Game of Hearts (Stacked Deck Book 3)

by Emilia Finn

  I saunter forward, employing my dance skills, since I don’t know how else to be sexy. I step over the bar, rest my hands on bare hips, and wonder, just maybe, if he actually does want me to play.

  His mood is already better, his bitterness washed away now that he has this new thing to hope for and work toward. He hasn’t scowled in two days, and while to most people, that would be normal, for us… for Mac… it’s almost a green light.

  “I’m not going to let this go,” I warn him. “Because you still look at my hips. You still look at my ass when I walk away, and your hands…” I watch as he brings them up in front of himself. “When I’m putting my hair up into a ponytail, your hands still flex.” I grin. “You want to pull my hair, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t! I don–”

  I lift a brow. “I think you do. I think you want me so much that you’ve considered doing away with your dick completely. Chop it off and solve all of your problems. But then you wouldn’t be able to touch it and think of me, would you?”

  His pupils, large and round, watch as I slide my hands over the front of my hips. I can’t keep it up, since we really do have to train, but still, I make my point. I’m wearing hot pink shorts with white drawstrings tied into a cute little bow, so I finger that bow, clasp it between my fingertips, and pull it forward. “Your life would be so much easier if you’d stop being such a prude.”

  I let the fabric slap back against my pelvis, then I turn away and move to the bar I’ve set up for myself. Bending over it, I peek over my shoulder and laugh when I find his head tilted and his hand in his shorts.

  He’s not even trying to be polite. He cups his junk and groans as I go deep into my squat.

  “Let’s go, Blair. Give me a set of ten, and as a reward, I’ll take my top off.”

  “Joke’s on you.” He pulls his hand out of his shorts and approaches the bar. “I don’t want you to take your top off. So maybe I won’t do my ten.”

  “Mmhmm. Joke sure does seem to be on me. How embarrassing.”

  Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel” comes to an end, and Brett Young comes through the speakers instead. Not really heavy metal lifting music, but still, I time myself to the beat.

  “Let’s go. One.”

  With the heavier weights, the heavy bar, and soft music playing, Mac and I work through our sets in tandem.

  To get the results I want, I’m going to have to split our five weeks up in a way that he still gets his sparring in, but not so much that he loses weight from the cardio. I want him to gain, and Mac already struggles not to lose weight – he’s one of those people, the kind who has to actively eat a lot not to get too skinny – which means I have to be careful to make sure he’s getting enough food to fuel the extra training and the extra muscle I intend for him to gain.

  The good news, I suppose, is that means he gets to eat. A lot. And since my body tends toward slim too, I get to eat as often as he does. Almost all of what we eat has to be healthy, but we always have room to move, to sneak in some of the yummier stuff, so after an hour of working with weights that almost send him to his knees from fatigue, and then half an hour of sparring in the regulation-sized octagon in my family’s gym, we pack up, mop up the sweat, lock the place up, and emerge into the freezing darkness.

  “I’m so fuckin’ exhausted.” He limps his way toward the ‘Cuda. He didn’t limp once while training, since he’s spent so long learning not to telegraph it to his opponents, but now that the metaphorical buzzer has sounded, he can’t help the pain that sits deep in his face, or the way his back drops out of alignment on every step he takes.

  It hurts him, but there’s not a lot we can do about it. I’ve spent so long worrying about his heart, there’s not a scrap of brain space left for me to worry about his aching leg.

  “Let’s go get something to eat.” I ignore my little hatchback parked two spaces down from his car, and instead slide into the purple muscle car when he unlocks it on his side. I toss my bag into the back seat, and slide onto the cracked leather as he does the same on his side.

  He grunts as he moves, groans when he gets the door closed, then, sitting back, he closes his eyes and simply… breathes for a moment.

  “I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard.”

  “It’s okay.” A groan rumbles from the back of his throat. His hair is still sweaty, since neither of us wanted to risk hitting the showers… all alone in the gym… in the dark. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair sticks to his brow, but his eyes remain closed for a minute more. “My leg bothers me around this time most days. It’s annoying more than anything else.”

  “How was your breathing? Felt good?”

