by Amy Knupp
Dammit. Quit it.
“This is why I always drink white,” she said. “It doesn’t always stay in the glass.”
Drake belatedly registered that the wineglass had shattered at her feet, and he looked down to verify it and saw that her feet were bare. “Don’t move.”
“Yeah,” she said, glancing around her, as if judging where she could step that was safe.
“Nope,” he said, and without thinking—because, damn, if he’d been thinking, he would have done something different, anything different—he swept her into his arms, one arm under her knees and one supporting her shoulders, eliciting another surprised shriek from her.
“Drake!” she said, laughing and, sadly, holding her towel tightly to her body.
Scratch that. Not sadly. Wisely.
Fuck, his brain was scrambled right now, as he inhaled the scent of her and felt her smooth, bare leg beneath his fingertips. He fought to keep his gaze from roving to the bottom of the towel to see how far it traveled up, or to the top of it to see if it crept downward again, because he was trying to do the right thing and not act like a desperate, turned-the-hell-on man.
He swallowed, gathered his self-control, and carried her to the other side of the kitchen island, then set her down carefully, making sure not to let his hand trail any farther up her thighs in the process.
“My hero,” she said, her grin wide as she gazed up at him, continuing to hold the towel with one hand and brushing the knuckle of her other one over his cheek. His cock responded by swelling even more. What he wouldn’t give to really be her hero for a night.
Drake forced himself to grasp her hand lightly, briefly, a friendly gesture, he hoped, and then he stepped away. “I’ll clean this up and bring you another glass.”
Instead of heading back to her bedroom to get ready, as he’d assumed she would, Mackenzie slid onto a stool at the counter. In nothing but a towel. Not wearing any underwear.
He sucked in a quiet but deep breath, then tried to remember what he was doing. Cleaning up glass shards. Right.
He took out the dust pan and whisk broom and busied himself sweeping up the entire area between the cabinets and the island. He dumped it all in the trash can and took another glass down. The Chardonnay was close to empty, but it was the only bottle chilled, since he wasn’t used to having a wine drinker as a roommate, so he poured the rest into the glass and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “How are you doing on the bullet points for Mason? You had some great ideas on the way home the other night.”
He turned back around and took out some roast beef and whole wheat bread. Keeping his back to her, he stuck the bread in the toaster and the meat in the microwave. “I sent them over today. We’ll see what he says, but they’d be crazy not to pursue it.”
“They’d be crazy not to convince you to be in charge of it.”
He let the comment go unanswered. Maybe she would take her wine to her room and let him stick his head in the freezer to see if that would cool his blood.
“Okay, we can skip that topic,” she said cheerfully. “How late do you work tonight?”
“Ten o’clock.” His toast popped up, microwave dinged, and he heaped the meat on the bread, added a slice of cheese, put the top bread on, and turned around, mainly because it would be blatantly rude to eat with his back to her as he stood at the counter.
Mackenzie leaned her elbows on the island, her glass in front of her, as she absently wound a lock of her hair around a finger. The towel appeared to be secured tightly, but that didn’t prevent him from getting an eyeful of her curvy, sumptuous cleavage. Did she have the slightest damn clue how alluring she was?
“Have you—” He stopped when his voice came out hoarse, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Have you heard anything more about your apartment?”
Her gaze jumped to his. “Have I overstayed my welcome?”
“No,” he said quickly as he thought, as long as you’re fully dressed.
She narrowed her eyes at him as if gauging his sincerity.
“Really,” he said, and most of the time he meant it. The times when they stayed up late watching a movie or when they hit Carlotta’s together before going their separate ways for the day, for example. Last night, they’d cooked dinner together, which had been an amusing give-and-take between his healthy preferences and her junk-food ones. They’d compromised with salmon filets with a side of mass-produced mac and cheese. He’d drawn the line at the orange stuff, insisting on no artificial colors, and he had to admit the whole dinner had tasted damn good.
“I talked to Nadine today. If all goes as planned, I can move in on Sunday. So you’ll be rid of me soon.”
