I turn to the side to glance at him in the mirror. “Gavin. I’m well. How are you?”
“I had no idea Trudy was out today,” he replies.
I sigh. Let’s call Gavin specimen A. A man I slept with who could have been more if he wasn’t such a dickhead. Speaking of—specimen B. It’s his dick. It’s long, pink, and strong. I laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Gavin asks, eyes narrowed.
I shake my head. I subconsciously quoted a rap song. There’s no hope for me. Macs did call people who do it awesome, though. I stop laughing. “Nothing, Gavin. Just thought of something.” And now I want to crawl in a hole because I care what a man like Macs thinks of me.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I’m making him self-conscious. Good. Let him think I’m laughing at him. He deserves more than embarrassment.
“I don’t know why you don’t find another studio to practice at.”
He’s a lean and handsome business man who travels to San Diego frequently. We had a passion-fueled night a few months ago. For a brief amount of time he made it seem like he wanted more than just a night. I thought a regular hook-up might be better than a bunch of new ones, but I was so wrong. He left and put an envelope of cash on my pillow.
“I don’t need your money here either,” I deadpan, turning my gaze to my knees for a stretch.
“I’m sorry. I tried calling you and emailed the studio. I freaked out,” he explains.
He unrolls his mat next to me. I close my eyes. After my night, the last thing I need is Gavin this close to me. My watch vibrates. I look down and see a message from Macs. I smile. The playground is where I spend all of my nights…Balboa Park. Meet me by the monkey bars at 6. I keep smiling—a goofy, face-bending smile I can’t control. I forget where I’m at and whom I’m talking to.
When I finally glance Gavin’s way, he’s eyeing me down not so subtly. Standing, I head over to the towel fridge and begin rolling the wet squares of fabric. “You can stay for class, but I don’t want to talk about it, Gavin. I’m over it. I’m seeing someone else now.” Saying those words feels sweeter than I thought they would. Even if it’s a lie. Using my cell phone, I set the music to low, electric mood music and send back a thumbs-up to reply to Macs.
I screenshot his text and send it to my friends in our group message. They all reply with generic congratulations and jokes. None of them suspect anything. Not to my face anyways. How could they not speculate given my history? They know me too well. I’ll have to keep the false pretenses and my guard up.
Don’t stalk me there, please, I text back to my friends. I ask what’s acceptable behavior for a second date and receive mixed messages. Some say a kiss is okay. Others say making out is completely acceptable. No touching below the waist is what they agree upon in the end.
A few more yoga patrons trickle in. Gavin ignores my eyes studiously. He watches me, though. When he thinks I’m not looking. I know the look on his face and it makes me feel validated. He knows he fucked up. But I’m not a woman who can be kept. He did himself a favor by changing his mind. I’d never tell him that. It’s a forty-five-minute class. With my head in the clouds, daydreaming about what tonight might hold, it passes by in an eye blink. Gavin’s loaded gazes become background noise.
Stepping outside after my instruction has finished, I call my mom and fill her in on the details. I haven’t heard her this happy for a long time. I make a mental note to lie about my relationship status more frequently. I envision the smile she’s wearing and a pang of loneliness hits me. I pull my feet up onto the bench in the locker room. Not loneliness for myself, but for her. I ask about her friends, and she reluctantly tells me she has a date in the upcoming week. Her excitement for my own date morphs into dread.
“Mom, you can’t stay locked away forever. Dad has moved on. You deserve to be happy. I’m not a little girl anymore. It’s a shame no one is enjoying your sugar loaf.”
People enter, their hot bodies secreting warmth into the air in this small space. I called her to calm my nerves, but somehow it’s made me even more anxious about everything. I slide by sweaty bodies in the hallway, grab my sweater and purse from under the desk, and wave to the desk girl on my way out into the parking lot. As I go I tell my mom all the reasons she’s such a fabulous catch.
“You’re doing the single men a disservice,” I say, finishing my lecture. I’m surprised she’s humored me this long.
Mom ignores my sentiments. “I’ll bring a loaf when I drive down. Can I meet him then?”
