by Amy Daws
My chest heaves, but I am surprisingly not embarrassed. I’m aroused.
“Don’t ever cover yourself up in front of me, Freya,” Mac says, his voice low and dripping with wickedness. “Your body deserves to be appreciated.” The bed dips as he kneels beside me.
“Is this another lesson?” I ask, my voice a mere whisper.
“Aye,” Mac replies in his husky Scottish accent as he drags the backs of his fingers from my shoulder, down my side, and up my belly. “I want to kiss more than those lips of yours. I want to taste all of you.”
“Taste me?” I belt out unattractively, but Mac doesn’t seem to care. His rough hand cups the weight of my breast before he dips his mouth and captures my nipple between his lips.
“Oh, my sweet heavens!” I exclaim as his assault on the sensitive nub causes a sharp stirring between my legs. A stirring that feels more intense than I expected. “Mac, this is wrong. We’re friends.”
“It’s because we’re friends that I can do this to you,” Mac growls and bites down on my breast, eliciting a harsh shriek from my lips. As soon as the burn from his bite stops, he sucks harshly while reaching out to cup my other breast.
Manhandling them.
Like a couple of hunks of meat.
It’s brilliant.
He shifts his head over and gives the other nipple equal treatment, and my body curls into his touch for more.
When he bites me again, I combust between my legs.
Like eruption combustion explosion.
“Was that a…a…?”
“It’s called an orgasm, Freya, and I intend to give you another.”
“You do?” I croak, shocked that orgasming from nipple stimulation is even possible.
“Aye,” he replies and moves himself over top of me to look into my eyes. “Do you want to taste my cheese?” he asks seriously.
My face falls. “What?”
He tilts his head. “I asked if you want to taste my cheese.”
“Why are you talking about cheese? Go back to the tasting me thing.”
“You can taste his cheese but not mine?”
Bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep.
I shoot straight up out of bed, my chest heaving with anxiety as I struggle to catch my breath. I slam my hand on top of my mobile to get my alarm to stop chirping. When I’ve finally silenced the monstrous device, I look around my room and see absolutely no sign of Mac. My brow pinches as I glance down at my chest and see one of my many long, kitty-themed night shirts right where I left it, covering all my wobbly bits.
“It was a dream,” I say with a strange breathy noise. But the pulsing sensation I feel between my legs is most certainly a reality.
“And that is why I can never go get our coffee ever again,” I groan to Allie from my upstairs sewing room at Kindred Spirits after unloading my entire sob story.
It’s been days since my horrible date with Javier. I tried to keep the details of my embarrassment all to myself, but I’ve been going absolutely mental over it. Perhaps if Mac wasn’t avoiding me, I wouldn’t have felt so desperate to share. But he’s been MIA ever since our kiss three nights ago, and I’m too much of a chicken-shit to ask him why.
Because I know why.
My kiss was shit, and he thinks I’m hopeless and doesn’t know how to tell me without ruining our friendship.
So now I’m dragging Allie into my dating mess to try to make myself feel better. Of course I’m not telling her about the Mac kissing me part because she would have a field day with that. And I will take the dirty dream I had about him to my grave. Saints preserve me!
Allie’s legs swing beneath her as she sits on top of my cutting table in an adorable trouser suit and processes everything I shared. “I can’t believe you never told me you had a thing for Javier! Why wouldn’t you mention that to me?”
I shrug helplessly. “I never talk about my dating life.”
“Why not?” she asks, pinning me with a serious look.
I drop my head into my hands. “Because that’s not really the narrative I put out there about myself.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Allie asks, clearly not getting the picture.
I exhale heavily and sit back in my sewing chair to think about how I can put this into words that don’t make me look completely mental. “I prefer being the plucky best friend whom everyone needs for comedic relief. I’m the Sookie to your Lorelai, you know? And I have a great shoulder to cry on when my friends need it. Like when Sloan was going through her divorce. That’s what this body was built for,” I state, gesturing grandly to my sizeable chest like it’s a fluffy pillow for her to fall on. “My love life is nonexistent, and I prefer not to speak about it so I can avoid the sympathetic looks, like the one you’re giving me right now.”
“It isn’t sympathy!” Allie exclaims, her head jerking back defensively. “It’s confusion. You’re my maid of honour, Freya! I love you. I want to know everything about your life. Not just a pretence you’re trying to show me.”
I wince at her interpretation. “It’s not a pretence. The fact is, I don’t crave male attention the way some women do. Sure I get flustered by hot, incestual naked scenes on Game of Thrones just as much as the next gal. I mean, I’m not sure why it has to be incest that does it for me. But hey, it’s artistically well-shot, so I can appreciate it!”
Allie bursts out laughing and shakes her head. “Freya, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t act like that didn’t stir your loins,” I scoff and continue. “And apart from the very rare crushes I have on Spanish baristas, I don’t really fuss over my love life, and I’m happier for it. I love my job. I love my friends. I love my agoraphobic cat. It’s plenty for me.”
Allie nods thoughtfully. “Of course it is. Let’s forget Javier ever existed. We can find a new coffee shop and burn his to the ground.”
