Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)

by Phillips, Christina

  “It’s definitely different.” I put our beers on the other side table and sprawl on the sofa. “Back row in the movies. Haven’t done this for a while.” I leer at her for good measure.

  “Did you know there’re beds at the front? It was a toss-up between one of them, or this.”

  I snort with laughter, lean across the sofa, and grab some nachos. “Are you going to sit down, or what?”

  She flaps out the blanket. “Patience, grasshopper.”

  I eye what she’s doing. “I’m not that cold, Mac.”

  “Hopeless,” she mutters, before sitting next to me and tucking the soft blanket around us. Her hand snakes under the cashmere and grasps my thigh. “It’s so we can snuggle in the dark.”

  This is completely insane.

  Didn’t stop me taking Mac up on her suggestion I walk her home after the movie and right into her bedroom, though, did it?

  Her dad was at Margo’s, so the house was empty. And how could I resist those big beautiful eyes of Mac?

  Except now it’s two a.m., and I’m sneaking down the stairs like a thief in the night, with her breathing down my neck.

  “Are you okay?” she whispers.

  “I hope your dad didn’t come back and we just didn’t hear him.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she confides as we reach the foot of the stairs. The only light spills from the kitchen, left on for security purposes, and her open bedroom door. Shadows are everywhere. I turn and take her in my arms. Doesn’t matter that I’ve just left her bed. I have an insatiable need to touch her whenever she’s near.

  Before I get the chance to say anything, the unmistakable sound of a door opening upstairs paralyzes me. Her dad did come back.

  “Mackenzie, is that you?” His voice sounds unnaturally loud in the dark, and she makes a strangled noise in her throat.

  “Uh, yes,” she calls. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  I exhale a relieved breath and grin at her. That was close.

  The upstairs light flicks on, and my grin freezes. In about two seconds her dad’s going to see us. I trawl through my brain for a plausible reason why I’d be here, at this hour, but there isn’t one. It’s bloody obvious why I’m here. He’ll kill me.

  Serves you right.

  Mac shoves me in the chest, and I end up with my back against the curve of the staircase, out of sight from the upstairs landing. I grab her hand, and it’s like she reads my mind as she presses her lips together and shakes her head before pulling free. Don’t you dare confess to my dad.

  All right, then. Hiding in the shadows it is.

  The stairs creak as he comes down them, luckily pausing halfway. “Can’t you sleep, sweetheart? Shall I make us a cup of tea?”

  Fuck. They’ll have to walk right by me to get to the kitchen. I scan the hall for an escape route, but my options are limited.

  Make that nonexistent.

  “God, no.” She sounds horrified. Her dad’s definitely going to guess something’s up, and I brace myself for discovery. “I mean, it’s late. I’m really tired. I could make you a drink and bring it up if you like?”

  “No, that’s fine.” He sounds bemused. “As long as you’re okay.”

  “Yes, I’m great. Good night. See you in the morning.”

  Her dad’s footsteps retreat up the stairs, and a few seconds later Mac joins me. She takes my hand, and we wait until his bedroom door closes. She lets out a long breath before pressing her mouth against my ear.

  “We should’ve had a Plan B. You know, like knotted sheets out of my window.”

  “Helpful, seeing as we were already downstairs.”

  “I can’t believe we didn’t hear him when he arrived home.”

  I don’t want to think about it. “Tomorrow night, you stay over at my place. Okay?”

  “Okay. I think we’ve proved that option’s a lot safer.”

  I kiss her, and it’s a bloody hard wrench to pull back. But we’ve had one lucky escape tonight. Don’t want to push our luck.

  It’d be so much easier if we were living together.

  When I’m back in my car, I drop my forehead onto the steering wheel. I’m seriously losing it. The reason we’re keeping everything on the down low is that we don’t want her family finding out about us. It’d blow our cover right out of the water if she moved in with me for the rest of the week. Why did I even think that?

  The long day at work ahead looms like a specter, but for once the familiar suffocation doesn’t swamp me. Because at the end of it, I’ll see Mac.