Instead of letting slip how much that thought bothered him, he made a joke of it. “And then I’ll never see you again?”
“You wish. I’ve been thinking of joining your gym.”
An image of her in a sports bra and little workout shorts taunted his brain.
Once she moved out and the slumber party ban was over, he needed to get laid. Hell, who was he kidding? Though he would honor their agreement to not have a female guest while she was there, there was absolutely nothing stopping him from going home with a woman. Nothing except himself…or maybe the pretty girl who left little piles of Mackenzie shrapnel all over the apartment—her laptop and planner and a sweatshirt on the island, a pair of shoes by the couch, hairband and rings on the end table. He oddly didn’t mind the signs of someone else in his space and admitted to himself that was probably because it was short-term.
“You should,” he said. “I know a guy who could show you around, maybe give you some tips.”
“I bet you do.” She stood, grasping her towel, and said, “I might hold you to that. I need to finish getting ready or I’ll be late. Enjoy your dinner.” When she gestured to his sandwich, he realized he hadn’t yet taken a single bite.
As he watched her walk toward her room, admiring those legs, he acknowledged he was starving, but not for a sandwich.
Chapter Eight
Mackenzie thought she’d be relieved to ride off in an Uber toward the bar on Hale Street where she was meeting Sierra and Lexie. Relief hardly described her situation, though, as she thanked her driver and climbed out onto the brick sidewalk near the wooden Clayborne’s on the Corner sign that jutted out from the building. Relief would mean that, by leaving his apartment, she could forget about Drake and what he made her body crave.
That was a big no.
Her body hadn’t forgotten one iota of need.
When she’d seen Drake standing in the entrance to the kitchen, watching her, her first instinct was to hide. Though he was oh so desirable, she’d had no plan for him to find her in a towel, and on autopilot, she’d nearly jetted back to her room. But then she’d seen something in his eyes, interest, she was pretty sure, and he’d seemed a little flustered. She’d reminded herself that, generally speaking, guys liked to see girls in towels. And she’d acknowledged that she liked the way he was gazing at her. She’d thought, This is Drake. See where it goes.
Though she was a fan of sex and not a stranger to short-term flings, she wouldn’t classify herself as sexually aggressive. Standing there, exposed, being checked out by a guy who looked like he did and who undoubtedly was used to gorgeous women, had required a micro-pep talk, and her nerves had caused her to spill the wine. But when he’d carried her to the other side of the room and set her down, she’d felt hard proof—rock hard—that he wasn’t indifferent to her in a towel.
Though her brain could argue that that didn’t mean anything except that he was a living, breathing male reacting to the sight of a female’s skin, her body didn’t care. Her body wanted to show him more skin and to peel his clothes off of him and run her hands over all of his skin.
It seemed her adolescent crush was alive and well and had escalated to a full-on I want to make babies with him. Except without the babies.
She blew out a big breath, trying to get herself
in check before she entered the bar, peering down the one-block-long Hale Street. She wasn’t familiar with this area of town, likely because it had only been redeveloped in the past couple of years, according to Sierra, who lived in an apartment above one of the businesses. It was easy to see it was a thriving, trendy block now, with shops on both sides, old-fashioned lampposts, and lots of people coming and going at the dinner hour. She’d have to make time to explore the stores and definitely that bakery across the street.
A group of people came out the main door of the bar, so Mackenzie grabbed the handle and went inside, glancing around for Sierra’s chestnut hair or Lexie’s espresso-colored locks. There was a small stage to the left of the door, lining the windows on the Peach Boulevard side, and high-top tables scattered throughout. A long wooden bar with loads of character and red-upholstered stools stretched along the left-hand wall, and there was a lofted second story at the back of the building, where it appeared there were more places to sit. Mackenzie wended through the tables, heading toward the stairs, thinking maybe her dinner dates were on the second level, but then she spotted Sierra at a high-top table for four along the wall that butted up to the stairs.
“Hey, you,” Sierra said as she reached the table.
