9. Mack
CHAPTER 9
MACK
D amn, Gracelyn lived up to her nickname. When I called her Firecracker, I had no idea just how accurate that title is. She’s absolute fire, alright. Wild and responsive, fucking without restraint. Her body lighting up everywhere I touched. The woman’s sexy as hell, with those luscious, creamy tits and that perfect peach of an ass. The way her ivory skin turned pink with the slightest smack, her breath catching as I squeezed the soft globes of her cheeks.
She’s an amazing woman. Someone I’d very much like to be with again.
And when she called me Daddy? Yeah, that did something to me too.
A new kink unlocked.
Good god, Mack. She’s your next-door neighbor’s DAUGHTER.
This is a very bad idea. A terrible idea.
I should one thousand percent delete her number and pretend nothing happened between us last night. Let her down easy and never go there again. Leave it as a one-time thing, an itch we had to scratch and get out of our systems.
Find someone my own age to play kinky games with. Not a hot, curvy woman ten years my junior. Everyone in town’s gonna talk, and I don’t much care for being the subject of gossip.
Mack: How’d you sleep, baby girl?
My thumb hits send before good sense kicks in. Clearly thinking with my smaller head this morning.
Silence.
She’s probably still sleeping. I roll out of bed and stretch, my spine cracking like it always does these days. That’s what happens when the game of football’s been your life for the better part of almost twenty years. Lots of creaking and groaning—much like the vintage furniture people hire me to repair—especially first thing in the morning.
I lumber out to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee, add a splash of creamer. The sun’s barely peeking over the horizon, the first golden rays of light filtering through the old oak in the yard. The tree’s still green, but the leaves are starting to think about changing. In a few weeks, all of Thunder Creek will be ablaze in reds, oranges, and golds, the air moving from hot and humid to crisp and cool.
Fall is upon us.
The busiest season, with football taking up most of my free time. Another good reason to stop this situation with Gracelyn before it gets going.
I don’t have time to date.
Kinda bullshit, but seems like as good a reason as any.
Buzz, buzz. I stare at my cell, vibrating on the table. Much as I’d like to deny it, my heart’s beating faster than normal, and it’s not from the caffeine in one lousy cup of coffee.
Blowing out a breath, I pick up the phone and read the text.
Firecracker: Fine. Probably a good thing you left last night
Mack: Why?
Firecracker: I bet you snore
Chuckling, I shake my head in disbelief. This woman’s something else.
Mack: For the record, I do not snore
Firecracker: How do you know? You’re asleep
Mack: No one’s ever mentioned it before
Firecracker: Probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings
Firecracker: Guess you’ll never really know…
Damn, now she has me second-guessing my own sleeping habits.
Mack: Are you volunteering as tribute?
Firecracker: IDK. Can I afford to miss a night of beauty sleep?
Mack: 100%
What the hell am I doing? I left Gracelyn’s house last night, vowing to not go there again. Now here I am, less than twelve hours later, flirting with her and talking about sleeping over. I’m a confirmed bachelor, the type of man self-help books label a commitment-phobe.
Yet it’s easy to slip into this thing with Gracelyn. She’s fun to banter with, witty and clever. The kind of woman I could really fall for.
Except I can’t, for all the reasons. Age. The next-door neighbor thing. The fact that she probably wants to get married and have babies and I’ve been alone for over twenty-odd years. I’m perfectly content on my own and I’m pretty sure that I’d just screw a kid up. Fatherhood’s never been on my radar and I doubt I’d make all that great of a dad.
Still, my fingers hover over the keyboard. Extremely interested in finding out what exactly Gracelyn’s doing tonight.
Mack: You busy tonight?
I hurry and hit send before I talk myself out of it. There’s a long pause and my heart’s pounding a mile a minute as I stare at the phone like it’s a freaking crystal ball.
Firecracker: Yeah, late night at the salon
My chest stiffens as regret washes over me. She’s busy. I should let it go. Move on, like I planned.
Mack: What about after? You’d be pretty close by
What am I doing here? Sure, I’d love to see her, be with her again. Kiss that pretty mouth of hers, run my hands up and down her body, and see where the night takes us. But I need to be a logical, responsible adult here.
I stare at the screen, waiting.
Buzz, buzz.
Coach Carter: Pizza at my house after practice? We can catch Monday Night Football
Coach Carter: My fantasy team’s kicking your team’s ass
It’s a sign. The universe does not want me to see Gracelyn tonight. I should play it safe and hang out with my friend. Watch football, drink a beer, and forget all about my neighbor’s sexy daughter.
Buzz, buzz.