  Yeah, man. You’ve totally lost it.

  I work late on Tuesday, since I’ve done the unthinkable and booked a personal day tomorrow. We’ve nothing special planned—Mac and I are just going to hang out, and I’ve never looked forward to having a day off so much.

  It’s almost nine before I get home, and she’s already there. Oh yeah, I might’ve given her a key. Why not? Makes sense.

  “Something smells good.” She wraps her arms around me, and her kiss was worth waiting fourteen hours for. “And so do you,” she adds with her wicked grin.

  “Funny.” We make our way into the kitchen, and I place the Indian takeaway onto the workbench. We’re halfway through eating when her phone rings. She picks it up and pulls a face.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Jake again.”

  I pause, my bottle of beer halfway to my mouth. “Again?”

  She crosses her fingers, takes the call, and switches to speakerphone. “Hey, Jake. What’s up?”

  Jake’s voice fills the room. “Mac! You gotta get over here. My hair’s on fire!”

  We stare at each other. “Is he high?” I mouth to her, and she shrugs and shakes her head.

  “Jake,” she says in that calm manner she used with him in the hospital. “I’m sorry. Did you say your hair was on fire?”

  “Yes. Well, not now. We put it out. But my head.”

  I cover the mic with my hand. “Shouldn’t he be calling an ambulance? Why’d he ring you?”

  “Because I’m on speed dial.” She groans and takes back her phone. “Do you need to go to hospital? Is that why you want me to come over?”

  Fuck that. I’ll call Baz and get him to take care of the little drama queen.

  “I don’t need to go to hospital,” Jake says. “Rafe’ll fucking kill me. You’ve gotta do something. My hair.” He ends on a wail that hurts my ears.

  “Look, I can’t just drop everything and rush over. Do you want me to contact Baz for you?”

  That’s more like it. At least we’re on the same page when it comes to Jake.

  “No!” There’s no mistaking his panic, and as we lock gazes, I can see where this is heading. “I can’t face anyone like this. I can’t go on, Mac.”

  I cover her mic again. “He’s good at this emotional blackmail shit, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. But what’s he done to his hair? It doesn’t sound good.”

  I slam my beer onto the worktop. “Fine. Tell him we’re on our way. Wait. Better find out where he is, first.” He might be in Scotland, for all we know.

  “Okay. Where are you?” She sounds as though it’s no big deal being dragged out at night to massage over-inflated egos.

  He gives the address, and I don’t fucking believe it. As soon as she ends the call, she exhales a long breath. “Wow. How about that? Jake Myers only lives five minutes away.”

  “Fucking great. I hope he doesn’t know that.” Not that he’s got my number on speed dial, and he never will. But that’s beside the point. “And that’s irrelevant. It’s more than five minutes from Notting Hill.” Wait, does Jake know that’s where she lives? The more I think about this, the more pissed off I get. “He’s got a fucking nerve calling you.”

  “I meant to ask Baz to delete my number from Jake’s phone but completely forgot.”

  That reminds me. “He’s called you before? Why didn’t you tell me?�
��

  She shrugs. “It was no big deal.”

  “I thought we were in this together?” I’m only half joking. “He didn’t make you do a house call before, did he?” And this time I’m not bloody joking at all.

  “No, and stop being such a bodyguard.” At least one of us finds this funny.

  “Did you tell Lucas?”

  This time she slings me a frown. “Why would I? I told you, it was nothing. He was freaking out because he couldn’t get the hang of his crutches. I told him to get a wheelchair. Happy now?”

  “There’s no need to get pissy.”

  She scrunches up her nose. “Then stop fussing. Are we leaving now, or what?”

  “Give it another ten minutes. We can finish eating. I don’t want him knowing we’re around the corner from him.”

  Twenty minutes later, we arrive at Jake’s large detached house in St. John’s Wood. Mac phones him, and he opens the electronic gates so I can park on the drive. Lights are blazing at all the windows, and when a dark-haired chick opens the door to us, Atomic Fire’s latest hit blasts into the night.

