Game Changer

by Stewart, Sylvie

  When we reach the third floor, he glances back at me and all the blood in my body rushes to my face because I’ve been caught red-handed—or red-cheeked in this case—staring at his backside. And there goes that eyebrow, confirming what I already know. Thankfully, he doesn’t mention it.

  “What number?”

  “Oh, 3-A.” I point to the left and will my face to cool down a few degrees as I hurry ahead of him to unlock my door and hold it open.

  It’s a squeeze getting through with the chair and his bulk so I shouldn’t be surprised when his bicep brushes against my breast on his way in. He doesn’t appear to notice, but when I look down at my shirt I’ve got one erect nipple waving hello from just above the word Grits. Fabulous.

  “Where do you want it?”

  I cross my arms and let the door close.

  “Anywhere is fine. I’m not real sure where anything is going yet.”

  Mac lowers the chair down in front of the window like he’s simply setting down an empty box and straightens again. His gaze sweeps me from head to toe and I squirm inside like a kid who might pee his pants.

  “Listen, Mac,” I begin and then pause as his eyes dart back to mine, the irises going almost liquid as a hum sounds from his chest. At first it doesn’t compute, but then I realize it’s a sound of pleasure, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I called him Mac for the first time ever.

  My mouth is Sahara dry but I forge on. “I don’t have the kind of money you’re talking about, which I’m sure you knew before you hauled that chair up here. I just… it’s way too generous. You don’t even know—” I stop before I can finish my sentence, vividly recalling his response the last time I said those words.

  “I already told you it’s yours.”

  I chew on my lip, trying to figure out where to go from here.

  His hands grip his hips on either side. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t going to sell it.”

  My mouth gapes. “That makes it even worse! You were saving it for something special.”

  He gives me one of the slow nods this time.

  As soon as the meaning of that nod registers, my entire body threatens to burst into flame—and not the embarrassment kind. The fully turned on, mama’s-gettin’-lucky-tonight-so-send-the-kids-to-Grandma kind of heat. Is it possible to orgasm from just a head nod?

  I’m so flustered I don’t know what to do with any of my appendages. They all feel like they belong to somebody else and I just have them on loan today.

  But I don’t have to stand there silently offering my body up to him for too long because a buzzing sound indicates he has a call. His eyes don’t stray from me for a millisecond as he brings his phone to his ear.

  “Down in a sec.”

  It’s back in his pocket and he’s walking toward me, his eyes locked on mine, pinning me in place. There is nowhere in the world I can think of that would beat this spot on my bare wood floor right this minute.

  Mac’s hand comes up when we’re just a couple feet apart and his long fingers reach toward my face where he runs one along my hairline and then tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is incredibly gentle for someone so imposing and I shiver at the sensation of his skin on mine. He lets his finger trace behind the shell of my ear and then down the column of my neck, only lifting it when he reaches the cotton of my t-shirt.

  “We’ll get your stuff moved. Then I’m taking you out.” Our close proximity means he only needs to breathe the words for me to hear them, but they catch on the rough edges of his vocals chords nonetheless.

  My own voice is a barely audible croak. “Okay.”

  * * *

  Okay? Okay?

  No! Not okay!

  I was supposed to tell him all those things about not being available to date or go “out,” not roll over like a freakin’ hound dog in a damn sunbeam.

  But by the time I regained my better sense, Mac was already on his way back down the stairs. There was nothing I could do but follow.

  When we reached the street again, a guy in coveralls was flirting with Iris but got straight to work with Mac unloading the U-Haul and SUV. When Iris or I tried helping out, all we got was a stern look from Mac and a friendly “we got this” from the other guy, so we stood lookout instead until every last thing was in my apartment. It took all of about thirty minutes before they finished and coveralls guy was asking for Iris’s phone number.

