4. Mack
CHAPTER 4
MACK
A m I surprised to see Gracelyn here this morning?
A little.
Did a small part of me hope she’d show up?
Maybe.
Okay, more than a small part of me.
Truth be told, I slept like shit last night. My mind kept circling back to Gracelyn and that kiss at the bar. How good she felt nestled in between my thighs, my palm cupping her ass. The way her lips felt against mine, soft and smooth and wanting. The memory of her curves pressing against me when we stood outside her door. The woman haunted me all night long and I woke up with a painful, achy hard-on.
I planned on going about my usual Sunday business. Getting chores done, doing yard work, catching some football on TV. But then I made coffee and ran out of creamer. Seemed like as good excuse as any to pop over to Mrs. Reynolds’s house.
Could I have survived without creamer for one morning? Gone to the grocery store to buy more? Hit up the local coffee shop? Yes to all of the above.
But the likelihood of seeing Gracelyn again would have been much slimmer in those scenarios. Popping next door to her mom’s house made bumping into her much more likely.
And this is the best-case scenario. Especially the way her entire body turns cherry red the second she spots me at the kitchen table with her mother.
Priceless.
Why am I such a dick?
I don’t know. Genetic, probably.
Damn, she’s cute as hell, getting all flustered. I’ve never seen her speechless before.
Until now.
“Uh, hey, Mack. Morning. What are you doing here?” she stammers, arching a suspicious brow at me.
“Outta creamer. Came to borrow some from your mom and she offered me a cup of joe. Real neighborly.”
“Anytime, sugar.” Mrs. Reynolds pats my forearm and Gracelyn’s eyes light on the gesture, but she quickly draws her attention back to my face.
“Mack was just telling me about the Homecoming game coming up. Did you know we’re three-and-oh for the season? Thunder Creek’s undefeated!”
“Early days, Ma. And I know what three-and-oh means.” Gracelyn sashays over to the cabinet, pulling a mug down from the shelf and pouring herself a steaming cup of coffee.
“Defeatist attitude, Grace. The team’s gonna be the best in the state, you watch.” Mrs. Reynolds wags her finger at her daughter, and I barely hold in the chuckle threatening to rumble from my throat. The only woman with more sass than Gracelyn is her mother.
“Hope so, Ma. That would be exciting.” Gracelyn sidles up next to me, bumping her knee against mine as she takes a seat.
She’s as pretty as she was last night, sunbeams streaming through the window and forming a halo around her golden curls. In the daylight, I notice the tiny pattern of cinnamon freckles streaked across her nose, the dimple in her right cheek when she smiles.
Gracelyn lifts the mug to her mouth and I catch the words etched on the cup: Awesome Like My Daughter.
Classic. I’m sure Gracelyn bought that as a gift for her mother.
“What?” She narrows her eyes at me, kicking my foot under the table.
“I was admiring your coffee cup.”
Her face breaks into a wide grin. “Oh, this? I got it for my mom for Mother’s Day a few years ago.”
Of course she did. Called that one.
Mrs. Reynolds rolls her eyes. “Only my daughter would buy me a self-congratulatory mug.”
“You don’t like it?” Gracelyn pops her lip out, acting hurt.
“No, I love it. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
“Geez, tough crowd.” Gracelyn tsks. “What do you buy for a woman who has everything she could ever want? Sorry if I was stumped. Next year make a wish list.”
“I think I will. Good idea. What are you up to today? And why are you here so early?” Mrs. Reynolds smashes her lips together and stares at her daughter.
“I wanted to pop in and say hi. And it’s not that early.”
“Please. You barely make it here for work on time. Anything before ten am is early for you, muffin.”
“Harsh. I’ll have you know that I was, uh, on my way to Pilates and thought I’d stop by to say hello.”
“Hmm. You’re going to Pilates in that?” She waves at Gracelyn’s shorts and V-neck tee.
“Yeah. They let you in, even if you’re not wearing lulu leggings.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Don’t think I’m going to Pilates anytime soon. You had a date last night, right?”
The apples of Gracelyn’s cheeks turn rosy. “Yeah, Mom. But Mack doesn’t want to hear about it, I’m sure.”
I work hard to keep a straight face as Gracelyn shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“A date, huh?” I goad, nudging her foot under the table. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about it.”
Gracelyn swallows hard, the sound audible, her throat moving with the effort. She’s off-balance as she searches for words.
“It was…fine.” Her fingers glide up and down the black ceramic handle of the mug.
“Only fine?” I catch her eye and the skin on her chest flushes, giving her true feelings away.
She definitely thought the night went better than fine.
Her reaction buoys me—this thing between us isn’t one-sided.
“The second half went better.”
“Oh? Sounds promising.” Mrs. Reynolds’s voice tips up with hope. “Are you seeing him again?”
Gracelyn locks her gaze with me. “I’m not sure, to be honest. We left it kind of open-ended.”
Wide open.
My muscles tighten under her stare, my body subconsciously flexing for her.
“Open ended?” Mrs. Reynolds cries, chiding her daughter. “Grace, you’re not in college anymore. The clock is ticking! If you want to get married and start a family, you better get going.” She taps her watch face for emphasis.