  “I hope you can fix him,” she says. “I don’t know what went wrong.”

  We follow her to the back of the house, where the music gets progressively louder. She leads us into a hexagonal conservatory, where Jake’s lounging on a sofa, his head encased in a towel. Just like it was at the hospital.

  Mac makes a slashing gesture across her throat, and Jake mutes the music. She takes a deep breath, and we go over to him.

  “You want to tell us what happened?” She sounds a lot friendlier than I would.

  Jake gives me the side-eye. “You need to sign an NDA. I don’t want this getting out to my public.”

  Jesus, give me strength. I bare my teeth, which is the closest I can get to a smile. “Really don’t think that’s necessary, Jake.”

  “We’re not going to tell anyone,” Mac confirms.

  “Yeah, well I know you won’t, with the Hippocratic oath and that.” He hitches in a dramatic breath while I count to ten in my head. When neither of us makes a comment on his bizarre remark, he appears to come back to earth. “Seriously. This is some bad shit.”

  “I’m so sorry,” says the girl who answered the door to us. Christ, I hope she isn’t about to cry. I give what I hope is an encouraging smile, but it seems to freak her out, instead. “It looked so easy on the YouTube clip.”

  “Towel,” Mac suggests, and with clear reluctance, Jake pulls it off.

  I cough to hide my laugh. Yeah, I know that makes me a prat, but the stupid git’s managed to singe off half the hair on his head. At least there’s no blood.

  “Ah,” Mac says in a neutral tone as she examines him. “You were lucky you didn’t burn your scalp. This might be a dumb question, but why did you set your hair on fire in the first place? I mean, what did you think was going to happen?”

  “No, Annabelle was gonna cut my hair, see? But we saw this awesome clip where you cover the hair with oil and then set light to it. But it’s not supposed to go up in flames, it’s meant to style it.”

  “Annabelle’s done this before, then?” I glance at her, and she bites her lip.

  “Not exactly,” she admits.

  “I need a wig or something before Rafe gets home. He’ll rage if he sees me like this. He’s such a dick.”

  Irritation overtakes the amusement. “Mac’s not your P.A. Where’s your assistant? That’s what they’re for, to deal with your personal emergencies.”

  He tentatively touches his scorched hair. “I’m between assistants at the moment.”

  No fucking surprises there.

  “Forget the wig.” Mac eyes his head with surgical precision. “No one will fall for that. I reckon you should just go with it in a big way.”

  “But my fans love my hair. I can’t be seen in public like this. I’d be letting them down.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” She crosses her arms. “You’ll show them the new you. See, after your close shave with death, you, um, embraced this by shaving half your hair off. You can really make a great statement with this. But”—she glances at Annabelle—“you should probably find another stylist.”

  He frowns. He’s either thinking about it or about to launch into a major moan.

  Just as my patience is about to snap, he grins. “I can work with that. But no ratting to the press. I wanna make a big entrance at the party.”

  On Wednesday morning, there’s no mad rush to get up and out of the flat. After we escaped from Jake’s last night, Mac stayed over again, and it’s great, just lying here in bed with her in my arms.

  “Could get used to this.” Her breath whispers across my chest.

  “Never.” I thread my fingers through her hair. I love waking up with her in my bed.

  She shakes with silent laughter and looks up at me. “Was that another compliment? It’s hard to tell.”

  “Hey, don’t be like that. I’m trying.”

  “That’s true. You’re very trying.”

  “Must be the company I keep.”

  “Hmm.” She trails teasing kisses across my chest. “I’m going to make you pay for that.”

  “I think I’m going to let you.”

  “What makes you think I’m giving you any choice here?”

  My phone buzzes, and I’m still grinning when I grab it off my bedside table. My good mood takes a nosedive.

  “Ah, shit.” It’s Lucas. I’m inclined to let him go to voicemail, but we haven’t spoken since he asked me to go with Mac to the hospital. I didn’t get back to him, since she’d messaged him to let him know the crisis was over.

