Hold It Close (MacAteer Brothers Book 3)

by ML Nystrom

  He let his eyes wander around the local watering hole. Lots of people gathered to celebrate the New Year with beer and karaoke. Laughter, loud music, a crowded dance floor, and full pool tables, yet he felt utterly and completely alone. He gestured for the bartender to get him another bottle.

  “Whatcha want this round?”

  “Whatever I haven’t had yet.”

  “You drivin’?”

  “Uber.”

  The man popped the top off a short, squat bottle and set it in front of Garrett. “Take it easy, buddy. Whatever you’re tryin’ to drink away tonight, you still gotta handle tomorrow.”

  Garrett grunted an acknowledgement of the man’s statement as he tipped back the new bottle and let the cold beer slide down his throat. This one had a citrus taste to it, and he grimaced at the flavor. Oh, well. He’d drink it since he paid for it. And he’d drink the next one and the one after that until the pleasant buzz in his head increased to the oblivion his fiancée seemed to enjoy so much.

  A short skinny man with a bowl cut and thick glasses got up on the small stage to sing into the karaoke mic. The opening of Tone Loc’s “Wild Thing” came through the giant speakers, and the man started dancing. At least he tried to. Garrett watched in fascination as he stomped and twisted in a weird fit that had no resemblance to the rhythm of the song. A few patrons seemed to know him and started shouting “Funky Tom! Funky Tom!” The man grinned and began the rap in a high singsong voice with the thickest southern accent Garrett had ever heard.

  None of the words matched up with the song, and they barely resembled English. Garrett turned to the bartender. “Am I that drunk?”

  He chuckled as he pulled a draft for another customer. “Nah. That’s just Tom. He’s harmless.”

  A woman sat down on an empty stool across the bar from Garrett. He noticed her when the bartender wandered over to take her order and put a full beer glass on a napkin in front of her. Garrett noted she was pretty, but his attention stayed on the fiasco of a show happening on the stage. The bartender came back and wiped down the counter, more out of habit than cleanliness. “I know. It’s a train wreck you cain’t stop watchin’, but folks round here like ’im. Like them real bad singers on ’Merican Idol. People put on that show jus’ to see others make fools o ’themselves. Name’s Gordon. My sister and I own the place. Nice ta meetcha.”

  Garrett took the man’s hand and pumped it twice. “Garrett. I agree with you about the train wreck.”

  He sipped at his beer and watched “Funky Tom” finish his song. The man took some awkward bows to cheers and applause. Garrett turned back to the bar. His head was woozy as the alcohol’s effects hit him. The clock read only eleven thirty, but he was ready to go. He turned on his phone with the intent of calling a ride, and the device zinged with a bunch of texts. A sour premonition hit him as opened the messages and looked at the pictures.

  Joy sent him a series of selfies. She wasn’t alone. He scrolled through shot after shot of her and an older man with dark, curling hair. Pictures of him sucking at her breasts as she made faces at the phone camera. Pictures of her with her mouth around the man’s dick. Pictures of the man behind her, his hands on her hips, doggie style. Some pictures had a caption.

  asshole.

  Eat shit and dye.

  I hate you

  They also had time stamps. Those pics had been taken and sent in the last hour. Joy was in bed, right now, getting herself fucked by another man. He didn’t have to guess who, as the man’s hand wore a familiar ring. Garrett finished the last of the beer and texted back.

  I’m guessing that is pinky ring Randy. In case you haven’t guessed yet, there won’t be a wedding. Have a nice life.

  Very carefully, he put the middle of the phone screen on the edge of the bar with one hand at the top and one at the bottom. One hard push, and the phone snapped in half. The sharp crack sounded in his ears and he tossed he pieces on the bar. “Throw that out, will ya?”

  Gordon wasn’t fazed at all to see a broken phone on his bar. Garrett supposed he’d seen plenty of odd shit in his job, including the illustrious Funky Tom who had seated himself and was talking animatedly to the woman across the bar. Garrett couldn’t hear the conversation, but he did notice the woman leaning away from Tom as the man invaded her personal space. She was smiling but clearly nervous about the attention she received from the local star.

