Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain)

by Rebecca Brooks

  Abbi pulled out her phone to exchange numbers with her catch. She shot Mack a glance over the table, as though Mack needed a reminder as to how this game was played. Okay, fine. She’d do it. But when she grabbed her phone, she saw the most recent text from Connor.

  FYI, I’m prepared to be persistent.

  Annoyingly persistent? Mack wrote back, shielding the screen from the other guy’s eyes.

  Connor wrote back with three smiley faces in a row.

  Hoodie said, “Here, give me your phone and I’ll put in my number. Call me when the new restaurant opens. Or maybe I can take you out to dinner before then.” He smiled, a dimple in his left cheek, and Mack couldn’t ignore that he was genuinely attractive. And he knew how to do what Connor didn’t: talk to her, get her number, ask her out on an actual date.

  She should say yes. It could be good. It at least wasn’t someone in Gold Mountain. Someone she’d known for years. Someone who communicated in emoticons.

  She closed her messages and pulled up her contact list. She handed her phone over, fingers, toes, and eyeballs crossed that Connor wouldn’t text something obscene while the guy had her phone. When he passed it back, she saw he’d saved himself as Cute Adam.

  “What about all the other Cute Adams in my phone?” It was out of her before she could stop herself.

  Mack felt Abbi’s toe nudge hers under the table. Play nice, it warned. But how could she be expected to get through a whole dinner with someone who couldn’t make up a good comeback on the spot? Who couldn’t make fun of himself just a little?

  “I’m the one from Bellingham?” he tried.

  She forced a smile to smooth things over. “I’m kidding, you’re way cuter than all the other Cute Adams from Bellingham in my phone.”

  He sort of laughed, but it was halfhearted. Mack couldn’t help wishing she could hear whatever zinger Connor would have come up with.

  Things went downhill from there, until Motorcycle Man finally put them out of their misery by saying he had to take off. Mack was relieved when it was back to her and Abbi, although she tried to seem enthusiastic when she told Adam she’d call.

  “At least one of us got a date out of that,” Mack said when they were alone.

  “Yeah,” Abbi said. “You.”

  “I was talking about you,” Mack said in surprise.

  “Fat chance,” Abbi grumbled. “Other women got in the way.”

  “What?”

  “Two teenage daughters he’s supposed to pick up from their school dance tonight.”

  “On that bike?”

  “Next round of drinks says there’s a minivan back home.”

  “And a wife?”

  “He claims they’re ‘in the process of separating,’ whatever that means. But I’m not holding out for someone who’s not actually free. Especially if he’s late picking up his kids because he’s chatting someone up at a bar.”

  “Sorry,” Mack said sympathetically.

  “It’s okay, nothing happened. But you.” She shook her head. “Cute Adam was decidedly single, untethered, and into you, and you were decidedly not encouraging.”

  “He was no fun,” Mack protested.

  “He had dimples!”

  “Where’s the witty repartee? Verbal foreplay? How’s he going to talk me to my knees if he gets tongue-tied at the simplest thing?”

  Abbi shook her head.

  “What?” Mack asked.

  “You know if you want a sparring partner, I can think of one.”

  Mack rolled her eyes. “I want someone who’ll talk to me, not make me miserable.”

  Abbi grinned. “I love that you know exactly who I’m talking about. Because it’s true. You and Connor would be a perfect match—if either of you could see it.”

  “I know you think I’m being picky,” Mack groaned, “but I’m looking for someone who can put a sentence together and knows when to shut up.”

  “Speaking of—who are you texting with, anyway? I saw you grinning at your phone when I came back from the bathroom, and you definitely got a message while I was talking with what’s-his-face.”

  “You’ve already forgotten his name?”

  Abbi shrugged. “Out of sight, out of mind. Anyway, don’t think you can weasel out of answering my question.”

  “Sure I can,” Mack said. “And it’s nothing. Claire being funny, asking if we’re having a good time. She was on round four of reading If You Give A Mouse a Cookie to Maya before bed.”