Him. Him. My heart thumps out a staccato, thinking of him. His body. His dimples. His dark rimmed lashes. The way his neck works when he swallows, the way his fingers brush my skin and light a fire from the outside in. A him that will never be mine completely.
Will she call my bluff if she meets him? Can she tell it’s just wild, lying chemistry? Macs said he would meet her. “I’ll ask him, okay?” I tell her I have to meet up with Jasmine. “I’ll call you in the morning and let you know how it goes. Love you.”
“Be yourself, honey. The weird, lovable, honest self you hide from,” she whispers. “I love you, too,” she tacks on quickly so I don’t have to respond.
I’m always myself. Unfortunately, this time it doesn’t matter who I am. This isn’t a game I can win.
****
Even though it’s summer, the air is always cool at night. It’s a San Diego kind of thing you can’t explain unless you’ve been here. Macs told me to wear my workout clothing. After my boot camp workout, I showered and put a clean outfit back on. That’s not a rare occurrence, actually. It’s my lifestyle.
I see Macs immediately as I cross the large field of grass leading to the gas lamp lit playground. Only a few of my friends have kids, so I’m not around them or their haunts very often. Did I think it odd this is where he wanted to meet? I’ve been subjected to weirder things in my twenty-eight years of life. He’s doing pull-ups on a set of monkey bars that look too high to be considered safe for children. With him on them, they look like anything except an obstacle for a child. He’s a playground for every grown ass woman on planet Earth.
Macs is shirtless. Sweat is trickling down his chest, rippling over his abs and disappearing into the waistband of his black workout shorts. I tighten my slinky sweater around my shoulders and shiver. With a sigh and my resolve steeled, I approach him. He watches me carefully as I near, his eyes on me as he lifts and lowers himself over and over. It’s automatic for him. The movement of hoisting his body weight is as effortless as walking is to a normal person.
He blinks sweat out of his eyes a few times. When I’m standing in front of him, so close that I could reach out and touch the most obvious bulge hanging in front of my face, I stop. The scent of sweat and bodywash and unadulterated male mingle in the night air.
“Like the view?” Macs asks, his voice labored. Sort of how it probably sounds while he’s fucking.
I have to tear my gaze from his body to focus on his face. My heart races with the promise of lust. Maybe I’m sick—something’s wrong with me for not feeling anything except desire. There are no emotions attached to the present, just the need to have my way with him in any way I see fit.
“I love the view. I feel a little overdressed, though,” I reply.
He bites his tongue in this carnal smile that sends shockwaves to my core. I take a step back.
He drops down from the bar and lands right in front of me with a slight thud. A gust of Macs hits me and I suck in a breath and hold it. I can’t be this near. His face. The sleek, stunning features are prominent under the lights overhead.
“We could fix that,” Macs says, stepping toward me, his eyes roving my body.
His chest is heaving, and his muscles are fucking perfect. Not that I’m an expert in this field, but I’ve seen quite a few fit men in my fitness journey, and Macs Newstead takes the golden trophy in every single way.
Ignoring his sentiment to take my clothes off, I reply, “Your symmetry is flaw
less.” The compliment comes out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve done. Never compliment a man like Macs. It will go straight to his already enlarged head.
“You think?” He smiles. Dimples pop.
Well, I’ve already destroyed any hope of playing it cool. “I know. You work hard,” I state. “You…your body…it’s insane. In a good way. The best way.” I cock my head to the side to angle for a better few of his shoulders. The desire to trace his every perfect curve emerges, and I have to take another step away from him. He notices.
“Thanks for noticing. You work hard as well.” In a small movement, he steps toward me and slides the sweater off my shoulders. It hits the white sand beneath us. He manages this without touching my skin. “You’re stunning. What does perfection taste like?”
My breath catches. Taste it. Taste me. Right now. I swallow. “What is our date going to consist of? I could make up details for my friends, but we should do some normal date-like things.” My voice isn’t at all confident. It’s embarrassed and reeks of melancholy.
“Maybe take our perfect, symmetrical bodies, put them together, and fuck right here?” He points a finger down.