  “Mm.” Finally, he opens his eyes and turns to me with a boyish smile. “Yeah, I could breathe fine the whole time. Even when sparring.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  My eyes go to his hands as he switches the car on, then as the muscled engine roars beneath us, vibrating the seat. For a moment, Mac’s smile almost turns embarrassed, probably because the car is this loud, not because he means it to be, but because the exhaust is broken. But when I smile, his eyes lighten.

  “You want a meal?” he asks. “My treat.”

  “Let’s go to the diner.” I settle back into the seat and almost purr as the car vibrates beneath us. “I wouldn’t mind some of the lasagna your mom makes.”

  “Milkshake too?”

  “Uh huh. Oh, but not for you.”

  I laugh when he turns to me with betrayal in his eyes. “I’m cutting dairy out of your diet for a few weeks. I wanna see what happens.”

  “What happens?” he balks. “What will happen is I will go insane. No milk? No ice cream!”

  “No cheese,” I add. “Oh, that means no lasagna for you. Maybe you can get the burger or something, but without the cheese.”

  “I hate you.”

  “And no more coffee. You shouldn’t be drinking as much as you do anyway. It’s not good for your heart.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles under his breath. I laugh as he pulls the car onto the road and drives us toward Main. “Coffee is good for me.”

  “It is not.”

  “It’s good for you too, because without it, I might be grumpier.”

  “Good lord, that must be impossible, right? There has to be a roof on how grumpy you can get.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve reached my full potential yet,” he teases. “Take away dairy and coffee, and we’re gonna be in for a ride over the next few weeks.”

  “I’m declaring it so,” I argue with a smile. “You want my help, then you listen to me. No coffee, no milk, no dairy at all.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to wake up in the mornings?”

  “With an alarm?” I jest. “Have you ever considered water with lemon in it?” I flash a playful smile as he pulls into the parking spots outside the diner. “It’ll hurt a little at first, but you’ll get over it.”

  “You too.”

  With my hand on the door handle, I stop, pause, turn to him with a frown. “Me too, what?”

  “No dairy. No coffee.”

  It’s like he punched me in the face.

  I bounce away from him with a jolt, a gasp, a broken heart. “Bite your tongue. This isn’t my diet. It’s yours. I can eat whatever the hell I want.”

  “No cheese,” he taunts. “No lasagna. And no pizza, since you’re unable to order it without asking for extra. No ice cream. No milkshakes. No coffee.” He stares right into my eyes. “It’ll hurt a little at first, but you’ll get over it.”

  He wants to play. He wants to challenge me, but that’s fine, because the boy in him, the one that wants to challenge those around him, turns me on. He made me fall in love a long time ago.

  “Fine.” I push the car door open and wait for him to climb out his side.

  “Fine?” He rests his elbows on the roof and watches me with suspicious eyes. “Just like that?”

  “Yup.” I peek past him, only to find the street
mostly deserted. Then I look over my shoulder, find the same thing. We’re basically all alone, so I lift a brow and meet his eyes. “Fine. I’ll give those things up for you.”

  “You will?” He pushes away from the door and meets me at the front of the car. “Your easy acceptance doesn’t feel very good. I wanted to fight with you.” He pushes the diner door open. Draws the attention of the cooks in the back – Stefan and Lachy – and his mom as she pours coffee for her only two customers as they sit at a table.

  “Yeah, I’ll give those things up easy…” I wait to make sure I have everyone’s attention. “If you take me to bed.”

  Mac’s mom gasps and sloshes coffee straight over the side of the mug, and Stefan drops his tongs.

  Mac’s eyes widen like saucers. “What?”

  “Yeah.” I take his hand, as casual as can be, and lead him toward the booth we always seem to end up in. “Take me to bed, and I’ll eat whatever diet you want me to. Easy.”

  “No.” He swallows – visibly, noisily – and helps me into the booth. Because despite all of his bad attitude and bravado, he’s still a gentleman. “No deal.”

  “No?” I ask.

  “No?” Katrina asks from twenty feet away.

  “Mom!” Mac spins on the woman and glares. “Stop listening to her speak like that.”

