This feels so indulgent, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
Mac pays before I can reach for my purse, ignoring my protests and handing me my cone. Then we walk to the edge of the parking lot, where a few benches are set out to admire the view. I take a seat next to Mac, keenly aware of the way his thigh is pressed against mine, the movement of his tongue over his ice cream cone, the way his hand is slung casually along the back of the bench behind me.
This feels like a date. When was the last time I went on a date?
Wait—no. I don’t want to think about that. It’ll make me feel too old.
“So,” Mac says after a while, “when are you going to let me see that pussy of yours?”
That’s when my ice cream decides to go down the wrong hole. Choking and spluttering, I cough out a shocked, “Excuse me?”
Mac keeps his eyes on the horizon, the setting sun turning his skin golden-brown while the corner of his lip twitches. “Mr. Fuzzles, was it?” When he meets my gaze, his eyes are dancing. “Why? What did you think I was talking about?”
Laughing, I nudge him with my shoulder and shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Mac’s smile widens, turning my stomach into delicious knots. He drops his arm from the back of the bench to my shoulders, tugging me closer. “At least I put a smile on your face this evening. Mission accomplished.”
Oh. Everything from neck to navel warms inside me at his words—at the sincerity of them. He’s just…so damn sweet!
And as Mac lifts his treat to take a bite out of the waffle cone, then glances at me and gives me a cheeky wink, I know I don’t stand a chance to resist him.
Would it be so bad if I just…didn’t?
14
Trina
We stay at the lookout until the sun sets and a chill creeps into the air. Our ice cream is long gone and there’s a lingering taste of sweetness in my mouth. When Mac takes me by the hand and leads me to his bike, my heart gives a mighty squeeze.
I like this.
I like being treated like a princess. I like having my hand held. I like simple pleasures like ice cream and sunsets.
And, apparently, I also like motorcycles.
We stand beside the bike and Mac puts my helmet on, his lips tugging once the latch is clicked beneath my chin.
“What?” I ask, seeing the glimmer in his eyes.
“You look cute in a motorcycle helmet.”
“I am not cute.”
His lips curl a bit more. “Okay, you look hot as fuck in a motorcycle helmet.” A chuckle falls from his lips when he sees the startled expression on my face. “Better?”
“You have strange preferences, Mr. Blair.”
That makes him laugh outright, and my heart clenches again. And when Mac leans down and presses his lips to mine in a soft, sweet kiss that quickly devolves to something deeper and wetter? Well, my heart nearly gives out completely.
When he pulls away, Mac brushes his thumb over my swollen lips and shakes his head. “I don’t think my preferences are strange at all.”
With practiced, easy movements, he mounts his bike and nods for me to follow. Then, we’re off onto winding, forested streets all the way back to Heart’s Cove, to the temporary rental my mother and I are occupying for the next week until we can move into Candice’s old place.
Mac pulls out in front of the house and we dismount. A deep well of disappointment opens up inside me as I remove my helmet, once again doing my best to smooth down the rat’s nest on top of my head.
The house keys are cold in my hand as I fiddle with them, watching the way they spin around the key ring just to avoid glancing up at Mac’s bottomless eyes. “Thanks for this evening,” I finally say. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”
Mac lets out a breath, and I look up to see him combing his fingers through his hair. His eyes are on me, and just as I predicted, the sight of them makes my blood heat.
If I didn’t live with my mother, I’d invite him in. If I had any sense of adventure, I’d ask to see his place.
But I have kids, responsibilities, and my life is such a jumbled mess that I need to think things through. What if I’m just latching onto the first decent man I meet? Shouldn’t I be focused on being single for a while? Getting to know myself again? Finding a job, moving forward, being independent?
There’s nothing but conflict inside me. On the one hand, Mac is a brawny, sweet, sexy man the likes of which I’ve never even seen, let alone dated. He makes pottery and rides a motorcycle. He doesn’t complain when kooky old ladies like Dorothy and Margaret demand rides around the block. His kisses are like dynamite.
