by Kyra Fox
I burst out into loud laughter. “Are you trying to be objectifying? Because I’m a guy, I’m actually really flattered right now.”
“You’re going to have to wait so long before we have sex again.” She rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head.
“Worth the wait. You’re one of those secretly naughty women, not easy to come by.”
“I have no secrets.” She lifts her chin, her eyes penetrating as she looks at me as if telling me she knows I have enough for both of us.
“Everybody has secrets, Zoe.” I can’t help but avert my gaze.
“I guess that’s true.” She finally looks away from me with a long exhale. “Do you like Korean food?”
“I like food.” I smile down at her, grateful for the subject change. “Scratch that, I love food.”
Zoe does a little bounce and claps her hands. “I’ve been dying to try this place but couldn’t find someone to go with.”
“Well, I’m your guy.” Being able to make her so happy by doing something so simple stirs a new kind of feeling, and as much as that scares me, I also never want to stop being the reason Zoe is happy.
ZOE
“Hands off!” I order Mac with a stern voice and even sterner gaze.
“But they smell so good!” He whines, dropping the cookie he was trying to sneak with a pout.
“They’re for after dinner, which reminds me—you still haven’t told me what all the ingredients you brought are supposed to end up as.” I resume slicing tomatoes as Mac stirs up a storm in a bowl, his shirt a complete mess due to my pink flowery apron barely covering his chest.
“And I’m not going to, because it’s a surprise.” He grabs some of the condiments he brought with him and shakes, grinds and pinches them into his mix. I never understood how you could just cook by feel. Baking has measurements, it has rules and structure; cooking is just one big game of guessing and intuition. That being said, watching Mac cook is now one of the top five sexiest things I have ever witnessed.
“Is my chopping up to par?” I abandon my knife and take a step closer to him. Licking my upper lip, I offer him a piece of tomato. Mac bends down and catches my fingers between his lips, taking the tomato into his mouth he sucks on them, his heated gaze fixated on mine.
“Perfect.” He grins and pulls me to him, our lips crashing together with unmeasurable passion. Mac lifts me up onto the counter, and I fist his shirt pulling him closer, our tongues dancing and hands exploring.
“Hey, do you hear ringing?” Mac suddenly looks up and scans the kitchen.
I reach for my cell and push Mac back, swearing when I see the time. It’s well after 5 pm, and the ringing isn’t from a phone, it’s from my laptop in the study.
“You can throw your shirt into the machine when you’re done,” I offer. Grabbing a towel, I jump off the counter and run to my desk, answering the incoming video call.
“Oh my God, what took you so long? We’ve been ringing forever!” Trista huffs in irritation.
“Sorry. I was cooking.” I wipe my hands off on the towel.
“Since when do you cook?” Phoebe frowns with a concerned stare.
I consider how to answer, it feels weird gossiping about Mac with him in the next room.
“Zo, are you still upset because Mac ruined you for all other men?” Trista asks, her voice full of sympathy.
“What?! I never said that!” I’m fairly sure those exact words, true as they may be, had never left my mouth.
“You didn’t have to, Sweetie, it was written all over your face when we talked last week.” Phoebe makes a comforting patting motion toward my image on the screen and takes a sip from her white wine.
“She doesn’t have that look today, though.” Trista leans forward inspecting me more closely. “Why is that?”
“Maybe she’s over it.” Phoebe shrugs.
“She is not over it,” Trista says with determination.
“Um, hello!” I wave. “I’m right here. Stop talking about me over my head.” Of course, I’m blatantly ignored.
“One does not simply get over being ruined for all other men.” Trista holds up her wine glass, pointing at the screen with a meaningful glare.
“So, I ruined you for all other men, huh?” A soft chuckle from behind me causes all the blood to rush to my face, and I bury it in my hands.
“Fuck,” I mutter into my palms. I hadn’t considered the option of Mac coming to look for me.
“Is that Mac?” Phoebe squints and leans closer to the screen.
“How embarrassing would it be if I say no?” I feel Mac’s hand on the back of my chair, he’s still laughing quietly.