  “I can’t help it,” she snaps back. “You’re right there! And she said it so loud. And I’m not all about encouraging my son to… ya know… but ‘No’? Are you serious?”

  “Mom!”

  “What? You’re Mac and Bean. You’ve been watching her half your damn life, and you just got the offer of…” Her cheeks puff out with a deep breath. “I’m not okay with this discussion.”

  “So why are you a part of it?”

  “I’m just surprised, is all. Jesus, baby. You’re you. And she’s Bean. And you watch her walk. You stare at her hair. And neither of you are running around dating other people, because you know that ain’t allowed, even if you aren’t together.”

  The diner door opens again. Eric walks through with his and Katrina’s toddler on his hip. He was smiling, enjoying whatever joke he and Lauren were telling on their way in, but now he stops between Mac and Katrina like we’re slinging guns in the wild west.

  “What?” He looks to us. Then to Katrina. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mac said no when Bean asked him to take her to bed.”

  “Mom!”

  Eric’s eyes light up. “No shit? You a eunuch, kid? Did it fall off from disuse?” He wrinkles his nose. “Get a nasty infection? I knew we were due an illness sooner or later. The heart thing was forever ago. Is it too late to be saved?”

  “No!”

  “Oh, well…” He moves to his wife and drops a laughing kiss on her brow. “That’s a relief.”

  “No, I don’t mean…” Mac throws his hands up with frustration. “Stop talking about my dick! Stop talking about my sex life. Stop talking about Lucy.”

  “Ya know, it’s a shame you called him Mac,” Eric says to Katrina. “And not Mav. Mav, like Maverick. Then you have Lucy Goosey. Maverick and Goose. It was practically written in the stars. You confused their binary stars when you screwed up the name.”

  “I take full responsibility,” Katrina sighs. She looks me straight in the eye and pouts. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting for this day to arrive, but my idiot son is confused on the appropriate reply to your request. I mean, saying yes in front of polite company would probably also be inappropriate, but…”

  “Mom!” Mac snaps. “Quit it already, fuck!”

  Finally, her smile switches to something a hell of a lot more dangerous. “You’re going to want to reconsider cussing your own mother out, Macallistar Blair.”

  Mac visibly shrinks under the heat of her glare.

  “This is an emotionally taxing time for you, what with the fact I meant to call you Maverick, and not Macallistar. I take responsibility for my shortcomings, but that’s as far as my kindness stretches. Gonna swear at me again, baby?”

  “I dare ya,” Eric chortles. “Seriously. I will pay you a hundred bucks to tell your mom to fuck right off. No, two hundred!”

  “Shut up,” Mac sighs. Then he looks to his mom. “I’m sorry for cussing at you. I lost my mind for a sec, but it’s back now and I know better. But please, can we…” He looks to me. Glares with so much venom, I actually laugh. Then he looks back to his mom. “Can we not discuss this? Ever. It’s no one’s business but mine and Lucy’s.”

  “But you said no.” I’m the asshole kid, whacking a beehive with a stick. “I guess that makes it your problem,” I tease. “Something to think about tonight… all alone… by yourself with nobody else in your bed… maybe you can discuss it with your hand.”

  Eric bursts out with a throwing-his-head-back laugh, but Katrina’s lips curl with disgust. “Too far, honey. I don’t need to hear about that.”

  “But hearing about my sex life is fine?” Mac explodes. “Take Lucy to bed, and you all wanna cheer me on. But use my hand, and—”

  “Sweetheart.” Katrina pointedly looks down to the entertained couple sitting at their table. “No bathroom discussions while people are eating.”

  “I didn’t start this! You did.” He points at me. “She did! I just wanted to eat an effing meal after working out for most of the damn day.”

  “You’re so grumpy,” Eric pokes. “Maybe you should go talk to your hand now?”

  The diner door opens again, but this time, my smile vanishes, and my heart comes to an instant standstill. “Daddy?”