  Now I’m standing in the middle of my living room with an appraising eye toward my furniture. I’ll need to add a rug to my list, but I like the configuration we have so far with the sofa facing the windows and acting as a divider to the living space. Mac’s chair has a place of honor sitting at an angle with a view of the entire apartment. I rub the spot on my neck where Mac’s finger drew a soft line and feel… things… tighten all over.

  “Everybody back home is gonna lose their collective shit when they see this.” Iris’s voice cuts into my private moment.

  I glance over and see her leaning against the kitchen table holding out her phone. Since I’m several feet away, I can’t get a perfect view, but it looks like a picture of Mac and Alec, the coveralls guy, carrying my dresser into the front of the building. If memory serves, and, oh, how I know it does, just about every one of Mac’s muscles was on display during that maneuver. I might need to crank up the A/C.

  “You can’t show them that.” I shake my head and go to take her phone.

  She holds it away from me. “Why not? You want Bobby Lee off your back, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but not this way.” I give up and lean against the table next to her. “I don’t like lying.”

  “But why? You’re so good at it.” She gives me a shoulder shove and I scowl at her.

  “It was enough that I said it in the first place. I don’t want to rub Bobby Lee’s nose in it—especially since it isn’t true.”

  “Now you’re just lying to yourself.” Iris points to the floor. “That man wants to plow you like last year’s crops.”

  I half laugh and cover my face. “Iris!”

  “What? He does, and don’t even try to pretend you don’t know it.”

  I stumble over to the sofa and fall onto it, my eyes to the ceiling. “Fine. It’s pretty clear he wants to sleep with me. But I’m not doing it!”

  “Why the hell not? I’d let that Yankee doodle my dandy anytime he wanted.” She follows and stands over me with her hands fixed on her hips.

  “Have you seen him?!” I ignore her last comment and throw my arms out in defeat. “He’ll wreck me for every other man I ever meet. Five years from now, some perfectly nice guy might get down on one knee to propose to me and all I’ll be thinking about are the orgasms King Kong gave me!”

  She scrunches her face up. “First, you gotta stop calling him that—it makes him sound like a filthy gorilla. And second, that’s like saying no to a hot fudge sundae from your favorite ice cream place when they’re going out of business. It don’t hold water. If somebody offers you the hot fudge, you take it and run with it.”

  “Even if the hot fudge might already belong to someone else?”

  “That’s crazy. Hot fudge doesn’t belong to anybody.”

  “Exactly my point!” I scratch my head. “Well, kind of.”

  “If you’re trying to say he’s not ‘boyfriend material’,” Iris says with air quotes, “I’m not gonna argue with you. I can’t see that guy buying you flowers and cooking up his famous ramen noodle surprise to impress you. But why can’t you hang out a few times and let him have his dirty way with you?”

  “Reasons, okay! Not the least of which is Elle, his probably supermodel-slash-agent-with-benefits or whatever. And besides, Mac is not hot fudge. He could seriously ruin me.” I cover my face again.

  Iris pauses and then gasps. “Wait, do you like him? I mean like him, like him?”

  I groan from behind my hands. “He’s grown on me, okay?” And it’s true. From his dedication to his craft and the hidden passio
n for creating things of beauty to his cryptic panty-melting declarations and his disregard for anyone who expects him to change who he is, I’m completely hooked.

  “Damn, he could grow on me any day.”

  I lower my hands and give Iris the stink-face. “Ew.”

  She cackles and shoves my legs aside so she can sit on the sofa.

  “Well, you better get your ass in gear because he’s gonna be back any minute now. It can’t take that long to find a parking spot.”

  My heart knocks against my ribcage. When they finished unloading everything, Mac sent Alec to drive Iris’s SUV and the U-Haul to his building while he went to find a spot nearby for his truck.

  “You have to help me get out of this date or whatever it is,” I plead with her.

  “Why would I do that?”

  I bat my eyelashes. “Because you’re my sister and you love me.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m making you go on this date.” She points in my face.

  “Iris!” I shove her.