“Steady on,” I chortle, my head pulling back because Allie has a startlingly serious look on her face. “No need to become an arsonist on account of one bad date. Plus, I really want a date for your wedding so I’m not sitting by myself as the sad, single lady all night.”
“But you’ll have Mac,” she says, touching my hand.
“I won’t have Mac,” I reply with a laugh and pull my hand away. Especially if he’s still not talking to me by then. “We’ll walk down the aisle together as maid of honour and best man. Then he’ll be charming the knickers off of some sweet, unsuspecting female while I’ll be sitting in the corner like a sad, lonely troll.”
“You could never be a troll,” Allie states firmly, her brows furrowing angrily. “Why don’t you let me set you up with someone?”
“I don’t need to be set up,” I answer quickly. My friends in Manchester used to try to do the exact same thing, and it’s horribly humiliating. “I have another prospect.”
“Oh?” Allie asks, a curious glint in her eyes. “Who?”
I wince and mumble under my breath, “Santino.”
“The team lawyer?” she barks in surprise.
“He’s been texting me since that party, and I think he’d be a nice enough date. He basically knows everybody, so I suspect he’d fit in well. Mac doesn’t care for him for some odd reason, though, so I’m not going to tell him unless our date goes well.”
Allie frowns. “I thought Mac liked everybody?”
I shrug. “Not him, apparently.”
“So when is this date?”
“Tomorrow night,” I reply, and a swirl of nerves takes flight in my belly at the reminder. I’m hoping that since Mac trained me to date Javier, the same rules will apply to Santino. Although, the two men are a night and day different, so we’ll see how it goes. “We’re having tapas at some posh place called Radio Rooftop? I guess reservations are impossible to get, but Santino knows a guy. His words, not mine.”
Allie cringes slightly, and I can’t say I blame her. “Well, do you want me to come over to help you get ready or anything?”
“God,
no. I’ll be fine,” I answer, already thinking about wearing the dress Mac bought for me the day we went shopping. “Just…if you happen to see Mac, don’t tell him? I don’t want him to know about the date in case it turns out to be a bust.”
Allie nods thoughtfully and then slips off the table. “Well, text me and let me know how it goes, okay?”
“Can do!” I beam.
She retreats to her office while I get back to working on the bust of a shift dress—something I’m much more successful at navigating my way around than my dating life.
“You still haven’t told me what you want to do for your stag party in a couple of weeks,” I grunt as I heave the barbell up towards Roan, who’s currently spotting me on the bench press.
“I could workshop some ideas for you if you’d like,” Tanner Harris states as he spots his brother Booker beside us.
The four of us are in the Tower Park weight training facility where we meet with our physiotherapist three times a week during the off-season. We’ve been lifting for nearly an hour, and my muscles are shattered.
“Don’t let Tanner plan anything,” Booker huffs, dropping the bar in the rack and sitting up. He wipes the sweat from his brow and hooks his thumb towards his brother. “He hired a stripper for my stag night and a bloke showed up.”
“What do you mean a bloke?” Roan asks with a laugh. “Like, to strip?”
Booker nods. “And he wasn’t like one of those Chippendale strippers. He looked like our uncle Charles.” I turn my head just in time to see Booker shudder with disgust.
Tanner hoots with laughter. “The hilarious part is you think I screwed up! I selected that guy specifically for you. Your wife had just had twins, and I knew you didn’t need to get your willy excited when there was no chance of you getting any action at home.”
Booker’s face falls. “Why on earth are you thinking about my willy at all?”
Tanner shrugs. “I think about everybody’s willies. That’s what family is for.”
Booker winces. “No. No it’s not, Tanner.”
Roan laughs and shakes his head while helping me set my bar into the placeholder. “I told Mac no strippers. I don’t want a wild night out. I want something quiet and remote, you know?”
I sit up and grab my water bottle, taking a long drink before throwing out, “What would you say to a bed and breakfast in Scotland?”
Roan’s brows lift. “What do you have in mind?”
I wipe the sweat trailing down my temple and reply, “The Dundonald Highland Games is in two weeks, and my grandad has a big estate that’s sitting empty right now. It was a bed and breakfast he ran with my gran, but she died a few years ago and he’s finally got around to selling it. The new owner takes over in a month. We could all stay there, drink our weight in whisky, and see if you have what it takes to compete alongside a true Scot.”
Roan smiles. “As long as you have what it takes to compete alongside a true South African.”
“Your mum is British, you wank,” I say with a laugh and give him a playful shove.
Roan nods. “It sounds perfect. Let’s do it.”
“And I assume the cousins of the bride are invited.” Tanner interrupts Roan’s and my conversation. “You can’t have a proper stag night without the Harris Brothers.”
I look at Tanner standing there, gripping his long beard with a wee bit of desperation on his face that makes me laugh. “Don’t you all have children to worry about?”
“That’s what nannies are for,” Tanner scoffs.
“More like grandads,” Booker adds with a smirk. “Dad loves taking the kids.”
I nod at the two of them. “Very well then. There’s plenty of room, so I’ll prepare for the Harris Brothers to be there as well. Anybody else you fancy inviting to this stag weekend you’ve invited yourself to, Tanner?”