  “Hey.” He pauses. Looks around at Eric, Katrina, and Mac standing in a weird triangle of tension. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Katrina takes her coffee pot and drags Eric and their little girl toward the kitchen. “Lasagna, Bean?” she shouts from her place hidden behind the dividing wall.

  Defeated, Mac drops down beside me in the booth, which, I suppose is a win in some ways, considering he might have sat on the other side, so far away, if he’d taken a second to think it through.

  But then my dad slides into the booth across from us with a grin that makes me think of Deck the puppy. “What’s going on, guys?”

  I slide my hand into Mac’s lap and dare him to make a fuss in front of my dad. “Nothing. We locked the gym up a little bit ago. Getting a meal, then I was thinking about bed.”

  Mac chokes. On air. He literally has to beat on his chest to get the oxygen flowing into his lungs again.

  “You’re weird.” My dad watches Mac with knitted brows. “Seriously. Why are you always weird?”

  “Something to do with my stars, coach.” He whips a menu from the holder at the end of the table, despite the fact he’s been in this diner almost every single day of his life, starting from infancy, and knows exactly what’s available. He studies the plastic menu like it might save his life, and ignores Jimmy Kincaid’s glower.

  “What are you doing here, Daddy?”

  He finally looks away from Mac and smiles for me. “Mom wanted ice cream, so I was heading to Dixie’s, but I saw the car out front. Figured where one of you were, the other would be near. Hedged my bets, and found my baby. I’ll still get your mom’s dessert, but first…” He flashes a wide grin for Katrina when she drops two milkshakes down in front of us.

  Mac reaches out for his, but she snatches it away and slides it in front of my dad.

  With a filthy glare, Mac meets his mother’s eyes as if to argue.

  “She said no dairy, right?” Katrina lifts her chin in my direction. “She’s been your trainer so long that I kinda trust her opinion. She said no milk, means you get no milk.”

  “You putting him on no dairy?” Daddy looks to Mac with pitying eyes. “That sucks. I hate missing out on the dairy. Life almost seems like it ain’t worth living at that point.”

  “Dramatic,” I grumble.

  “You have no clue how miserable he is.” Laughing, Katrina squeezes Daddy’s shoulder and turns aw
ay. “Lots of alone time to contemplate this new diet of his.”

  “I hate you all,” Mac grumbles, but his voice, I swear, rises a dozen octaves when I slide my fingernail along the inside of his thigh.

  He’s rock-hard and in pain; I know this, because my wrist brushes over something that wasn’t there a moment ago, but he covers his pained groaned with a cough when Daddy’s eyes flip to him.

  “Something you wanna talk about?” Daddy asks him.

  “Nope.” Mac tears his leg from my hand, crosses his legs the way a woman might, but that lasts only a second before he realizes it’s uncomfortable. He drops them open again, but wider this time to compensate for crushing his balls a second ago. “I’ve just had a rough day is all. I’m beat and ready to go to bed.”

  Alone, I scream in my head.

  As though he can hear me, Mac’s eyes come to mine, they stare deep into my soul, and when my eyes widen from screaming alone, alone, alone, he merely shows a tight-lipped grin that says he can’t be provoked.

  Like my father feels the tension in the air – sexual or anger, I’m not sure – he stays right where he is while I eat the meal Katrina brings to me. He sits across from us, the proverbial third wheel, and makes Katrina snicker as she works, and the very second I shovel the last forkful of food into my mouth, he tosses enough cash down to cover everything all three of us consumed – including Mac’s burger, minus the cheese. Then, because I already know where this is going, I say nothing when I push Mac out of the booth and stand, only for my dad to stand too.

  “Where’s your car?” he asks.

  “At the gym. We drove here in the ‘Cuda.”

  “Alright.” He takes his keys from his pocket, flashes a playful grin at Mac, then throws an arm over my shoulder. “I’ll take you to the gym to get your car, then we have a date tomorrow morning. Say goodnight to your friends.”

  I catch a glimpse of a red-faced Eric giggling in the kitchen, and beside him, Katrina’s hand covering her mouth as she silently snickers. Baby Lauren races around and makes the cooks smile, but Eric and Katrina, purely entertained by me and Mac, watch on as I turn back to the table.