Another text comes in, this time from Gracelyn.
Firecracker: Sorry, but I can’t make tonight work
I huff out a deep sigh, frowning down at the screen, jaw tense. I took a risk and it didn’t pan out.
Happens to the best of us, but it still fucking sucks. I’m surprised at how sharp the sting is, stabbing me in the ribs. Perilously close to my heart.
I shove that disconcerting thought away and text Coach back.
Mack: Sounds good. See you later
After chugging the rest of my coffee, I fire off a quick text to Gracelyn.
Mack: Too bad. Have a good day, Firecracker
Hitting send, I try not to dwell on the fact that I got rejected. I head to the shower to get ready for the day.
* * *
The best part about owning my own business, Made by Mack, is all the glorious alone time. Plus, the bit about playing with power tools and building shit. Also pretty amazing.
I started Made by Mack the day after I moved to Thunder Creek ten years ago. The period of time my mother affectionately calls my quarter-life crisis, which she’s pretty certain I’m still in the throes of.
I fervently disagree.
Getting my carpentry business up and running was one of the best decisions of my life. I have the triple gifts of time, money, and freedom, and I don’t take any one of those for granted.
And typically, I thoroughly enjoy each of those blessings. But today, the solo time stretches and yawns like saltwater taffy baking in the sun. Long and drawn-out, hot and sticky and never ending.
Everything Gracelyn runs through my head on loop. Her wide smile, her infectious laugh, the musky scent of her sex. The way her eyes fluttered shut when she came all over my cock.
I saw and sand, measuring and remeasuring the Sanderson cabinets. But still, she’s there. Right here with me, rubbing her luscious curves up and down my body. Begging for more.
I check the clock. Minutes tick by, but not fast enough.
Time doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not seeing her again. So who cares? It’s not like I have something to look forward to later tonight. Much as I love the guy, pizza with Carter is not the same thing as seeing Gracelyn.
I won’t have her hair wrapped around my fist as I drill into her tight pussy. She won’t giggle at my jokes as we banter back and forth. Her fingers won’t lace through mine as we cuddle on the sofa.
I turn back to the cabinetry plans, double-checking the dimensions, then measure again. Make a cut, sand the edge, measure, make another cut.
Finally, the work day is over and I can escape the confines of my garage. I unplug the wood saw, toss the safety goggles on the back counter, and change into my coach’s uniform for practice.
Walking out to my truck, I catch sight of Mrs. Reynolds launching a lumpy garbage bag into the trash can at the side of her house.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds,” I call out, waving across the lawn.
“Afternoon, Mack. You let me know when you’re done with the chair and I can send Gracie over to pick it up.”
My mind flashes back to Gracelyn’s glistening pink pussy last night, how sweet she tasted as I knelt between her thighs and feasted.
I shove the thought away as I stare across the yard at her mother, hand over her brow shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Reynolds. As soon as I’m finished, I’ll bring it over.”
She shakes her head, her dark curtain of hair swishing on her shoulders. “You’re too good to me, Mack. Thank you.”
Doubt she’d think that if she knew what her daughter and I got up to last night. Guilt gnaws at my gut and I hold back a grimace, forcing a smile.
“Welcome.” I wrench the truck door open and hop in, eager to shut down this conversation.
Turning the key in the ignition, I fire up the engine and gun down the driveway. The scent of Gracelyn’s perfume lingers in the cab and my dick springs to life, stiffening in my shorts.
Not the time, dude.
How am I so hung up on this girl after only a few days? This is madness.
I coast through town, finally pulling into the lot of the high school. The sharp tweet of a whistle sings through the air, and I grab my playbook out of the backseat.
Sauntering onto the field, I join the other coaches on the sidelines.
“Glad you could make it, Mack,” Coach Baker calls from the end of the bleachers.
“Y’all started early.” I check my watch, noting it’s only five minutes after three.
“No, we started on time. You’re late.” Baker chucks a football at me and I shoot my hands out, catching the ball before it hits me square in the chest.
“You two quit bickering. You sound like old married people.” Coach Carter strides over to me, adjusts his ball cap. “Boys are warming up. Baker, you’ll take the offense and run drills, then the plays we’re gonna use on Friday night. Mack, take the defense and do drills, then practice blocking. Sandalwood’s got a tough offense this year.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. I’ve seen the film from the last few games. They have a wide receiver on the roster rumored to be getting recruited by Alabama—fastest kid in the state. Stopping him is going to be a challenge if he gets the ball in his hands.
“Got it, Coach.” I twirl a finger in the air, signaling to the defense to follow me to the opposite end of the field.
