If they only knew what we’ve already done is the equivalent of sex in so many ways. He finger fucked me so well that my eyes rolled back in my head. The man knows how to work a clit. The man knows how to work a woman’s body. He sees no reason to pretend he’s something he’s not. Macs has been around the block and knows exactly what he’s doing. We are a match in that department, and if I had to guess I’d say my skills at sucking dick are what enamored him most. It’s why I was sort of sad after I blew him.
He looked at me like I was an alien, his eyes wide with wonder and his lips forming a beatific smile. My phone alerts me to a text from Macs.
Still thinking about your blowjobs.
I sigh. Instead of replying with text, I snap a photo of my black ceiling and hit send. I should be happy I attracted his attention, but I’m not stupid. I know his interest will wane and I’ll just be another woman on his long list. I roll over to sleep, but my phone rings.
It’s Macs. I hit the green button quickly, not wanting to wake up my mom in the room next door. She’s been asleep for a while, but I’m unable to force my brain to turn off. “Hello,” I say, whispering even though I know there’s no way she can hear me talking through the thick wall.
“Why don’t you ever reply to my texts?” he asks without any sort of greeting first.
“I do,” I tell him, rolling over to my back to look at the ceiling again. “I sent you my ceiling.”
“While I appreciate the view of your ceiling, I’d rather see it while you’re riding my cock. You know that’s not what I mean,” Macs growls.
My core clenches with desire. I have no control over it anymore. Any talk of Macs and sex and I’m as horny as a teenager. I want anything he’ll give me.
“I think photos say more than words can,” I say.
I hear his deep breathing for several long moments. It’s the only indication he hasn’t hung up the phone.
“Sometimes I want your words. It helps me understand what’s inside your head.”
Hah! What’s inside my head would make a smart man run in the opposite direction. When my father left my mother, he bashed her so unmercifully I remember overhearing her talking on the phone to a friend. She said words like useless, and inept, weak-willed…words like clinging, gullible, obsessive, and overemotional. My father broke her with these words.
“I want to know you better, Teala. Do you understand?”
His words are a punch in the stomach. He cares far more than I gave him credit for. I’m not sure how to reply. I’ve never been in the business of accepting feelings. I do everything in my power to reject them. Their feelings and mine both. I click on my bedside lamp because I want to be able to see. Not that seeing makes a difference, but the darkness feels as if it’s closing in and my stomach is flipping with unease.
“Are you there?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “I’m here. I’m trying to figure out how to respond. Sorry,” I explain.
Macs lets out a groan that sounds more like a growl. “Listen, forget I said anything.”
Shit. “No. No. I understand what you’re saying. It surprised me. I thought we were on the same page.” I lie. “I want you to know me better.” I chose my words carefully by flipping his statement.
“It would be helpful for when you meet my parents,” he says. The butterflies that were in my stomach sink faster than the Titanic. “Especially my mother. She’s in the business of asking too many questions.”
“Oh. For the game.” I click the light back off and roll over, keeping the phone by my ear.
“Of course,” he says. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” I ask. “Don’t pretend you care. I’ll respond to texts with words from now on. What do you want to know about me? What would be prudent to understand for your parents?”
“Are you mad?”
I sigh. “What do you think?”
“I have no clue. It’s why I’m asking.”
Sometimes men can be so dense. I don’t have anything to compare this to, though. “Why don’t you sleep with other women? If it’s just a game, then why act differently?”
Macs clears his throat, and I can tell he’s moving, the phone scratching against his stubble. “I don’t want any other women.”
“That doesn’t sound like a game to me,” I reply.
“It doesn’t.”
“You go back and forth between it being a game and actually giving a damn about whatever is going on between us. I’m trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not. That is what’s wrong with me.”
He stays silent on the other end, so I bluster on.
“Which is it?”
“I want to understand you,” he whispers.
I let out a pent-up breath. “I want to know about you too.”
“Good. So what’s the moral of this story? We kind of lost our way,” he says. I hear the smile in his voice. He’s blaming me for detouring the conversation.
“We’re on the same page then. It’s a game, but we care enough to know about each other?”
“No,” he replies, zero hesitation.
“The moral of the story is you want me to use words to text back. I’ve agreed, but now you’re saying we’re not on the same page, so you’re going to have to enlighten me.”
“No. It’s not a game.”
My heart leaps again. I roll out of bed and sit on the edge. When I steady myself, I walk over to the huge window and throw the drapes open. I’m giving him a few more moments to explain before I pepper him with questions.
“I care,” he mumbles, so low I barely hear him.
A car races by on the street below me, and a few office lights are on in the building across the way. “What was that?” I ask, letting a smile slip.
“Seriously? You heard me.”
“I didn’t,” I say. I bite my lip.
“I said I care,” he growls.
“Was that so hard?”
“Yes,” he replies. “I’m not in the business of telling people things I’m not comfortable sharing.”
“We shared our bodies with each other all afternoon, Macs.”
“That’s different. I’m used to sharing that with other women, and don’t pretend you aren’t used to sharing yours with other men. It’s to us as a coffee date is to most other people. Agreed?”