I’d be a damn fool to turn my back on that.
But on the other hand…I’m a mess. I’m barely out of a bad marriage. The ink isn’t even dry on my divorce papers and I’m ready to throw myself into another man’s bed. That’s wrong, isn’t it? Shameful, in some way?
Mac cuts through my turbulent thoughts by placing a hand on my neck, his strong, warm fingers curling around my nape. “I want to see you again,” he says, and I can’t help but bite my lip.
At the sight of it, Mac lets out a low groan. “Remember what I said about the lip biting, Trina? It’ll get you in trouble if you aren’t careful.”
Lungs catching, I gaze up at him. I’m sure he can feel the pulse thundering in my neck. I’m sure he can see the heat in my eyes. He knows the effect he has on me.
So, telling him the truth is just voicing something he already knows, even if it comes out a bit breathy. “What if I want to get in trouble?”
Another groan, and his fingers tighten. Then I’m wrapped up in his arms and I’m kissing him again, just like we did outside the Cedar Grove. Melting into his chest, I let out a moan at the warmth and strength of him, the feel of his strong, broad body curved around mine.
And his lips—oh, his lips are magic. He parts mine with his tongue and deepens the kiss, the hand on my neck shifting to tangle into my hair.
I curl my fingers into his shirt, then claw them up to wrap around his shoulders, wanting more closeness. Needing it. I’m making out like a horny teen on my mother’s doorstep, and I don’t even care. He tastes too good. He feels too good. I feel too good.
When his hand slides down my back to grip my ass, I swear it nearly sends me over the edge. The sheer possessiveness of the movement, the way he grips my body like he needs to feel it under his palm—it’s too much for me to handle.
I break the kiss, panting, resting my forehead against the side of his jaw as he releases a low groan. “Kissing you is dangerous, Trina.”
“Why?” My eyes are closed as I inhale the scent of his skin, loving the way he holds me close. My nose nudges against his throat, rasping against the stubble there.
“Because it makes me forget myself. Makes me never want to stop.” He shifts, brushing his lips against mine. Then he pulls away and gives me a soft smile. “I’d better go.”
“Oh.” I don’t mean to sound as disappointed as I do, so I force a brave smile onto my lips. “Okay. I’ll, um, see you around.”
“Count on it,” he tells me, and it sounds like a vow.
Then—perfect timing as always—the front door opens and my mother yelps, “Oh, Trina! You’re home!” She puts a hand to her heart. “Mac! Lovely to see you.”
I don’t believe for a second that my mother wasn’t watching through the curtains, but I still pull away from Mac and give her a nod. “Hi, Mom.”
“Well, did you have fun? That’s some machine you got there, Mac.” She smiles, toddling over to us in fuzzy slippers complete with bunny ears on them. The rest of her outfit consists of bright red jeans and a polka-dot top.
Movement catches my eye behind her. Little, black, furry movement.
Like a bullet, Mr. Fuzzles darts out the open door, through my mother’s legs, and makes a break for freedom. Mom screams, trying to catch the cat while promptly tripping over the floppy bunny ears on her slippers. Momentarily distracted
, the cat pounces on the floppy slippers, then changes his mind again and darts toward the road.
“Mom!” I cry, rushing toward her as she stumbles and falls into a flowerbed.
She lands with a low oof, then points to the road. “I’m okay. Get the cat!”
That’s when Mac moves.
I thought watching him change a tire was hot? I thought pottery was sexy? How about lightning-quick speed and Olympic-level agility? Mac lunges for Mr. Fuzzles and scoops him up in one hand before the cat can make a break for the road.
“Oh, thank God,” my mother says from the flowerbed.
I help her to her feet and wipe the dirt and flower petals from her clothing before finally turning to see Mac walking up the path toward us.
And my ovaries just lay down and surrender.