  “Poppy!” She shoves back. It’s like we’re still little tweens back at Mama and Daddy’s house outside Savannah.

  “You just got in town and it’s your first time in New York. No matter what kind of brat you’re being, I’m not leaving you for some guy who could easily scratch his itch with any freakin’ girl on this island.”

  Iris sighs and pulls me in for a hug. “You’re not just any freakin’ girl on this island, and you’re gonna be fine.” She squeezes me. “I’ll be fine too. Katelyn will be home to keep me company. Go out with the hot blacksmith tonight and then tomorrow your bed will be here and we can have an official celebration complete with champagne, a night on the town, and a good-old-fashioned pajama party.”

  I lean into her hug and try to form a response but there’s a swift knock at the door and I realize my time is up.

  Iris practically throws me to the other side of the sofa and sprints for the door.

  I reckon my number is officially up.

  Thirteen

  “Stepping outta your comfort zone is best done wearin’ the right shoes.”

  – Cookie Rutledge

  If I ever had any delusions that I might beg off on this date, they’re blown to smithereens when the door opens and I’m stunned absolutely stupid by the sight of Mac wearing a fresh t-shirt covered by a blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to expose his corded forearms.

  It takes Iris acting as a buffer for me to finally excuse myself to go tear into a box of clothes in my new bedroom for anything that might make me look even marginally well-suited to accompany Mac somewhere. A denim skirt paired with flat sandals and a baby-doll top will have to do because everything is either in a mess on the floor or packed in another box. I can’t do anything about my hair or makeup since I haven’t brought my toiletries over from Katelyn’s yet, so au natural will have to do.

  I trek back out with my small purse across my shoulder and hand over all my keys to Iris. “I already ordered you an Uber to Katelyn’s and these will get you in if she’s not home yet.” I rattle off the apartment number and instructions to get in the building while all three of us descend the steps. My eyes stay trained on Iris so I don’t hyperventilate, but I can feel Mac behind me on the steps.

  We file out onto the sidewalk and the Uber is already waiting. Mac stows her suitcase in the trunk while Iris almost skips toward the car with little more than a wave. “Y’all have fun! And, Mac, we’ll be having words if you don’t bring her home after midnight!” She disappears into the car and I begin formulating my tenth round of plans for her imminent demise.

  Mac doesn’t even appear to notice, however, as he rejoins me, takes my hand in his, and begins leading us down the sidewalk, utterly blowing my mind in the process.

  Angus “Mac” McKinley is a hand holder.

  I’m beginning to question everything I know about humankind.

  “Can you walk in those?” He dips his chin to indicate my sandals.

  “Y… yeah,” I stammer, still recovering from the explosion of my frontal lobe. And now all I can focus on is the feel of his rough hand enveloping my much smaller one. His skin is warm and dry and the pad of his thumb where it rests against the side of my wrist has revealed a heretofore unknown path straight to my uterus.

  We walk the next two blocks in silence until I can’t stand it anymore.

  “So, where are you taking me?” It’s only six-thirty so we’re clearly not going clubbing. Even the notion of Mac in a dance club makes me want to laugh.

  Half of me expects him to respond, “To bed,” while the other half thinks maybe he’ll go with, “Does it matter?” But his actual response is a bit more practical.

  “Dinner.”

  “Do you have a daily word limit?” I blurt.

  Mac turns his head to me and even from my view way down here, I sense a definite lift to the corner of his mouth.

  Since he doesn’t respond, I figure it’s my turn again. “I thought no one in this town ate supper before ten.”

  He looks my way again. “Then we shouldn’t have trouble getting a table.”

  I nod. “Brilliant. I like the way you think.”

  I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I think he gives my hand a small squeeze at that.

  My steps speed to keep up with him and when I look at our feet I see I’m taking about four steps to his one. I’m embarrassed to admit I’m actually getting winded.

  “Do you mind if we slow down just a little.”