I think about it for a few moments. He’s both right and wrong. “A fucking awesome coffee date, though,” I agree. “This afternoon felt different than other times.” If we’re playing the honesty game, I’m going to dive right the fuck in.
“I know,” he says simply.
“Because we care.”
“So you care, too?”
I narrow my eyes. “How can you possibly wonder that?” I mean, we’re both sort of at a disadvantage where emotions are concerned, but surely he’s able to tell that I feel for him more than my average date. “Of course I care. Every time we’re together I find myself trying to keep my mouth shut before I say something that scares you off. Intimacy is an easy place to hide. For me anyways. Everything else is what’s difficult. ”
“I couldn’t be sure. I’ve never done this before.”
“Did this just turn into a real relationship?” I have the express desire to call my friends and squeal like a pig, then I remember they think this relationship has been real for weeks. It’s a kill joy.
“Somewhere in between car head and you screaming profanities at my ceiling while you came a half dozen times, it happened without our permission.”
I can tell he doesn’t like admitting that, like perhaps it makes him a lesser individual for not being able to control his feelings. Doesn’t he know I feel the same way?
“It wasn’t because of the, well, the messing around, right? I established rules about men spending the night for this very reason. You know this probably won’t end well?” My stupid insecurities force me to ask questions that embarrass me.
Macs laughs and swallows hard. “No, Teala, it’s not because you
have the mouth of an angel, though I’m sure that helped things along. I like you. And you’re right, it will end with fire and venom, I’m sure.” He says it with a serious voice, and I can’t help but laugh.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m sort of easy-going. I’m not the kind to hold a grudge and promise destruction of your life if it doesn’t work out. I’m good by myself,” I remind him. “I like you, too.”
I imagine his face right now and I sigh.
“See how much was accomplished with words?” he asks. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He clicks off the phone, and I’m so fucking giddy I scream out loud and stand to jump around on my bed. My mom flies into the room and throws the light on.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes wild, her head looking left and right for a threat. The gesture reminds me of when I was a little girl and she’d save me from my nightmares. Her gaze finally lands on me, standing in the middle of my bed with a grin on my face and her face softens. She smiles, shaking her head in confusion.
“It’s official!” I yell out, jumping once more just for good measure. I sit on the edge of my unmade bed and hug my cell phone to my chest.
“You’re officially something,” she says, walking toward me, her sleepy smile warming me. She sits next to me and pats a hand on my bare thigh. “What’s official, honey?”
She wouldn’t know the truth, either. She’s in the same category as my friends. I want to tell her how Macs was a womanizer, how he hasn’t slept with anyone else since he met me. I want to tell her how we haven’t even had sex yet even though we probably would have on our very first date. I want to tell her how it all started off as pretending, and then things turned into something real and visceral. I can’t tell her any of those things, though, because I’m messed up and I don’t want to put it on display.
“Macs and I,” I state. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
“Was it not before?”
“It was,” I say quickly. “We just kind of solidified it. That’s all.”
She smiles at me again, her white teeth gleaming. “I could have told you that earlier. Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”
I don’t, and it makes my stomach roll in disbelief. Viola is an expert at reading people. After my father broke her, she spent a lot of her time studying those around her. I think she was trying to figure out how she didn’t see the blow coming. She trusted too much. Loved too much and got destroyed because of it. Now she sees things the normal human can’t possibly understand. It’s a gift that only those who have been tortured a very specific way can claim. She pats my back.
“He’s crazy about you,” she says.
I’m lost in thought—in revelation. Could she be wrong? Or am I that unseeing? Just like Viola was before she was crushed? Tears prick the corner of my eyes. “Why did he do that to you?”
She takes my shoulders and faces me front on. “Don’t compare the past to your future.”
“Only idiots don’t learn from mistakes, Mom,” I say. A traitorous tear cuts down my cheek. “Why did he do that to you? You’re perfect. Look at you!” If she can’t hold onto an awful man, how am I supposed to keep Macs Newstead? It’s hopeless.
“Because it was a lesson I needed. That’s it. You deserve to be happy. You’re already successful. What makes you think you can’t have a successful relationship? You think I don’t know about your commitment issues, Teala? Anyone can see them from a mile away. That man watches you like you alone shift the Earth on its axis. I’m not wrong about these things.” She hugs me, and I go willingly into the crook of her neck and inhale the sweet scent of her facial lotion. It smells like flowers and honey. It reminds me of so much.
Closing my eyes, I breathe. I’m an adult woman seeking solace in my mother’s embrace. What must she think of me? How weak can one person be? “I’m scared,” I admit.
“If you weren’t scared, it wouldn’t be worth it,” she says, smoothing my hair down like she did when I was a little girl. “Macs is probably just as scared, honey. Love is funny like that. It pushes you up to the edge of a really steep cliff and gives you an option to jump and fly or jump and fall.”
I pull away to look at her face. “That’s utterly morbid, Mom.” I narrow my eyes, letting my tears stay where they are.