  Don’t get involved, Garrett mentally told himself. You’re new in town. Don’t need trouble with the locals. Not your business. Stay out of it. He took a deep breath and thought about calling an Uber, but realized that wasn’t possible now. Shit.

  The woman looked more and more panicked as the hillbilly Romeo leaned in closer. From her expression, she was scared and didn’t know how to get away. Trapped was the word he used in his mind. He knew the feeling quite well and as much as he wanted to stay neutral, he couldn’t.

  He got up from his side of the bar and moved around to where the woman and Funky Tom sat.

  “Lotsa folks lahke ta come out an’ hare me sang. They gits all over the dayance floor and hava real good tahme. Ah can do Funky Col M’deeena too. Ever hare of MC Hammer? Ah sing like ’im real good.”

  “Um… I thought Tone Loc and MC Hammer were rap artists.”

  Funky Tom blinked at her behind his glasses while his brain processed her words. “Well, they’s sangers too.”

  The karaoke had paused in favor of the DJ and dance music. Garrett stepped in. He realized he was drunk and probably rude, but at the moment, he really didn’t care. “Want to dance?”

  A beautiful pair of coffee-colored eyes looked up at him in gratitude. “Absolutely.” She took his hand and slipped off the barstool. “Thanks for keeping me company, Tom, and good luck with the singing career.”

  The man’s brain shut down again. “Um… Okay. Ah’ll see yew round.”

  Garrett took the woman’s hand and led her to the crowded dance floor. The song switched to a slow one just as he turned to face her. She was shorter than he liked, but her heels made up the difference. Nice dress. Long brown hair nearly the same color as her eyes. Pretty face. Any other time, he might find her attractive, but at the moment his emotions were torn and raw.

  The woman smiled at his hesitation. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  The images of Joy with another man’s dick in her mouth flashed across his mind. He put his hands on the woman’s waist and drew her close. “I’m good. Let’s dance.”

  She put her arms around his shoulders, and a light floral scent drifted to his nose. “Thanks for your help.”

  “No problem.”

  “You sound angry.”

  “Been a shitty day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Just really bad timing.”

  “I get that. My day’s been rough too.”

  With the huge crowd of people, they couldn’t do much more than sway back and forth. Garrett tried to concentrate on the music, but his mind kept drifting to those graphic images. Pain, rage, betrayal, all fought for dominance in his heart, circling and fighting. Anger at Joy’s duplicity, pain at her unfaithfulness, more anger at him falling for it time and time again. All because he thought he loved her? The crowd, the noise, the happy party atmosphere became too much, and he couldn’t breathe. “I need to get out of here.” He looked down at the strange woman and impulse took him. “Come with me.”

  She stared up at him and met his gaze dead-on. “Okay.”

  He took her hand and pushed through the packed club until they reached the empty back hallway near the bathrooms. Garrett didn’t have a clue what impulse drove him, but the moment they got free of the crush of people, he turned and pulled the woman into his arms, dropped his head, and kissed her. She squeaked in surprise, but then opened her mouth to admit his tongue. It was a long, wet, desperate kiss. Garrett’s hand drove up to fist her hair as he devoured her mouth. She met him move for move, kissing him back with the same level
of need as his own.

  I should stop this.

  His dick had other thoughts. It got so hard, he expected his zipper to leave a zigzag impression on it. Someone slipped by them on their way out of a restroom and laughed at them.

  “Get a room before you ring in the New Year, man.”

  Garrett lifted his head and looked at the woman in his arms. Her lips were swollen with his kisses and her eyes glazed with desire. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize for grabbing her when she moved in and nipped at his lip, bringing his head back down to her for another long kiss. She pushed him backward through a door and closed it behind her. The muffled sounds of the club barely came through, and their heavy panting breaths were muffled by the storage room. They were alone.

  “You want this?” he asked, his voice thick.