Yes. Right here. In the sand, under the lights. Your dick deep inside of me. Your beautiful mouth on my skin. Yes.
“I’m joking, Teala,” Macs whispers, his smile still in place. He shakes his head. “Ninja Warrior, of course.” He raises his arm behind him to the sprawling play structure. “For time. Because we’re both badasses like that.”
I quirk a brow. “We’re going to work out? I’ve kind of reached my quota for the day. I’ll watch you, though.” My arms feel like lead and my legs are already sore. I roll my neck. “One of my teachers called out sick today, so I taught a million classes and then went to the gym. It sounds like I’m whining, but I’m really not. That’s not a normal day for me.”
Macs laughs and shows me where he’s set up a picnic on a table in a dark corner of the park. “I thought we could work up an appetite first.”
He reaches down and readjusts his thick dick, without hiding the gesture. I can’t help but watch. Meeting his gaze a second later, he smirks.
“We don’t have to work out first. You could watch me if you want. Or we could make it interesting. Throw a bet in there for good measure. It’s obvious we’re both competitive.”
Macs and I have something in common, and I actually like it.
Sighing, I close my eyes and pull a knee up to my chest and then repeat the stretch with the other leg. Macs notices my grimace and nods in approval. He says I am a woman after his own heart, and beneath the painful ab muscles, my stomach flutters. We agree to do the course he has planned once before we sit down to eat the salads he’s packed for our dinner. Macs bites his lip in between sentences as he explains what obstacle comes next. I’m only vaguely aware I’m supposed to be listening to him so I know what comes next.
I’m dissecting him. With a no-nonsense authoritative air, I can see the person he is when he’s not trying to get laid. “Got it,” I admit. He’s laid out the course. It will take a few minutes to complete. “What are the terms? I’m all for girl power and all that, but I’ll never be able to beat your time. Don’t you have an obstacle course at work?” I try at nonchalance as I grab my sweater from the sand and toss it over a ladder nearby. His gaze is piercing, following my every move like a hawk.
Hands on his narrow, muscular hips, he tilts his head left and right, lost in thought. “If I win, I get to touch you wherever I want.”
I scoff. “That’s not allowed. Wait, above the waist is allowed. So is kissing. Second date making out was confirmed as acceptable.”
Macs smiles and rubs his hands together. “Fuck yes. Perfect. And if you make it through the course, you get to touch me. Above the waist and lips on lips,” he amends, folding his hands together in front of his chest.
Would it bother someone like Charlotte if they shared nothing but a physical connection with a man? What if it’s just lust—chemistry? Looking at Macs and watching him look at me, I’m confident it will never be more than that. How do you dichotomize a relationship enough to understand the percentages? Fifty percent things in common, thirty percent compatibility and finding the other interesting, ten percent attraction, ten percent…lust? What is the goddamned formula? Who makes up the rules? Why does this confuse me? I’m a well-educated woman, with smarts beyond the average person, and I’ve never been able to figure it out.
“This doesn’t seem much of a bet,” I tease, moving around Macs to climb the small ladder that leads up to the play structure. “Both of the outcomes give relatively the same reward,” I explain. Jumping out, I hang on the bar he was just hanging from. My hips are eye level with Macs. He grins. I want his scrutiny as I have nothing to hide.
Out of my peripheral I watch as he reaches a hand out to touch me and then lets it fall into a fist by his side.
“Give me a little more credit. I’m in the business of strategy. Everything in my life is purposeful, Tay-la,” Macs says, growling my name.
With aching, heavy arms, I make my way across the monkey bars with ease. He follows right next to me, walking as quickly as I’m progressing. His presence makes everything below my belly button fire in suspense. The wobbly bridge is next, and this does not look to be built with grown-ups in mind.
He hops up behind me to splay his arms on either side of the metal poles. His chest is so near my back that I feel the heat radiating from his body. It warms me from the chill in the air.
“This bridge isn’t holding two people,” I say, exasperated.
“Then go,” he says, leaning down to whisper into the crook of my neck by my ear.