Mackenzie leaned in to give her a half hug, breathing in the citrusy scent of her. She noted the glass of red wine in front of Sierra was nearly full. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”
“Not at all. I met my sister here to go over some business stuff, and we just got done five minutes ago.”
“Your sister works with you?” Mackenzie slid onto the stool with a back across from Sierra and settled in, loving the atmosphere and feeling like it was a place she could easily spend hours at. Most of the tables were full, as were the stools at the bar, and the din was warm, pleasant, that of people having a good time.
Sierra shook her head as she swallowed a sip of wine. “Kennedy’s a marketing consultant. She’s also part owner of Sugar Babies, the bakery across the street, which you have to try. If she’s still here, I’ll introduce you. Her husband is Hunter Clayborne, who owns this place.”
“I’d love to meet her, and her husband too.”
“Hi, ladies.” Lexie appeared at their table with a shy smile.
“Hey, Lexie.” Sierra pulled out the stool next to her. “So happy you could come.”
“Your jacket is adorable,” Mackenzie said of Lexie’s fern-green suede jacket as she removed it and hung it on the back of her stool.
“Thank you.” Lexie flashed another grin and hoisted her short body onto her seat. “Sorry I’m late.”
“I just got here too,” Mackenzie said.
A blond waitress came up to the table then and greeted them.
“Girls, this is Asia, my future sister-in-law,” Sierra said. “This is Mackenzie Shaw. She just moved back to town, and she’s staying with Cole’s brother Drake for a while. Lexie Gallagher is best friends with Cole’s brother Gabe.” She gestured to each of them as she introduced them.
“Welcome. It sounds like you, my friend, are fully entrenched in your fiancé’s family already,” Asia said to Sierra, then turned her attention to Lexie and Mackenzie. “It’s very nice to meet you two.”
“You too,” Mackenzie said. “I’m assuming you’ll be a sister-in-law from the other side, since Sierra’s the only one who’s felled a North brother.”
“Asia’s engaged to my brother, Jackson. Did you two decide on where you’re going for a honeymoon yet?” Sierra asked Asia.
“Not even close. We haven’t had a lot of time and there’s so many choices.”
“You need a honeymoon planner like this girl here,” Sierra said brightly, nodding to Mackenzie, making her laugh.
“I’ve never heard of one,” Asia said, stepping closer. “So, like, a travel agent kind of thing?”
“Sort of, sort of more.” Mackenzie slid into an abbreviated explanation of To the Stars, avoiding a sales pitch because she wasn’t sure of the couple’s means and didn’t want to mislead them that she was the right person to help if they were looking for a modest trip.
Once Asia had lit up at the examples Mackenzie had cited, taken their drink and food orders, and hurried off to fill them, Sierra leaned in slightly.
“They need you,” she said. “And trust me, my brother can afford it. He’s a CEO and would give Asia anything.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should give her a business card,” Mackenzie admitted.
“Give her a card. It’s fate. Asia hardly ever waits tables anymore. She’s an assistant manager here and usually has other duties, and she doesn’t work many shifts at all because her photography business is taking off. Anyway, I’ll put a bug in Jackson’s ear too.”
“Thank you,” Mackenzie said. “I’d love to help them.” She jotted a note with their names and wedding date on her phone, then took a business card out of her clutch wallet to hand to Asia later. “So you have Jackson and Kennedy and any other siblings?”
“Just the three of us. Jackson’s the oldest and I’m the youngest. He’s definitely the stereotypical overachieving firstborn, but Kennedy doesn’t have much of a peacemaker in her and I’m definitely not spoiled,” Sierra joked.
“I have an older brother too,” Mackenzie said. “Ezra. We’re close, but I don’t get to see him enough. What about you, Lexie?”
“I’m an only child, also not spoiled,” Lexie said, making them laugh. “Ezra is friends with Drake, right?”
“And Zane,” Mackenzie clarified. “They’ve been friends since, like, middle school. The three of them used to be inseparable. When Zane went into the military and Drake and Ezra went to college together, I stopped hearing Ez mention Zane as much.”