One of his big, broad hands cups the quickly-growing kitten to his chest, a little ball of black fur purring loudly against him. I watch tiny little paws kneading his thumb as Mr. Fuzzles nuzzles his face against Mac’s other fingers, the rest of his body lying on Mac’s wrist and forearm. Mac stops in front of my mother and me, a soft expression on his face as he uses a finger to scratch behind the kitten’s ears. It sounds like he’s holding a little engine.
“Oh, he likes you,” my mother says. “He’s never let me pick him up and hold him like that.”
Mac’s lips tilt up, his eyes still on the little ball of fur. Then he glances at me and nods. “Here.” He extends his hands and deposits the cat into my arms, to Mr. Fuzzles’s great displeasure. The cat yowls and reaches for Mac, flailing and scratching so hard I nearly drop him.
Mac to the rescue once again. He grabs Mr. Fuzzles with a deep chuckle and nods to the door. “Maybe I should bring him inside.”
“Great idea!” My mother claps, retrieves one of her slippers from the plants, and leads the way to the house. “Have you two eaten? I can whip something up for you.”
Oh…no. I don’t want a family dinner with Mac and my mother. No way.
Panicked, I whip my head toward Mac, who just gives me a wink and a smile. “I have plans, unfortunately, but thank you for the offer, Lottie. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Another time.” Mom waves a hand for us to follow her to the living room. “Keep your shoes on. Mr. Fuzzles’s scratching post is in the guest room. We can drop him in there”—she turns to the cat and lifts a finger as if she’s scolding him like a child—“so he can think about what he’s done.”
I notice the way Mac’s eyes linger on the kids’ shoes by the door, the jackets, the colorful backpack with Disney princesses all over it, and I bite my lip.
I haven’t actually told him about the kids. It’s not that I’ve withheld the information, it just…never came up. The time that I’ve spent with Mac has felt like an escape from my life. Not that I’m ashamed of my kids, but just that… I don’t know. It’s just so much easier to be a divorced woman meeting up with a hot badass without thinking about all the implications of actually being with him.
But Mac says nothing about the kids’ clothes. He just deposits Mr. Fuzzles next to his food and water bowls, grinning when the cat does a figure-eight through his legs, then softly closes the door.
“I’ll walk you out,” I tell him.
When we get to the motorcycle again, the curtains twitch, and I know for sure my mother is watching. I clear my throat. “Look, Mac. I, um… I haven’t actually mentioned this before, but I’ve got two kids.”
Surprisingly, Mac just smiles. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Your ex mentioned something about it being his weekend. I figured it out.”
I let out a little snort. “Ah,” I say, and give him an awkward smile.
“It’s fine, Trina. I like kids. Obviously.” He smiles back, as if what he just said makes sense. Why would it be obvious that he likes kids?
Frowning, I just nod. “Right. Well, look, Mac—” I take a deep breath. Time to be a big girl. “I haven’t actually dated anyone since Kevin, and I’m not really ready to introduce the kids to anyone. It’s not anything about you. It’s just, I don’t want men in and out of their lives while the divorce is so fresh, and…”
“I get it.” Mac reaches over to take my hand, then places a soft kiss against my knuckles. “You’re doing the right thing. I wasn’t going to ask to meet them.”
“Oh. Well…good.” I bite my lip and nudge the pavement with my toe. That was a much easier conversation than I imagined.
That makes him chuckle. “I’ll call you, Trina.”
My lips curl, and I nod. “Okay.”
With one more soft kiss on the lips, Mac dons his helmet and slings a strong leg over his bike, gives me a wink and a smile, then rides off down the street and out of sight.
I turn to see my mother at the door, a cheeky grin teasing her lips. “Trina, honey, that man is something else. If you don’t want him, I’ll have him any day of the week. Hell, I’ll have him every day of the week!”
“Mom, gross.” I frown, and Lottie just laughs.
But the scariest part is, I feel the same way.
15
Trina
The weekend that follows is busy. I spend two days packing with my mother while the kids are away so we’re ready to move into Candice’s old place on Monday.
Kevin drops them off at the rental on Sunday evening, peering over my shoulder to the house beyond. His lips curl in disgust. “Is your new boyfriend there? I hope you’re not letting some creep around my kids.”
