no time at all. I pulled into my space as Evanescence blared “Going Under,” one of my favorites of all time. The lyrics were perfectly, painfully meaningful tonight…
“Will you grab the potato salad from the refrigerator in the laundry room, honey?” Talia had her hands full with an elaborate fruit salad loaded into a basket carved from the shell of a watermelon, so when I asked if she needed a hand, she took me up on the offer.
“Through here, right?” I pointed toward a doorway to my right. The home she shared with her two husbands, Drake and Fletcher, was enormous and complicated. I couldn’t remember which door led where, though I’d been inside it more times than I could count.
“Yep, right there. The light is on your left.” She called it over her shoulder while heading in the opposite direction toward the sliding-glass door. Just beyond that was the backyard where she, Drake, and Fletcher had gotten married last September.
“Wow,” I mumbled. It had been almost a year since that memorable day. Crazy how much had changed in just eight months.
So much…
I found the switch and flipped it on, illuminating the room. The large stainless refrigerator was in the opposite corner alongside a front-loading washer and dryer. I took out the potato salad and then turned to head back toward the kitchen. At the same time, the other door from the garage swung open, almost knocking the bowl out of my hands. I dodged out of the way just in time…
Only to look up into jade-green eyes as intent and beautiful as I remembered.
Surrounded by that face, as strong and chiseled as I remembered.
Turning my stomach inside out, in every incredible way I remembered.
Would walking into the same space as Mac Stone ever fail to do this to me? Did I want it to?
Judging by the looks on his and Fletcher’s faces, they’d been gawking at Fletcher’s new car. The guy was almost as obsessed with high-speed performance vehicles as Mac, but Talia absolutely would not allow Fletch on a racetrack after the accident that had nearly taken his life. So he filled his need for speed with the brand-new 520-horsepower addition to BMW’s lineup, the 8 Series coupe.
Apparently I’d walked in on the middle of Fletcher confiding to Mac that he was “working on her.” I was damn sure he meant Talia and not the car but wisely kept my lips compressed. Talia had confided in me about the man’s specific “persuasive techniques,” leading to my quick conclusion that he might just end up getting his way after all.
Fletcher visibly brightened as I appeared in the doorway, a smile surreptitiously crossing his boyishly handsome face. “Hey, Taylor! How’s it going?”
I grinned at him knowingly. I’d seen the same genuine, excited look on Mac’s face so many times when he talked about his “babies,” as he called them. “Doing good, Fletcher, thanks.”
Quickly turning a shade of pink I was certain I’d never seen on his face before, Fletch scooted past me, grabbing the bowl from my hands as he went. And that was how the tables officially got turned on me inside ten seconds—ensuring I had heat-flushed cheeks to answer Fletcher’s shit-eating wink.
“I’ll get this to Tolly,” he drawled. “You’re welcome.”
I arched both brows. “Are you kidding me?”
He waggled both of his. “Why don’t you two kids stay out here and have a nice chat?”
I grimaced. Then huffed. There were such things as surprise setups, but then there were things such as full-on ambushes. I wrote myself a quick self-reminder. Next time Talia asks for help with the potato salad, pretend I’m late for a wax appointment.
“Shit.” We muttered it in tandem as Fletch shut the door, sealing us together in the massive laundry room.
“So.” I tried for nonchalance, certain I sounded like an idiot instead. “How’s it…uhhh…going, Mac?”
“Good, good. You?” His grin infuriated me and turned me on at the same time.
“Okay.” I shrugged, convinced I sounded like an idiot. Idiot. “You…uh…look good.” I inspected the floor while I spoke this time.
“Thanks. And you…do…”
His voice trailed off as we finally looked up together, right into each other’s eyes. I sucked a breath in. Holy shit. The awful-letter-writing clown was more gorgeous than I remembered. Those piercing green eyes. His umber hair messy yet perfect, like he’d just been for a ride with the top down and loved every second of it.
“Damn it.”
“What?” he prompted, taking a slow, purposeful step closer.
“You look better than good.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth, yearning to take it back the minute it slipped out. Shit, shit, shit, shit! Giving this man and his ego the upper hand was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Yeah?”
“You’re wrecking it by talking though.” My grin grew wider in proportion to his.
Until he wasn’t grinning anymore. Instead, as he reached out and touched my cheek, he was damn near somber about murmuring, “I’ve missed you, Taylor.” But the caress was over as soon as it started, and I instantly missed his warmth before he pulled away, betraying what looked like his own loss.
“Mac.” My voice was quiet, plaintive.
“Oh, sassy girl.” Without hesitation, he stepped right back in. He brought up his hand again, cupping my cheek with deeper pressure—but then, pausing there, his breath snagged and held as he watched me carefully, waiting for me. Needing my approval. Craving my yes…