Sierra set her wineglass down after taking a sip. “I met Zane when he was home for Christmas. I liked him, but we were only together twice for family dinners. He and Drake seemed kind of opposite, with Zane so serious and Drake…not. It must be weird for twins to be so far away from each other.”
“Especially when they can’t communicate as easily because of Zane’s job.” Mackenzie texted or talked with Ezra at least weekly, even though he was traveling the majority of the time. With their dad not really in the picture, they only had each other.
“Zane’s a good guy,” Lexie said, “but harder to get to know than Drake.”
“You’ve known the Norths for a long time, huh?” Mackenzie said.
“Gabe and I’ve been friends since the first day of kindergarten. The twins weren’t even born yet. Which makes me sound old,” Lexie said with a laugh. “I’m thirty-six.”
That made her eleven years older than Mackenzie, but it didn’t feel that way. Maybe because Lexie looked about a decade younger or maybe because they had something in common—a history with the North family, though clearly Lexie was a lot closer with all of them than she was.
The North family, though it undoubtedly had its drama and ups and downs within it, seemed rock solid and so stable. Their mom had lived in the same house since before Drake and Zane were born, which meant somewhere in the three-decade range. No divorces, no new school districts, no upheaval. Mackenzie acknowledged that Mr. North’s death must have been an unbelievable trauma for the whole family, but besides that, she envied the family’s stability and deep roots. She’d vowed to build that for herself, for her future family, for her someday kids.
Both these women, who she instinctively liked upon meeting, were a piece of the North family stability—Lexie from the past and Sierra into the future as she married and created her own family with Cole. While Mackenzie had no illusions of becoming that intertwined with the Norths, she was already beginning to feel a hard-to-explain kinship with these two such that their different ages didn’t matter.
“You must have so much insight into the brothers,” Sierra said to Lexie.
“They’re family to me. More than my own is.” Lexie’s tone flickered with sadness, but then she seemed to deliberately brighten. “If you suspec
t Mrs. N is a saint, you’re right. Those five have kept her on her toes for as long as I’ve known them.”
“I want to hear all the stories,” Sierra said, “especially about Cole. Oh! There’s Sloan.” She straightened and gestured to a raven-haired woman across the room.
By the time Asia delivered their food fifteen minutes later, not only had Mackenzie met Sloan, who seemed to be the queen of connections in the music industry and had sworn she was going to throw a party to introduce Mackenzie around, but Tucker Steele and his fiancée, Gin, had stopped by the table as well. Sierra had talked up To the Stars to them, and before Mackenzie could offer them the business card on the table, Tucker had jumped in, said Mackenzie was exactly the person they needed, and set an appointment to meet with her next week.
“Do you need a job?” Mackenzie jokingly asked Sierra as soon as Tucker and Gin walked off to get closer to the stage, where a couple of people were setting up for Wednesday Night Trivia, which Sierra promised was cutthroat and as fun to watch as a football game. “Because I’m ready to hire you as my PR girl. My mind is swimming with all the prospects.”
“No kidding,” Lexie said. “Is there anyone you don’t know?”
Sierra said, “I always knew how music-centric this neighborhood is, in part thanks to the recording studio down the street, but what I didn’t realize was how many people I know who are engaged. If you’re looking for love, drink the water.”
Mackenzie made a point of pushing her water glass away, eliciting a laugh from the others.
“Okay, so I have to ask,” Sierra said as she dipped a fry into cheese sauce, “because Cole and I were debating… Are you and Drake…?”
Lexie let out an exhale. “Us too! Gabe and I went back and forth. Are you two together?”
Just the question made Mackenzie’s temperature go up as the kitchen scene earlier this evening flashed through her mind. “No. I’m just staying with him for a few more days. Strictly platonic.”
Sierra’s enthusiasm faded slightly as her shoulders sank. “I could’ve sworn there was a connection there Sunday evening.”