“It is Mac!” Trista claps with excitement, and I feel my cheeks grow hotter under my hands. “Hi, Mac!”
“Hi, Girl-Whose-Name-I-Don’t-Know.” Mac tugs at my purple bangs trying to get me to look up. I shake my head in refusal. “And Other-Girl-Whose-Name-I-Don’t-Know.”
“Damn, Zo, you weren’t exaggerating, he really is gorgeous.”
I let out an exasperated groan, peeking through my fingers at Mac who’s wearing nothing but jeans, then wave in the general direction of the screen. “Mac, those are Phoebe and Trista,” I introduce. “Usually they’re my best friends, now they’re just being assholes.”
“I don’t know, Zo, Trista said I’m gorgeous.” He grins at me, and my stomach does a little flip flop. “And Phoebe sent you to my house wearing nothing but sexy-as-hell lingerie. So if you’re foregoing BFF rights—I’m swooping in.”
“As long as you promise never to wear a shirt, the position is yours.” Phoebe grins at her own cleverness and Trista giggles. I shoot them both a dirty look.
“You’re impossible, the lot of you.” I sigh in resignation. “I’ll talk to you guys later, K?”
“No, not okay,” Trista protests. “We want details.”
I look at Phoebe for help.
“Uh, uh.” Phoebe shakes her head. “Details.”
“How about I go set the table for dinner?” Mac suggests.
“Yes, that would be great.” I smile at him with a relieved sigh. “Could you please get me a glass of wine first? There’s an open bottle in the fridge and a glass on the drying rack.”
He salutes and winks at the screen. “See you later, BFFs.” A few minutes later, I have my wine, and Mac is raising hell in the kitchen.
“Gorgeous, funny, and cooks.” Trista grins. “He’s a keeper, Zo.”
“And those abs.” Phoebe fans herself with blatant exaggeration.
“And that grin?” Trista mock shudders. “I get why you were so obsessed.”
“I was not obsessed! And it’s a fling that will run its course.” I shrug, not wanting to get their hopes, or mine, up.
“So how did Mr. Gorgeous end up in your kitchen cooking for you?” Phoebe leans back and takes a sip from her wine, looking classy and put together and sexy as hell in her blue button-down blouse and impeccable makeup, her curly black hair made up neatly in a tight side bun.
Looking at my image on the screen I wince at how frumpy and tousled I look, my clothes stained and my short hair sticking in all sorts of directions from Mac’s thick fingers running through it just now when we were making out.
“He waited for me at Brain Juice yesterday.” I get up and go to the bathroom, holding my laptop. “Said he couldn’t stop thinking about our night together, wanted a chance for a real date.” It’s a bit simplistic, but I’m not ready to tell them what had really transpired between us. I’m not sure how to put it into words, but also because the girls would voice my own deepest wants and desires for the meaning of it all and I’m just not ready to face those yet.
“Aw, that’s so cute!” Trista places a hand over her heart, and even Phoebe seems satisfied with the answer, her eyes gleaming with excitement as her smile widens.
I turn on the faucet and wet my fingers, running them through my short hair to get it back in order, earning a huff from Trista whose wild mane is untamable by any me
ans other than braiding.
“We got coffee, walked around a bit, had dinner out, and today he’s cooking for me.”
“No sex?” Phoebe raises an eyebrow in skepticism, and I shake my head. “I’m proud of you. I think. Yeah, no, I’m proud.” She frowns at her own uncharacteristic confusion, and I roll my eyes with a smile.
“I’m happy for you, Zo.” Trista’s smile is full of adoration. “You need this; someone who makes you glow like that, makes you feel sexy and happy.” I smile as we keep talking about this and that, catching up, until it’s time to get back to the real world.
“I love you, guys.”
“We love you, too. Miss you like crazy.”
“We’ll talk next week, okay?”
“Friday BFF happy hour, every week as scheduled.” We wave and disconnect the call, and I feel an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, the loneliness creeping in, finding its favorite spot in my chest.
Suddenly there’s a large hand on my shoulder.