“You should invite Santino,” Tanner states and props his foot on the bench. “After what he did for me a couple of years ago, I basically owe him my life.”
I instantly stiffen. “Not Santino.”
Roan’s voice chimes in next. “What is your problem with him anyway? You’ve always hated him, and you’ve never told me why.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I answer and stand up, my muscles tensing from this very annoying subject matter. “It’s irrelevant.”
“I am worried about it.” Roan steps towards me with an uncomfortable look on his face. “Especially because he’s out with your friend Freya tonight.”
“What?” I snap, my jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”
Roan shrugs. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but you should consider telling your friend not to date him if he’s a bad guy.”
“What are you saying, DeWalt?” I snap again, my eyes laser focused on him. “You’re not making any fucking sense to me right now. Freya wouldn’t go out with Santino.”
“She told Allie they are going to some posh rooftop tonight,” he says, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t lie to you, man. Not about this.”
I clench my jaw so hard, I swear I feel my teeth crack. Without another word, I turn on my heels and all but sprint to the showers. This will not fucking do.
“Where is she?” I growl into the phone when Allie picks up my call.
“Mac?”
“Is she with him now?” I ask, all pleasantries leaving my voice.
“Roan wasn’t supposed to tell you!” Allie retorts, clearly anxious. “Why did he tell you?”
“Allie, just tell me where she is, and I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it? What are you going to do, Mac? Throw her over your shoulder and drag her out of their date because you don’t like him?”
“If I have to.”
Allie harrumphs into the line. “It’s no use. She’s determined to have a date for the wedding, and I don’t think you should interfere. This is good for her. She should be putting herself out there.”
“This isn’t up for discussion right now, Allie,” I state, trying my best to remain calm because I know Allie cares for Freya, but at this moment, I care more.
Allie huffs. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend, Mac.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re acting like a shite friend because you wouldn’t want your mate out with the likes of Santino if you knew what I know about him. Now, tell me where she is.”
Minutes later, I’m pulling up to Radio Rooftop, and I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins from my rage.
Fucking Cookie.
I know I’ve been avoiding her for the past few days, but it was just so I could get control of myself. I didn’t know what our kiss meant, and I definitely didn’t understand what I did afterwards. None of it made any fucking sense, so I needed some space to get my head on straight.
Regardless, she should have fucking told me about her plans tonight. I’m her fucking love coach or whatever she called me. And she knows how I feel about Santino, so the fact that she’s out with him feels like a complete betrayal of our friendship. I’m keen on telling her right fucking now.
I take the lift up to the rooftop restaurant where Allie said I could find them. The second the doors open, I know this is not a jeans and trainers sort of place, but I don’t give two flying fucks. The host eyes me up and down as I approach, his lips curling upward in judgment as he takes in the state of me.
“Sorry, sir, we have a strict dress code.” He looks down at his notebook full of utter shite.
“I’m just here to pick up a friend. I’ll be in and out.”
“I can’t let you go in there, sir,” he says with an awkward laugh as he eyes my ink-covered arms. “We have a reputation to uphold.”
My jaw cracks as I state through clenched teeth, “Your reputation will be destroyed if I send one tweet out to my 200,000 followers.”
“Your what?” he asks in disbelief.
“James!” a female voice squeals from beside us. “We can cert
ainly find a table for Mr Maclay Logan, midfielder for Bethnal Green.”
I turn my gaze to the woman who’s now moved to stand beside Mr Twat Waffle, who is in serious need of a shaking. The woman eyes me hungrily, and the look irritates me further.
“I don’t need a seat. I just need to get in and grab my friend.”
I point towards the rooftop full of couples who are bathed in warm, romantic lighting, all enjoying the twinkling views of the London night skyline. My eyes do a cursory sweep, and I nearly keel over dead when I see Freya. My fucking Freya walking past the tables with ease, like she’s Moses parting the Red Sea. She’s wearing the fucking stunner of a dress that I bought for her. Even the damn shoes that came out of my fucking credit card are on her feet, mocking me. Her red hair is glossy and loose down her back, curled to perfection. I swear to Christ, every man in the room is turning to watch her walk by.
Cracking my neck, I make my way past the daft gatekeepers and towards my best mate, knocking into chairs like a bull in a china shop the entire way. Freya must hear the commotion because she turns her head, and her mouth opens as soon as she sees me barrelling towards her.
“Mac,” she says with an awkward laugh when I’m an arm’s length away. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking you home.” I grab her arm, but she quickly yanks it out of my grip.
“What do you mean, taking me home? I’m on a date.” She looks around nervously at all the eyes focusing on us.
I cringe slightly when I see the attention I’m drawing, but it doesn’t stop me from replying. “I’ve heard all about your date with Santino.”
She falters for a few seconds, her long-lashed eyes casting downward in shame as she attempts to find her words. “I would have told you, but—”
“Aye, it’s because of him that I’m taking you home.”
I reach for her hand again, but she evades my grasp. “Mac, you’re embarrassing me.”
My eyes fly wide, and I drop my head to level her with a serious scowl. “You should already be embarrassed for being seen in public with the likes of that wank stain.”