I very purposefully left my cell phone in my car. I’m completely in control right now, but at this rate I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stave off my desires. He’s shirtless, oozing masculinity and smelling of sweat. Every word spoken is a double entendre. Stealing a deep breath, I push away from his heat and cross the bridge.
After I get to the other side as quickly as possible to avoid breaking anything, might I add, I turn to see him swinging down to the ground. He motions for me to keep going. The monkey bars were the hardest obstacle of his pseudo course. I make light work of zigzag balance stones and climb down a rock wall. My sneakers sink into the sand and I walk precariously to try and keep the fine white grit out of my shoes.
I’m one of those odd people who hate the beach because of the sand. A quick thirty-minute trip to the beach and you’re cleaning sand out of your car for weeks to come. It lodges itself in places sand should never be. I think sand is an awful torture device when placed in a children’s playground.
“Course completed,” I call out, glancing at my watch. I glance left and right and can’t find Macs. I stand in the light of the nearest streetlight. The picnic table he’s set up nearby is empty but for the basket of food. I hear chattering on the other side of the park, so I walk around, doing my best to stay out of the sand. I shiver from the light breeze. Surely no one with kids is visiting the park at this time of night.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmur when I see my friends.
They’re circling Macs like he’s prey and they’re the lions in a zoo exhibit.
Tossing my arms up in the air, I approach them. “Why are you here?” I ask, tromping over the grass to stand near them.
Macs smiles, flashing a devious grin at me, then turns it back to them.
Charlotte turns. Jasmine and Carina continue staring at Macs, like he’s some sort of anomaly they can’t quite define.
I snap my fingers. “Hello? Is someone going to answer?”
Macs breaks through their circle of lust to stand in front of me. “You left your phone in the car,” he explains. “They wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay.”
What a bowl full of bullshit.
Irritated, I grit my teeth and take a few deep breaths through my nose. Macs must see my inner turmoil. He puts an arm a
round my waist and pulls me to him in one fluid gesture. As simple as it seems, my friends are all but forgotten the second I snake my hand around him and run my fingers along his bare skin.
Jasmine replies, “We shouldn’t have come. But they didn’t think you were actually going on a date.”
Macs holds me a little tighter, pulling me into his side. “This is most definitely a date, ladies.” He leans down and places a kiss on the top of my head. Who does he think he’s kidding? My friends aren’t going to believe I’m with a man who kisses me on the head, like a mother does to her child. It’s too innocent. “Now that you’re here, though…I’m sure I have enough if you’d like to join in our nighttime picnic.”
“No,” I say, completely defiant to that idea. “You guys need to trust me a little. I’m pissed. You need to go.”
Carina looks down at the grass. Charlotte answers for them, telling me how they’re merely concerned for my best interests. If these women hadn’t been my friends for over a decade, I’d probably do something rash and stupid. As it stands, I’m going to give them the cold shoulder for at least a week. They tell Macs they don’t want to interrupt our date and decline his generous picnic offer.
“I can’t believe you’re real,” Charlotte says, looking at Macs, her eyes traveling the expanse of his chest and rippled abs. “I mean…that is rude. Sorry, but you’re really…something.”
I roll my eyes and groan in frustration.
I’m not even jealous. I expect him to receive this kind of attention and embrace it. It means he’s top tier. Plus, he’s not mine, anyways. Macs squeezes my side to get my attention. I swallow down my nerves and look skyward to meet his gaze.
“I’m nothing compared to this lady standing next to me. No one looks at me when she’s by my side.”
My stomach flips. Macs is putting on a show so flamboyant, I may burst into flames and die of embarrassment.
My friends squeal among themselves, like appropriate, professional adults. Macs leans down, wrapping his other hand around me to circle me in his arms. His skin is against me. I catch my breath a moment before he places a small kiss on the corner of my mouth. I forget to shut my eyes. I forget that my friends are gawking. I forget my own fucking name. He smells delicious. Seeing him this close is what my dreams are made of. His skin is just as flawless up close. He leans away, a glint of something in his narrowed eyes. Promise. That’s what I’m seeing. I want it now.
Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2) Page 6