  I was hoping I wouldn’t have to speak to him until she went back to Uni.

  Wouldn’t change what you’ve been doing, hypocrite.

  Like I don’t know that. Guilt churns like acid in my gut, but I wouldn’t change anything, even if I could.

  “Your brother,” I tell her, and she scrunches up her face in mock pain. I take a deep breath. There’s no way he’s found out I’ve been seeing his sister.

  There wouldn’t be a problem if all you’d been doing is “seeing her.”

  “Hey, Lucas.”

  “Been meaning to contact you,” my best friend says. He doesn’t sound as though he wants to punch my throat. “Did Mac tell you about Dad and Margo?”

  “Uh.” I glance at Mac, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed next to me. She’s twisted the sheet around her, but her tangled hair and naked shoulders are still way too distracting when I’m on the phone to her brother. It’s an effort, but I manage to drag my gaze from her. If I wasn’t seeing her, would I know about it? My brain can’t figure it out, but I take a chance. “Yeah. How about that?”

  “I hope she’s taking it all right. She freaked out the other night.”

  I slide another glance at her. I don’t think she was nearly as freaked out by it as he’s implying. “Nah, she’s fine.”

  The words are out before I can stop them. Have I just dropped myself in the shit? She frowns and mouths, “What’s he saying?”

  “You’ve seen her again, then?” There’s no mistaking his surprise, and I mentally kick my arse.

  “Yeah. Got a problem with that?” What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I’m goading him to guess my dirty little secret.

  “Huh?” He sounds clueless. “No. Why would I? But I thought it was all sorted with Atomic Fire.”

  Jesus. I’d forgotten that, as far as he’s concerned, it’s all about them. Lucky Lucas hadn’t.

  “Don’t forget, we were roped into going to their staying alive party this weekend.” Not a bad save from my scrambled mind, considering Mac’s tracing her nails along my thigh. I thread my fingers through hers just as she reaches her target. Not because I want her to stop, but it’s hard enough to concentrate as it is.

  “Sorry I can’t get away for that.” He doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Jax will be there, though.”

  “Good.” Jax set up the Foundation
with Lucas, and he’s a great guy. I pull Mac’s hand up and nibble kisses across her knuckles.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” He snorts with laughter, and I freeze, my lips pressed against her fingers. How the hell did he hear anything? “I thought you’d be at work. It’s not like you, skiving off midweek. Anyone I know?”

  Your little sister. Guilt steamrollers through me. There’s only one possible reply.

  “Fuck off.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mackenzie

  I could get used to this.

  The happy thought floats through my mind as I stand under the shower at Will’s. And then the full force hits me.

  I’m not supposed to be getting used to this.

  Another four days and I’m back to Uni, which means I have four days to get over this crazy obsession with him.

  Unease skitters through me. By rights, I should already be getting over him. In other words, I shouldn’t still be happy to spend every free moment we have together.

  Stop overthinking it.

  Good advice. It’s only because we’re spending so much time together that I feel this way.

  You do know that makes no logical sense, right?

  Since nothing makes a lot of sense when it comes to Will, I ignore that thought. He’s gone to the local bakery to get us breakfast, and I’m just going to enjoy the rest of this week for what it is.

  A holiday fling.

  Once I’m dressed, I make my way to the kitchen. I remember when he bought this flat, a few months before we first slept together. Although it’s absolutely gorgeous, with high ceilings and all the original fireplaces and decorative cornices, I always thought it was too contained for him. I never even used to know what I meant by that, but after our weekend in Wales, I do.

  Although the pod was a lot smaller than his flat, he just seemed so much more relaxed with the mountains and rivers around us. As though the London scene is just something he’s always done because that’s where he’s based. So weird I never guessed that about him before.

  The front door opens, and excited flutters dance in my stomach as I go to meet him. Should I be so happy to see him again? He’s only been gone twenty minutes.