“You okay, Zo?” Mac crouches next to me, looking worried. He’s wearing his dirty shirt again.
I try to nod, say yes, but the emotions are flooding me, so I let the words flow, hoping I’ll feel relief voicing them out loud.
“We grew up together since birth. Everybody used to refer to us as sisters from another mister. I’m pretty sure some people thought we really were sisters. For twenty-four years, we did everything together, all our little routines and inside jokes. Every time I needed a shoulder to cry on or a hug, they were there. And then within the span of three months they both left, started a new life far away from the one we had here.” I sniff, and Mac gently wipes a tear that escaped from the corner of my eye. “I get lonely sometimes, that’s all, it’s no big deal.”
“It is.” He cups both my cheeks. “You should never feel alone.”
He stands and holds my hand, pulling me into his solid chest and wrapping me in his arms in a tight hug. I feel myself melt into him and his intoxicating scent, a mix of salty man scent with the sweet smell of sun-kissed skin and a faint trace of oil. It makes me think of hot summer nights at the beach.
“Mac?”
“Hmm?” He’s stroking my back soothingly.
“Somethings burning.”
He swears vehemently and runs to save our dinner. “It’s okay! I think we caught it on time!”
I laugh, and grabbing my wine, I follow him into the kitchen, only to stop dead in my tracks when I see the spread he laid out.
Mac poured himself a glass of wine and set it on the table next to a plate of baked vegetables, a bowl of tomato salad with basil and little mozzarella balls, and a quiche.
“Wow. You can bake a quiche.” I whistle. “Color me impressed! Tris was right, you really are a keeper.”
Mac laughs, a soft blush spreading over his cheeks. “I did a lot of the cooking at home growing up,” he says carefully as if he’s tiptoeing around a truth he doesn’t want to accidentally reveal.
“It’s a handy skill to have.” I want to know more about him, learn about his childhood and how he became the man he is, but it feels too early to press on a subject that seems to be so touchy for him.
“Yeah.” He purses his lips and looks down at his plate, poking a tomato with his fork and shifting in his chair restlessly.
“And it tastes amazing,” I say with my mouth full. “You simply must give me the recipe,” I drawl out in my best southern bell accent, and Mac laughs, looking up at me with smiling eyes.
“There is no recipe.” He grins at me, and I press my hand to my chest, feigning appall.
“Well, that’s just barbaric.”
Mac winks and serves me another portion of quiche. “I’d like to take you out tonight.”
I feel a smile creep to my lips.
“Where to?” I tilt my head and examine his face as he chews. I like sitting with him like this, a sort of calm idly drifting around us.
“Drinks, then to this pool parlor I like going to, Sticks.” He takes a sip of his wine. “Do you like pool?”
“Sure, like I said, anything that works on formulas is in my element.” Mac nods seemingly appeased with my answer.
“I usually meet some friends there on Friday.” He takes some more salad. “That okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds great.” A thought occurs to me. “Would it be okay if I invite my cousin to join?”
“Sure, it’s sort of an open event, people come and go all the time.”
I’m pleased with myself, hoping Brian will step out of his self-imposed solitude and join us.
We sit and eat for another twenty minutes or so before Mac wipes his mouth and stands. His arms circle my waist, and he pulls me against him. I mimic his gesture and slide my arms around him, grazing his skin with my fingernails, causing him to shudder. He bends down and plants a soft kiss on my lips.
“I should go home and change. I’ll pick you up at around 7:30 pm?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” I smile. “Thank you for dinner.” He smiles back and kisses my nose. “You’ve officially earned a cookie.”
“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air and scurries like an excited kid to the plate still waiting on the counter, stuffing an entire cookie into his mouth, causing me to double over with laughter.
“You’re not normal.” I clutch my sides as Mac struggles to chew and swallow.
“Best cookies I have ever tasted,” he concludes, grabbing three more in each hand with a grin and I can’t help but plant another kiss on his now-sweetened lips.
I walk him out and then message Brian and proceed to clean up after dinner, humming to myself the entire time.