“Okay, boys. We’re going to start with drills this afternoon. First up, the redirect drill. Remember we did this last week. Get into your lines and let’s go.”
The boys fall into their three lines, one behind the other, and I stand five yards ahead of the first line.
“Now, first row—I expect to see y’all exploding off this line. Keep your eyes on the ball. Ready?” I snap the football off to the left and the front row moves, chasing the ball down the line.
“That’s it! Yes, Griffin, just like that. Take the shortest route possible. Next line!”
The second row moves up, taking position, and I fire off the football. This time I snap the ball to the right and a few of the players scramble.
“Some of y’all guessed wrong,” I chide. “Watch my eyes. Next!”
The third row steps up and I snap the ball to the far right. None of the players misstep, all moving toward the ball this time.
“Good work, third line. First line—again!”
We run the redirect drill five or six times, then I move the players down the field to the blocking stations. They practice tackling with the dummies and I scribble notes for Friday’s game. Sweat beads on my low back and my polo sticks to my skin, although it’s nearly five pm and the sun’s quickly sinking.
Finally, Coach Carter blows his whistle, signaling the end of practice.
“Good work today, boys. See you tomorrow!” He waves everyone off and Baker and I walk around, collecting equipment.
“Baker, you coming over for pizza?” Coach Carter asks, tossing a football into the mesh gear bag.
“Can’t. I promised Lindsey I’d work on the nursery this week. She’s starting to panic that the room won’t be ready in time.”
“Dude. Don’t you have a few months still?” I frown over at him, wondering when my friend transformed.
“Yes. Four months, most likely. The doctor explained to her that she probably won’t deliver early, since this is her first pregnancy and all. But she said she’ll feel loads better once the nursery’s ready.” Baker throws up his hands in defeat. “Whatever. I just want to make her happy right now.”
Coach Carter chuckles, shaking his head. “The old mantra, ‘I just want to make her happy.’ Words to live by, Baker.”
“Whipped,” I mutter under my breath, teasing, and Baker punches me in the biceps.
“One day you’ll understand, Mack. Sometimes the path of least resistance is better. Happy wife, happy life.” Baker fishes his keys out of his bag, throwing the duffel over his shoulder. “See y’all tomorrow.”
He hustles off the field and I stare at his retreating backside.
“Tell me that doesn’t happen to everyone.” I turn to Coach Carter, searching for reassurance, and he just laughs.
“Wish I could, Mack. But happens to the best of ‘em. Come on, let’s drop off the equipment and go watch the game.”
Two hours later, the pizza’s devoured and I’m two beers in, my max on a weeknight. We’re sitting in his living room at opposite ends of his ancient sofa, the television blaring.
“I thought this game would be closer,” Coach Carter grumbles, stretching his legs out. Carter’s tall, six-three at least. A former football player himself, he seems oversized in the tiny space.
“Yeah, it’s not very riveting, that’s for sure.” I pick at a callous at the base of my hand, wondering how much longer I need to stay. Normally, we watch the entire game including the recap. But tonight, I have other things on my mind.
Namely, a certain curvy blonde I should stay away from.
“You check your fantasy? Looks like you’re back in good standing after tonight.” Carter taps on his cell phone, scrolling through the fantasy football points.
“Not yet. I had total faith.”
That’s a lie. I purposely kept my phone in my pocket to avoid the temptation of texting Gracelyn.
“You okay? Baker get you worked up tonight? You seem distracted.” Carter narrows his deep blue eyes at me, like he’s reading the field. I try not to squirm under his stare.
“Me? Yeah, I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be?” I take the last slug of my beer, set the bottle on the coffee table.
“I don’t know. You just seem off is all.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Busy day today.”
If you count building one order of cabinets as busy.
The only thing busy today was my mind, dirty fantasies of Gracelyn playing in my head.
“I’m gonna go.” I stand and stretch, then gather up the bottles and take them into the kitchen. Chucking them into the recycling, I shuffle out to say goodbye.
Carter’s gazing at the screen, his lips moving as he watches the next play. I swear, that man is perpetually coaching football. Even when no one’s watching.
“Night, Carter. See you tomorrow.”
He shoots me a wave, but doesn’t move from the sofa. We’ve been friends long enough now to skip the formalities.
“See ya.”
I let myself out, the air much cooler than inside the house. A shiver rolls through me, but it’s not only from the change in air temperature.
No, every inch of me’s suddenly wide awake and fully alert.
All day long I tried to stop thinking of Gracelyn, but I can’t. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I want to—need to—see her again.
I have one last stop I want to make tonight and I’m almost positive it’s gonna be the highlight of my day, assuming she’ll let me in.