I stare at the man on the doorstep, wondering who the hell I was married to for so long. Is this really the same man I thought I’d grow old with? Someone so vindictive and bitter? Someone who cheated on me while we were married, and now gets mad that I might be moving on after the divorce?
Maybe it’s the fact that I have a girl gang behind me, a bit of space, and the attention of a sexy, sweet, motorcycle-riding badass, but I’m finding it hard to be small and civil and meek with Kevin now. I square my shoulders and stare him down. “He hasn’t met the kids, and he won’t meet them until I’m ready for that to happen.”
Kevin snorts. “Yeah, right. He’s probably in there now. Tell me, Trina. Do you think of me when you suck his cock?”
Startled, I blink. Did he just say that to me? Did he just say that to me?
Oh, hell no.
Cocking my hip to the side, I arch a brow. “Honey, I don’t think of you ever, and definitely not when Mac’s big, beautiful cock is involved.”
Then I slam the door in his face.
Then I start shaking, and tears leak down my cheeks, so I hide in the powder room in the hallway until my mother knocks on the door.
“Trina? Everything okay?”
I open the door so fast my mother stumbles back, wide-eyed. “Kevin just asked if I think of him while I suck Mac’s cock.”
Mom’s jaw drops. “He said what?”
“So I told him I don’t think of him ever, and definitely not when Mac’s big, beautiful cock is involved.” The words are coming out of my mouth for the second time, and it’s just as horrifying as the first.
But Mom doesn’t look horrified. Her eyes widen for a beat, then she throws her head back and laughs. When she wraps me in a hug and pats my back, I pull away and shake my head.
“Mom, I haven’t done anything with Mac. I don’t know anything about his penis. It could be tiny. He could have a micropenis!”
My mother arches a brow as her lips twitch to keep a smile down. “Sweetheart, I don’t think Mac has a micropenis.”
“I don’t know if I even want to find out!”
“Of course you want to find out. Don’t be silly.”
I’m living in an alternate universe. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the fact that I’m talking to my mother about Mac’s…equipment. My mother and I don’t talk about sex, ever. I definitely don’t discuss specifics, like, ever ever. But for some reason she seems to think this is all a big joke.
That is, until she pats my cheek with a soft look in her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Katrina.”
“You’re proud of me? For saying that?” Definitely an alternate universe. I’ve fallen through a wrinkle in the space-time continuum.
Mom huffs. “You let that man dim your shine for years. He walked all over you and it broke my heart to see it. Let him imagine you in bed with a handsome man like Mac. Just let him! He deserves to squirm.”
“I don’t want to be vindictive. Why can’t we just co-parent like adults? He was more than happy to sign off on me moving here. Said it would be better for his work, but maybe I should have stayed closer to him. Maybe the distance is hard on him, and he’s regretting it.”
“Good.” My mom gives me a decisive nod. “He should regret it. He ruined a good thing and he treated you like crap.”
“Nana said crap!” Katie screams from down the hall. “Toby, Nana said crap! She said a bad word!”
I close my eyes for a beat, and when I open them my mother is chuckling. She turns toward Katie’s voice. “I did say crap. Crappity, crap, crap!”
“Mom,” I cut in, exasperated.
Katie just squeals. “Crap!” my daughter yells, then bursts out laughing.
My lips twitch despite themselves. “Now look what you’ve done.” I try to keep my voice stern, but my mother sees right through me.
She just winks and heads down the hallway. I give my eyes one last wipe and exit the powder room, suddenly not caring about my daughter saying a bad word. She’s laughing, even though her life has seen more upheaval than I ever wanted her to. She said goodbye to her father today, and it broke my heart to see her teary. But she’s laughing now, so maybe one little inappropriate word is a compromise I can live with.
When we move into Candice’s old house, the kids are over the moon. They choose their rooms, and my mother insists that I take the master bedroom even though I think she should have it. We spend the week cleaning, unpacking, and preparing for school to start on the following Monday.
Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4) Page 11