19. Mack
CHAPTER 19
MACK
“T hat game was wild.” Sloane slips into the only available booth at Mustang’s, a quiet spot in the corner. Well, quiet’s a stretch. The bar’s packed after we won the Homecoming game, filled to bursting with parents, alums—pretty much anyone in town over the age of twenty-one. All the kids’ll be out at the lake, whooping it up and doing things I’d rather not know about. In here, the grown-ups laugh, talk, legally drink, and watch the highlights of the game on the television above the bar.
Cam scoots in next to Sloane so Gracelyn moves to the other side of the table, taking the corner spot. I slide in beside her, and Carter pauses for a second before pulling up a chair at the end of the booth.
“Lightning Ridge played well. I knew they were tough, but that game was way closer than I wanted it to be.” Carter lifts his ball cap, smoothing his hair back before popping it back on again.
“Way closer,” I agree. “I’m glad the defensive line managed to stop them. If they scored there at the end, it was over for us.”
“Nice job on the defense, Mack.” Cam casually loops his arm around Sloane’s shoulders, tipping his chin at me in acknowledgement. “Those were some good moves you used, especially in the fourth quarter. Number 87 jumping to smack that ball down? Classic.”
“All those burpees coming in handy,” I joke, and Cam chuckles.
“Hate those things with a fiery passion. But maybe there’s a method to the madness.” Cam shakes his head, grimacing. “Not doing burpees is gonna be a highlight of retirement for me, not gonna lie.”
“I get it. Haven’t done one since I graduated college.”
Which was a long damn time ago. But I’m not about to bring that up right now, not in front of Gracelyn.
Luckily, a waitress interrupts to take our order and we quickly move away from the topic of college and aging. Something I’d rather not think about on a normal day, let alone in the context of Gracelyn.
She’s never said anything negative about our age difference, but sitting here tonight with her and her friends, there’s a different vibe. Amplified by the fact that my friend at this table is Sloane’s dad.
I suppose pairings like us happen every day, especially in a small town. But it’s still kind of strange and takes some getting used to.
The waitress returns with our order—we get great service, on account of winning the game—and we all raise our drinks in celebration.
“To victory.” Carter clinks his bottle with mine, unspoken mutual regard flowing between us. It’s nice feeling appreciated, especially when the man is a legend in his own right.
“Cheers!” Gracelyn taps my bottle with her glass of tequila, her hand resting on my thigh beneath the table. She beams up at me, a shimmery twinkle in her eye and a soft blush on her cheeks.
Don’t fuck this up, Mack.
She’s so enthusiastic, so innocent and unjaded. Up until now, everything with Gracelyn’s been fun and flirty. Sexy. But tonight feels different, more loaded. It’s probably just me being paranoid, but it’s like I’m under a microscope, the bright neon bar lights burning my face.
I don’t much care for the feeling.
“Mack, did you volunteer to chaperone the dance?” Sloane’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“What? Hell no. Did you, Carter?”
He shrugs. “Volunteer, no. Get volunteered, yes.”
I let out a hearty belly laugh. “Oh boy. How’d you get roped into that?”
“The student council advisor called me frantic because Mrs. Potter went home sick on Thursday. I’m taking her spot.”
“Sorry, man. That’s rough.” I take a sip of my beer, happy that it’s Carter and not me going to the high school dance.
“They needed two volunteers. I offered up your name. Figured you’d be available.”
I sputter on my drink, choking as the hoppy liquid flows down the wrong pipe. “What? For real?”
“Baker was supposed to take it. But Lindsey’s having Braxton Hicks and he’s worried about leaving her two nights in a row and for that amount of time. Doctor told her to avoid being on her feet for too long, just to be on the safe side.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Hot aggravation whirls in my gut as my mind pulls up a vision of a dark cafeteria, high school kids screaming and doing choreographed dances to whatever trash music’s popular these days. But I can’t very well say no to our friend and his pregnant fiancée.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as disappointment flashes across Gracelyn’s face. I know she wants to hang out after work tomorrow, possibly with Cam and Sloane.
Frankly, I want to spend every possible second with her too. If I have to chaperone a bunch of kids in the cafeteria, listening to lyrics I can’t decipher, I at least want my girl by my side. Maybe not the most romantic date ever, but we can probably sneak in a slow dance or two. Holding her curvy little body against mine and swaying to a slow beat does sound appealing.
I spin to face Gracelyn, ignoring the loud whoosh of blood roaring in my ears and the heat licking up my neck.
“Gracelyn, will you go to the Homecoming dance with me?”
The brightest smile I’ve ever fucking seen lights up her face, golden beams of sunlight shooting straight through her.
“Yes! I’d love to go to the dance with you.” She doesn’t hesitate at all, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me square on the lips right in front of everyone. Sloane, Cam, Carter—hell, the entire fucking bar. “This is going to be so amazing,” she murmurs and I panic for a second, hoping I’m not about to let her down big time.
“Just to set your expectations low—I’m not a good dancer. Don’t remember the last time I set foot on a dance floor, in fact.”
“That’s fine. I’ll lead.”
Despite my nerves, I can’t help but chuckle.
“Good luck with that.” Carter gazes at the two of us in amusement. “For an athlete, this guy’s got two left feet. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m sure she’s danced with worse,” Sloane says and Gracelyn nods, agreeing.
“For real. This is going to be so fun!” Gracelyn bounces in the tiny booth and I hope her expectations don’t far exceed the reality of going to a high school dance with me.