  “I love that book.”

  “I think it starts to lose its luster after round twenty or so.”

  “Yeah, that’s how I feel about men and their cocks.”

  They burst out laughing, made worse when they realized the couple sitting next to them had heard and looked over in shock.

  “Come on,” Mack said, still giggling. “It’s late. We should get back.”

  They were in the car, winding up into the mountains, when Mack’s phone vibrated again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “Your phone’s blowing up,” Abbi observed.

  “It’s probably Claire.”

  “This late?” Abbi shook her head. “Claire’s been conked out for hours. Want me to check?”

  “No!” Mack said way too loudly and grabbed her purse from Abbi, who’d picked it up to root for her phone. “I mean, I’ve got it.” The last thing she needed was for Abbi to see Connor texting her something dirty. Or, God, he’d probably send her a dick pic with some joking-but-not comment about dessert and Abbi would see it and freak. What part of I’m out with a friend didn’t that boy understand?

  She pulled out the phone and glanced at it to confirm there weren’t any visuals.

  He’d written: Run, don’t walk. This cake is that good.

  Mack groaned out loud.

  “Not Claire?” Abbi said.

  “Connor,” she admitted. “Work stuff.”

  “At eleven thirty on a Friday night?”

  “What can I say, we’re workaholics.” Which Abbi would at least believe. “I can ignore it until tomorrow.”

  “You can call him if you need to, I don’t mind.”

  “Please.” Mack rolled her eyes. “I already work with him—why would I want to spend another second dealing with him if I don’t have to?”

  Abbi laughed. “Is he driving you apeshit?”

  “This renovation would be the perfect opportunity if I could get rid of him.”

  And stop thinking about him all the time, a voice whispered in her head, and she felt a pang of—was that guilt?—for what she’d just said.

  But she couldn’t let Abbi know there was anything going on. That way, there wouldn’t be anything to clean up once this ended.

  And it would end, inevitably. What they’d done didn’t change who they were. She should have done more to secure Adam’s interest. He was cute and seemed perfectly nice. Maybe he’d open up more once they were past the awkwardness of introductions. Did it really matter whether he could dish it out? She was being picky. Difficult. She was letting her fucked-up whatever-it-was with Connor cloud her judgment.

  “Connor’s always chasing the next good time,” Mack said. “He doesn’t care about the restaurant—he’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  Abbi looked over in surprise. “He’s leaving?”

  “I mean, he hasn’t said anything definite. But it’s clear this is just the next rung in the ladder for him. You know how he is, always running around.”

  She knew she shouldn’t be saying this. It was private information that came out in a meeting, and it wasn’t like he’d said it outright. But the idea was clear. And she needed the reminder. Who else could she talk to about it? Adam? The thought alone was enough to make her laugh.

  “I know running around isn’t your style,” Abbi said. “You’re all strings, Mack, and I love you for it. Being friends with you means something, because you don’t just jump to whatever’s next. But you meet a guy like Adam and it’s like
you’re planning ten moves ahead, wondering whether you’ll want to come home to him years from now. Why not go out with him once and see how it goes?”

  “Because sometimes you already know.”

  “It’s life, Mack. It’s okay to make a mess every once in a while.”

  Mack turned on the high beams as the car twisted up the road to Gold Mountain. The lights caught the fringes of the hemlocks and the ghostly surprise of the wildflowers with their buds tight and trembling in sleep. To Mack, the flowers that came up each spring by the side of the road were even more beautiful than the ones that grew on the trails. Those were the ones that weren’t supposed to be there, the ones that didn’t have a home. And yet they kept right on clinging.

  But Mack did have a home, a place she’d come to call her own, with its cushions and books, pictures and pillows, all the pieces she’d put together so carefully. Life was too fragile for messes, she wanted to say. The wrong slipup and it all came crashing down.