  “Yes.”

  No games. No hesitation in her answer. His hand came up to lock the dead bolt on the door, while her hand found his zipper and freed his dick. It popped out with relief, and she palmed it, stroking from bottom to top. Garrett pulled out his wallet for the condom he carried and hoped it wasn’t expired. He got rid of her panties by jerking them down her hips to the floor. His fingers reached between her legs to find her wet and ready.

  “You sure?”

  She lifted one leg around his hips.

  “Yes.” Her breathy reply came out with a moan. “Please don’t stop now.”

  He hooked his arm under her leg, lifting her higher and spreading her further. His dick lined up with her slick opening, and he drove into her body with one stroke. She cried out, and her head slammed back against the door.

  “You okay?”

  Her eyes snapped fire. “Yes, I’m fine. I’d be better if you kept going.”

  Anger flashed through him. “You got it, lady.”

  His hips pistoned between her legs, driving his dick in and out of her channel. Echoes of their skin slapping together rang in tandem with her mews and cries.

  She clawed at his back panting with need. “Yes, that’s it. Make me come.”

  He grunted and pounded harder, knowing the both of them would be sore and bruised the next day. This was fucking. Angry fucking. Hurt fucking. Frustrated animal fucking. Every negative, depressed thought he’d had for the last week went into each thrust as he exorcised his personal demons.

  The countdown started, and he could hear the muted chant of the crowd.

  “Ten… nine... eight…”

  “I’m coming. I’m coming,” the woman gasped. Garrett moved faster. She cried out and her pussy gripped him in a tight fist as the waves of her pleasure washed over her.

  “Seven… six… five…”

  A familiar tingle started at the base of Garrett's spine. His ears roared with white noise as his own crept up on him.

  “Four… three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

  He slammed into her one more time and came in long spurts, filling the condom and gulping for air. He stayed buried to the hilt in the woman as the last of her spasms milked him of every drop. Christ, he felt good. Like he’d dropped a hundred and thirty-five pounds of dead weight in a few minutes and now he could breathe again. Relief flowed through his body, and his brain grew dizzy from it. He leaned into the woman and pressed his forehead against hers, enjoying the moment.

  Too bad reality decided to rear its head.

  “Um… could you… uh… please. You know….” The woman pushed at his shoulders.

  Garrett slipped out of her. She snatched up her panties and moved stiffly behind a set of shelves loaded with liquor cases without meeting his eyes. Shit. “You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

  His situation crashed around him, and the mental weight he’d lost came back with interest. He had just fucked a stranger standing up in the storeroom of a bar he’d never been in until tonight. A sour taste erupted at the back of his throat as the beer he’d drunk earlier threatened to make a second appearance. What the hell had he been thinking? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the way he treated women. This wasn’t right.

  The walls seemed to move inward, closing in on him and squeezing the air from the room. He stripped off the condom and threw it in the direction of a trash can, hoping it made it in. He tucked himself back in his jeans, zipped them, and fumbled for the dead bolt. The noisy crowd still cheered in the New Year. He pushed his way to the bar with one focus. Escape.

  “Cash me out, Gordon, and call me a cab, would ya?”

  The barman rang up the total and swiped his credit card. “Rides are already lined up outside. You looked rough, pal.”

  Garrett stayed silent and signed the slip of paper. He didn’t quip or say goodbye when he walked—no, ran out the door. A bunch of ride shares and taxis were stacked one after the other on the street, and Garrett picked one at random.

  “Where to?” The pimple-faced driver looked like he ought to be in high school.

  Garrett gave the address and flung himself into the back. The driver took the hint and kept his own silence during the ride.

  The house was still empty when Garrett arrived. It wouldn’t be for long. He expected Connor, Bev, and the kids to be home soon. He ran up the stairs to the guest room with the intention of taking a shower, getting into bed, and forgetting tonight ever happened. Could he? Could he forget the bar? The woman? Could he forget the satisfaction of coming inside… inside…

  Christ, I never even asked her name.