She smiles and wipes at my face with her thumbs. “All you have to do is remember to flap your wings. A little falling is inevitable.” She pats my head, turns off the light, and walks out of my room without a backward glance. She doesn’t shut the door, and I hear the television in her room. She has the news on. I close my door against more bad news about the state of our world. Retreating to my bed, I throw myself back and slip under my covers, feeling like a small child.
I think about a lot of things while I’m trying to fall asleep. Like, does my mom adhere to her own advice? Is Macs scared too? What happens to us when he deploys? Do I even want a relationship? Will it affect my studio? No, I won’t let it. What happens if it doesn’t work out between us?
What happens if it does? I need to talk to Carina. She’s in the same boat I am. She’ll know what to tell me.
I fall asleep eventually, my thoughts on one very masculine dimpled smile, and the words he said that changed everything.
Chapter Fourteen
Macs
Teala is sitting on the porch swing next to my mother. I’m watching them through the kitchen window while my father fixes lunch. My hands are twitching by my sides and my heart is thumping jaggedly—a reminder I’m not myself. I have no clue how the fuck to control my emotions or my own body, or my thoughts. Wild doesn’t even describe how I’m feeling. She sucked my dick on the drive here. I had to pull over a few seconds after she started because my eyes started rolling back in my damn head.
See? No control over my body. She’s good, but it’s more than that. She swallowed my hot load without spilling a drop, leaned back into her seat, and smiled at me. She reminded me of a tiger hunting prey. Eventually I regained enough composure to pull back into traffic and finish the drive. It helped for a little while, but I’m having withdrawals again. Not just for her mouth. I want to be close enough to touch her body, smell the skin on her neck that’s been swept by fragrant hair.
It didn’t happen gradually. Falling for her happened like a landslide. A light switch thrown, and in its wake lies a mess of emotions I have no fucking clue what to do with. My dad is prattling on about the football game and how he lost a bet with Murray from down the street. He’s cursing under his breath and I’m offering a few words here and there. He has no idea how wrapped up I am in my staring. It’s not often I get to glimpse her when she is unaware.
My mother can’t stop looking at her either. Teala’s beauty is truly something to behold. You can’t really appreciate it fully unless you do stare rudely for a while. That’s how you notice the freckle on her cheek, or the flecks of colors in her eyes, or the way her slender neck curves so perfectly before her chin begins. It’s all too much to take in at the same time. So, I stare now—I practice being enamored by her even though I hate the essence of it to the core.
My father clears his throat from right behind me. “Sure is a looker, Son,” he says. “I said that a few times, but it seems you were too busy thinking the same thing to hear your old pops.”
My rudeness knows no bounds today, obviously. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she?” I turn to face him, as politeness dictates. “Mom looks well,” I say, trying to change the subject.
He claps me on the shoulder and offers the trademark grin he passed down to me. “She’s well and fine now that you’re home. Seems she’s takin’ a liking to your new bird, huh?”
He turns it around again. “Seems so,” I reply. “Need any help?” I nod over to the counter where he’s spreading cold cuts and cheeses for sandwiches.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’d rather have a chat with my boy. It’s been too long, Son. You’re taking off again, now, aren’t ya?”
I sigh,
relieved he’s asked about work. Work is safe. Work is a known entity I can talk about for as long as he wants. My job is foreign to him. He’s worked a white collar job his whole life. The military isn’t some handed down tradition in my home. It’s my thing and my thing only. With my penchant for hair products and designer jeans, one of the only things he’s interested in is my career. I tell him what I can, but I don’t tell him where I’m deploying. He asks me about the terrorist attacks that are cropping up all over the world and if I know who is fully responsible. He’s happy with the answers I give him even if they’re veiled truths. I glance out the window every once in a while and catch sight of Teala.
She’s talking with her hands and smiling a lot and a pang of envy strikes me square in the chest. It’s too new to share her with anyone else. My father asks about my training trip coming up. ‘The one where we shoot each other.’
“It’s paintballs this time, Dad. Don’t worry,” I say.
His eyes still turn down in the corner, and I’m reminded that he’ll always worry about me whether I tell him to or not. Ne nods and turns his gaze to the porch swing.
I clear my throat. “Lunch?” I ask.
Distraction. That’s what I need. Before, when I didn’t know any better, I thought I needed space away from Teala. I didn’t want to see texts from her or hear her voice on the phone and only see her for bits and pieces of time. Now, I realize the only way I can fix myself is if I give myself over to this completely and hope I can fuck her out of my system.
He goes out to the porch and tells my mother it’s time for lunch. Both of the women look up at him and smile their acknowledgements. He sits back down in front of me. “You still thinking of moving to Virginia Beach?” he asks.
As a SEAL I only have a few options for duty stations. It’s San Diego, Virginia Beach, or Hawaii. The pipe dream has always been to end up in Virginia Beach. That’s where the elite SEALs work. Better known as SEAL Team 6. The selection process is severe and long and only the best of the best are chosen for a spot.
Hero Hair (The Real SEAL Series Book 2) Page 13