  She remembered her mother, somewhat. Images of a soft hand brushing her hair, although it was hard to confirm that was really her mother and not someone else whose tenderness was superimposed. Or, more likely, a wish and not a memory at all.

  She didn’t remember the man who was supposed to have been her father. But there was one after that. And another one, again and again. She didn’t remember the men, but she remembered them leaving. There would be less money, less food, more of those little plastic baggies with the red tops and the off-colored crystals inside. The people may have come and gone, but not the messes they left behind. Those had a way of sticking around what damn near felt like forever.

  “I’m surprised you think Connor might be moving. I thought he’d kind of settled here,” Abbi said, and Mack realized she’d missed whatever Abbi had been saying. “I never get the impression he wants to be anywhere else.”

  Mack looked over at her. “Yeah,” Abbi said. “I guess I know the answer to that.”

  “Once a dog,” Mack said.

  Abbi laughed. “You don’t magically start learning to purr.”

  “He’s never going to change.”

  “Not even if he sticks with the restaurant? Not even if he finds someone he wants to be with long-term?”

  Mack snorted. “Connor doesn’t do anything long-term. I’m not even sure he’s capable of love.”

  “Ouch,” Abbi said, and Mack almost told her she didn’t mean it, it wasn’t true, he wasn’t that bad. And she wasn’t that cruel.

  But she was weak, afraid, and she kept up the charade. When Abbi said, “So he keeps running around. If you’re so sure you don’t like him, then why should you care?” Mack looked her friend right in the eye and said, “I don’t.”

  She hated herself for it. But Abbi was right—people didn’t change. It was true for her, too. She’d grown up way faster than any kid ever should, but once she’d taken control over her life, she wasn’t about to hand the reins to someone else. Not Connor. Not Cute Adam. Not anyone.

  Especially not anyone who wouldn’t be careful with her heart.

  If she and Connor couldn’t be trusted to keep their clothes on and their brains in check, she’d just have to stay out of his way. It was like building a flossing habit: make yourself do it enough times in a row, and over time it becomes second nature. Or so she’d been told.

  Except she’d seen up close how impossible it was to kick an addiction. She’d spent her supposed night away still thinking about him.

  And clearly he was still thinking about her, because after she dropped Abbi off, she saw she had four new messages from him.

  I’m going to assume you’re driving and not that you despise me more than usual.

  Tell me when you’re back and I’ll come over with cake.

  I’m telling you, this cake is worth it.

  And then, the last one:

  I may be lying about the cake. It’s good, but I really just want to see you.

  She drove up to the next block to park so Abbi wouldn’t look out her window and see Mack still sitting there on her phone. Her heart was beating quickly. She wished she had a crystal ball, a time machine, some way to go into the future and look back at this moment to help her decide what to do.

  She could ignore Connor’s texts. But that risked him coming over anyway, and Claire or Abbi or someone driving by and seeing his car there early in the morning, when Mack should be fast asleep. Alone.

  She could text him back that in no uncertain terms was she going to see him tonight. If she made it clear, really clear—no joking, no flirting, no bullshit—she knew that would be it. One important step toward putting this behind them and making sure it never happened again.

  Or the third option. She could text back.

  She held the phone in her hand, playing each scenario out in her mind. She was a planner. She liked things to work. But this thing, whatever they were doing, didn’t take well to being controlled.

  Make a mess, Abbi had said. But Mack was afraid she already had.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Something had changed. Connor could feel it as soon as she walked though the door.

  The first words out of his mouth were, “Holy shit.” She looked stunning, sheathed in a black dress that looked custom-made for her body and boots so badass, he thought if she ever wore them behind the bar he’d burn the place down. “Don’t tell me other people saw you wearing that.”

  Mack flashed him a grin as she slid a shawl off her shoulders and dropped it on the living room couch. “Lots of other people. Some of them men.”

  Connor came up behind her and grazed a finger up her thigh, over the curve of her hips. “And?” he murmured in her ear.