Chapter Seven
MAC
At 7:30 pm sharp, I knock on Zoe’s door holding a bouquet of peonies in different shades of pink, not sure if it’s too much or not enough. On the one hand, this is officially a first, maybe second date and flowers seem a bit of an overkill. On the other hand, we’ve already seen each other naked, and then some, so maybe it’s not enough.
I got into my own head so badly I had gone and thrown the bouquet in the trash at the entrance to her building only to run back ten seconds later and pull it out, thanking every deity I could think of that there wasn’t anything too offensive in the bin.
Zoe opens the door, and her smile is radiant when she sees the flowers, melting my doubts away in an instant.
“You look great, Zo.” A smile spreads over my face as I take in the sight of her in a pair of dark jeans that hug her perfectly and a white-and-lilac striped long-sleeved button-down blouse made from some soft and slightly sheer cotton. Its tails are tied right above the waist of her jeans so when she lifts her hands a sliver of soft porcelain skin shows. Then she’s got on these black four-inch cone heeled boots that make it so I don’t have to dip quite as low when I kiss her.
“These are gorgeous.” She beams at me and goes to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.
“If you’ll look closely, you’ll notice that those are all the shades of pink I’ve made you blush in.”
Zoe giggles and put her palm on her cheek where a light hue of pink is creeping up.
“Ah, see.” I grin at her victoriously. “Now you’re this color.” I point at one of the peonies.
“Mac, stop.” She swats my finger away with a laugh, that same laughter that lights up the room and makes me swell with pride that I’m the catalyst for.
“I like that adorable blush of yours.” I hug her from behind and pull her back to my chest. “Makes me think of how low it’s spreading.” I trace her collarbone with my index finger, and our breathing goes heavy in an instant as the mood changes from playful to heated. “Remember how flawless you are in all those places your blush reaches.” I let my lips flutter over her neck as my finger trails down and I cup her breast through her blouse. “Perfect.”
“Not saying much coming from an ass guy.” She dismisses my compliment so easily, and I feel irritated; not at her but at whoever made her believe she�
��s anything less than perfect.
I spin her around to face me, not to berate her but to back her up against the kitchen counter, fusing my lips to hers and lifting her by her thighs, so she’s sitting on the countertop. I pull her close, bringing her hand to the front of my jeans.
“Do you feel that?” She nods breathlessly, her lips glistening from my kiss. “That’s all you, my little sex goddess, your tits, your ass, those rosy lips, those big eyes of yours, but most of all, that beautiful big brain. Every inch of you sets me on fire.”
“I want you so much right now.” Zoe’s voice is so thick with desire, it sounds like it’s coated with honey.
“I want you like crazy all the time, but I promised I was going to take you out on a proper date.” My mouth is on hers again, showing her just how hot I burn for her before I force myself to take a step back. “I owe you a night out with a nice charming guy.”
“Fair enough.” Zoe jumps off the counter, straightening her blouse and hair as she steadies her breath. “The flowers were a good start.”
I grin as we walk to the door, watching her as she locks up the apartment, wondering what it is about her that compels me to feel so fiercely—makes me give up a perfectly good fuck on the kitchen counter because I need her to want me, not the guy she sees as a meaningless screw.
On the way to my truck, we decide to go to Barron’s, a pub near Sticks that I’ve been sitting in since forever and have a couple of beers before going to meet my friends.
I glance over at Zoe as I drive, her short hair is slightly tousled from our unplanned countertop rendezvous, a few purple and brown strands standing out in weird directions. She’s looking out the window, her eyes are sparkling, but I can’t tell if it’s from the lights outside or if it’s a natural sparkle.
Suddenly her gaze softens, her hand goes to her lips, delicately grazing them with the tips of her fingers as she lets out an almost silent gasp before her lips curve up into a tender smile, a soft pink coloring her neck and cheeks. She’s beautiful.
I did that, I realize, and my chest fills with so many emotions at once, I think it might burst. I reach out and gently smooth the rogue strands of hair on her head, causing her to start as if she was so lost in her own thoughts, she had forgotten I was there.