  Garrett looked at his haggard face in the mirror. “You are a piece of shit.”

  He bent over the toilet just in time and emptied his guts into the porcelain bowl.

  Four

  What in blazes did I do? I asked myself as I heard the man zip up and leave. I leaned against the stall door, my vagina throbbing from the vigorous workout. I came here tonight to get away from the quiet of my house and ended up having sex with a stranger in the women’s bathroom. Cheese and crackers, I practically jumped the man. Nope. No practically about it. I did jump the man!

  My day started out with yoga and my sister in her home studio among the racks of workout clothes she sold online. Again, she’d pushed for me to join her and Jerry at some posh party at a resort hotel, and again I declined. All I wanted tonight was my own company in my own space.

  At least it started that way.

  Halfway to midnight, I got a call from Karl, my ex-husband. We parted as friends. No contest to the divorce, no bickering over dividing our possessions and assets, no real anger or devastating hurt. We both expressed our disappointment, but not the bitter kind. Our split might have been the most amicable one ever in history.

  That was, until I talked to him this evening.

  And he told me he was getting married.

  Punch to my heart.

  To the woman he’d been having an affair with for two years.

  Punch to my mind.

  And they were expecting a child.

  Punch to my gut.

  His reason for telling me was so I didn’t find out another way from mutual friends and he thought the news, though tough, should come from him.

  I’d thanked him and hit the hang-up button then placed my phone on the kitchen counter. I hadn’t known what to think or feel. I didn’t love Karl anymore, but finding out he’d had an affair affected me, and questions crowded my head. Did the affair cause us to stop loving each other? Or was it the result of our fading love? Perhaps our dedication to our jobs? Could we have found our way back as a couple if it didn’t happen? Would I have wanted that possibility, or was I more satisfied now with my new life?

  I should have been over it. It shouldn’t have mattered to me. But it did.

  I’d looked around my little cottage, a work in progress of becoming a home. I had a home once with Karl. Or did I have a home once with Karl?

  Punch to my spirit.

  Loneliness had suddenly hit me with power enough to make my knees buckle. I had the fleeting urge to cry and talked myself out of it. People.
I needed to be around people.

  Which was how I’d ended up at the closest bar I could find, attempting to drown out my raw emotions with a crowd, a drink, and unplanned sex with a stranger.

  Of course, when I’d first seen him across the bar, I didn’t think he was a stranger. It took a second glance to realize he wasn’t Owen, the man I’d hired to help with renovations. This guy’s build was smaller than Owen’s and his hair a darker color, closer to auburn. Owen kept a trimmed beard and a crew cut, whereas this guy sported a five o’clock shadow and longer hair in a messy swept back look. He was handsome, but not drop dead gorgeous. He had a nice body from what I could see of his broad shoulders. His actions didn’t make him look like an outgoing party man. In fact, his air seemed subdued, and could even be described as sad, which mirrored how I’d felt so closely that I’d thought we should get together for a night of commiseration and drowning our sorrows.

  Then he’d rescued me from drunk Tom and danced with me in a way I didn’t remember Karl ever doing, and somehow that wayward thought had become reality.

  Then I had sex with him. No, I fucked him. Against the wall of a storage room. In a bar I randomly picked on Google. I didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk.

  The click of the lock being opened and the surge of celebratory sound told me he’d left. This might be a normal occurrence for him, and since I stayed hidden behind the shelves, he’d decided to go back to his drinking in the New Year.

  Me? I had trouble processing the last twenty minutes. I slipped into the ladies’ bathroom to get myself back together. My hands shook as I smoothed them over my hair and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes appeared glazed and my lips puffy courtesy of his wild needy kisses. I couldn’t complain as I’d given as much back and demanded more. I placed one hand over my stomach. Oh my word, I could still feel him there. That first push when he filled me so completely. The hard pounding between my legs as he made me come. The fact that he took care of me by having enough sense to don a condom when my only goal had been to get him inside of me as quickly as possible.