  “And where’s my cake?”

  Her ass went back to rub against the front of his jeans. They were the well-worn pair he put on when kicking it around the house, and they hung low on his hips. He reached his arm around her and pressed between her thighs, pulling her closer to him.

  “Who’d you go out with tonight?”

  Her body fit so right with him as her head tilted back to rest on his chest. “Abbi.”

  “Who’d you meet?”

  “Are you jealous?” She wriggled her ass against his growing cock.

  “It’s because I know what kind of trouble you are.”

  His fingers traced over her breasts, down her stomach, teasing and light. She reached behind her and slid her hands into his back pockets, drawing him closer. “Don’t worry, you’re the only one I fuck in parking lots.”

  He grabbed her waist and quickly, firmly, bent her over the edge of the couch. “And lakes?” he asked.

  “And lakes,” she agreed.

  He felt his cock strain against his fly. He knew she felt it, too. “How about bars?”

  “You’re definitely the only one I fuck in bars.”

  “Liar,” he said with a thrust and a grin.

  “You’re the one who can’t keep it in his pants.” Her hand snaked around and found the it she was referring to.

  “Only when you’re here.”

  “Now you’re the liar.”

  He kissed her ear. “It’s true.”

  Mack turned so she was facing him. “You’re telling me you haven’t been with anyone else since we…” She blinked. “Since we whatever we did?”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Mack. I’m not saying I’m perfect. But I’m not hiding a thing.”

  Her eyes searched his, trying to read something there. Maybe wondering, as he was, why this felt so different tonight.

  “Okay then,” she finally said. “I believe you.”

  “But have you?” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she hooked her fingers through the belt loop of his jeans. The fabric was soft and frayed and sliding off his hips, exposing the top of his boxers and a line of skin before his T-shirt began.

  “I’m here tonight, aren’t I?” she said.

  “Because I promised you cake.”

  Her fingers danced up his chest. “And don’
t you go thinking I’ll forget it.”

  “You didn’t want dinner with me.”

  “Yeah, but dessert?”

  “Mack, I’m serious. I want to be serious. For a second.”

  She pressed her palm over his heart. “Okay.”

  “I don’t want you to be here because you happened to swing by. Or have you thinking you could have gone home with someone else, you just wound up with me instead.”

  Mack dropped her hand. “I never said that.”

  “I know,” he said, wondering why he kept talking when they could have been fucking instead. But he couldn’t stop. “I’m not saying that’s what you’re thinking. I’m saying I want to know you want to be here.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I want to hear you say it.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

  Her eyes looked up at him, dark and wide. The thought came to him that, by trying to advance this, he was pushing her into a corner. Making her want to end it instead.

  She swallowed. “I want to be here,” she whispered, her voice unable to mask the tremble within.

  “Is this just happening? Or are we choosing it?” He looked down at her, wanting her to make this all clear—for both of them.

  “Forever, Connor? I don’t know. But now, tonight? I’m choosing you. I haven’t even been on that app since we started this. And I want to be here. I want you.” She rose on her tiptoes. Her lips were soft, her fingers reaching up, around his shoulders, over his back. Holding him, kissing him. Telling him in more than words.

  He gripped the hem of her dress and slid it up, up, exposing every delicious curve. He pulled it over her head and let it fall on the floor. There she stood before him in her bra, panties, and boots, the hottest, most desirable woman he’d ever seen. “Bedroom,” he instructed. “Now.”

  He could take her bent over the couch, up against the wall—fuck, he practically pounced on her on the stairs.

  But that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t know whether it was because she had chosen this, come over at night when she could have gone home instead. Or if it was because she’d come to his place when before it had been quick, furtive, in public, driven by a thrilling rush of fear. Then, they could point to extenuating circumstances as proof they were out of their minds. Now, in the darkness of his bedroom, as she stepped out of her boots and came over to him, sliding his shirt over his head, there were no more excuses to give.