“Mother!” Gracelyn hisses. “Stop! I’m only thirty, for goodness sake.”
“Only thirty.” Mrs. Reynolds rolls her eyes. “By the time I was thirty, you were already in kindergarten. Y’all think you have all the time in the world these days. Flit about the globe, going on grand adventures, chasing careers.”
“I’d hardly say I’m doing any of those things, Ma. Trouble is, I live in Thunder Creek. There aren’t a ton of eligible bachelors sitting around.”
I clear my throat, scootching back from the table. Now it’s my turn to be uncomfortable.
“Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Reynolds. It was good seeing you, Gracelyn.” I nod in her direction and some type of emotion flashes across her face, but I can’t quite place it.
“You’re going?” Mrs. Reynolds presses her lips together. For a woman in her mid-fifties, I’m struck by how similar Gracelyn is to her mother. Same heart-shaped face, full bow mouth, even the same expressions.
“Yeah, I have yard work to do.”
“Okay. Before I forget—would you mind fixing that chair in the salon? Probably needs a dab of wood glue.”
“Sure. I can take it right now and get it back to you later today.”
“No rush. But I don’t want a client falling and breaking a hip.” Mrs. Reynolds rises and shuffles out of the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow. Gracelyn shrugs and does the same, and I follow behind them down the hall toward the salon. I’m glad her mother’s leading the way, giving me ample opportunity to appreciate the tiny shorts barely covering her daughter’s ass, the gentle sway of her hips. Her blonde ponytail swishes back and forth and I can’t help but think how it’d feel to wrap her hair around my fist and hold her tight, pressing my mouth to hers in a deep kiss.
Mrs. Reynolds flips on the overhead light, jarring me out of my fantasy. She points to an ornate violet chair in the corner. “That’s the one.”
The chair’s going to need more than a touch of wood glue, I can tell by the lean from way over here.
“Got it. I’ll see what I can do.” I grab the offending chair and maneuver through the narrow doorway, brushing against Gracelyn as I walk by.
Sparks fly up my arm and I work hard to ignore them, especially on account of her mother being a foot away from us.
“Let me get the door for you.” Gracelyn hurries around me, opening the screen door and holding it wide.
“Thanks.”
“Mom, I’m going to help Mack with the chair. Be right back,” she calls over her shoulder and I suppress my grin, happy my back’s to Mrs. Reynolds.
“Not sure how you’re helping me carry a chair, but okay…” I murmur, quiet enough that only she can hear.
That earns me a sharp elbow to the ribs.
“Open-ended, huh? Does your date know?” I tease.
“He does now.”
I suck in a breath, digesting her words, rolling them over in my mind.
There are solid reasons not to get involved with Gracelyn, but none of them seem all that important right now.
Setting the chair down on the driveway, I punch in the garage code and wait for the metal door to lift.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Hands on her hips, she stares me down, tapping her toe against the pavement and waiting for a response.
I carry the chair into the dim garage and she follows right behind me. Once she’s over the threshold, I hit the button and the metal door rumbles back down, hitting the concrete with a loud thud. A small, dusty window lets in a few weak rays of light and the scent of sawdust and gasoline floats on the air. I haul the chair over to the back wall where I keep my tools and set it off to the side for repair. Then I spin around and take two long strides toward Gracelyn, stretching my arms out on either side of her face and pinning her back against the wall. I’m close enough to hear her breath catch, watch as her pulse flutters in her neck.
I lean in. “We shouldn’t do this.”
She presses her pink lips together, her face falling in disappointment. “Oh.”
Her sweet floral scent assaults my nose, heat shimmering between us as her breath dusts my cheeks. The tip of her tongue trails along the seam of her mouth and every muscle in my body tightens.
This is a terrible idea.
Her curves brush against my chest with each shuddery inhale and I dip closer still. The crystal blue of her eyes darkens to a deep ocean, pupils wide.
I’m playing with fire and I damn well know it, but I can’t stop myself.
Don’t want to stop myself.
I smash my mouth to hers and every doubt, every hesitation, flies straight out the tiny garage window. Licking at her bottom lip, she opens to me and I slide in, tasting her. Our tongues roll together, tangling and fighting for dominance. Then her hands are at my chest, fisting in my shirt, pulling me up against her body.
“I thought we weren’t doing this?” she mumbles into my open mouth and I shake my head.
“We shouldn’t be.” One of her hands finds the nape of my neck, her small fingers twining in my hair. Sharp bolts fly through me as her nails scrape my sensitive scalp, my dick twitching against the stiff denim of my jeans.
I cup her face with my palm, my thumb running along her jaw. “This is probably a bad idea.”
“I’ve always been a fan of bad ideas.” She locks her gaze on mine and my heart pounds harder in my chest.
Fuck me.
Gracelyn’s exactly the type of bad idea I do not need. Young, perky, optimistic. We’re nothing alike and I already know this is going to be complicated.
I should definitely walk away, not take this flirtation or whatever we have going on between us any further.
Make the right call, Mack.
For once in your damn life, make the right call.