  He immediately slows his steps to a crawl and takes a sweeping glance down my entire body to my feet.

  “Short legs.” I point to my knees in explanation.

  His eyes linger on the skin of my thighs exposed by my short skirt and I swear I hear a hum from his chest. Great balls of lady town fire!

  When his eyes finally come back up to meet mine, the look in them would leave me entirely unsurprised should he beat his chest, then hoist my body over his shoulder and keep on walking.

  Slow down, big guy!

  “Where are we going for dinner?” I let my gaze fall to the side and we resume a more reasonable pace. But I can’t ignore the contact of our skin and the brush of his thumb across my wrist.

  “You like sushi?”

  My brain threatens to explode again at the word sushi. I figured Mac just ate whatever he hunted down and killed each morning. But sushi?

  “I love sushi.” I don’t even have to hesitate in my answer. I’d sell Iris for a good spicy salmon roll.

  Mac gives me a short nod of approval and veers right at the next intersection.

  I let myself look around and see the usual suits hurrying down the sidewalks and people disappearing into apartment buildings and corner shops. Several moms speed by us with trendy strollers and hair pulled back in slick ponytails. And all I can think is how they’re all missing out.

  My eyes come back to Mac and I inspect his stubbled jaw and crooked nose. I can’t see the scar from this side, but I want to ask what caused it. I want to know a lot of things about this man that I have no business asking. So I decide to start easy.

  “Have you ever been to Japan? I hear Tokyo is even more crowded than here.”

  “Never been,” Mac answers. “Never been much of anywhere, really.”

  I don’t know why this surprises me. The man seems to prefer a degree of solitude one doesn’t generally see in world travelers.

  I shrug. “Me either. New York is my biggest adventure so far.”

  We come to a stop at a nondescript storefront and Mac pulls a glass door open for me. The inside is small with a few tables scattered across the commercial flooring and photos of Japanese tourist attractions covering the walls. Mac holds two fingers up to the hostess and we’re seated immediately at a table in the corner.

  “Have you lived here your whole life?” I continue my get-to-know-you quiz once we’re seated with our menus.

  He looks down at his while he answers. “Sort of.”

  I’m n
ot sure if I should take his non-answer as a sign the topic is off limits. His past was forbidden territory during our interview but surely it’s not unexpected to talk about your past on a date, is it?

  “Then maybe you can point me in the direction of a place that serves sweet tea.”

  His eyes flick up from his menu. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  I throw my hands out. “I know! Yet the best I’ve been able to do is McDonalds.”

  I’m confident I don’t imagine the confusion in his eyes, but there’s no time to explain because our waitress arrives to take our drink order. We both ask for water, me because I can’t afford to cloud my judgement with anything approaching alcohol, and Mac for reasons I don’t know.

  She asks if we’re ready to order and I nod, not because I’ve perused the entire menu, but because I know what I like and I sense Mac does too.

  Gulp.

  He proceeds to order what I’m pretty sure is just a bunch of raw fish without the benefit of rice or fancy crap. It’s only then it occurs to me that a body like his, regardless of genetics, probably requires a fastidious diet and a whole lot of self-control. Which is right on par with what I’ve gleaned about Mac so far. I’m guessing this is a man who can take control to the next level.

  All the more reason this date is a terrible idea. But I’m here and physically buzzing from pretty much everything he’s laying down, so that ship has sailed.

  “How long have you been here?” Mac rests both forearms on the table, letting them stretch across the surface in front of him. We might need to ask for a bigger table.

  I tuck my hands in my lap. “Almost three weeks.”

  He narrows his eyes. “So, the night outside my studio…” His rough voice trails off.

  “Was my first weekend in town,” I finish for him with a self-deprecating smile. “I’ll bet you couldn’t tell at all.”

  His tongue swipes across his bottom lip and I’m sure it’s an unconscious gesture but, dayum.

  Apropos of just about nothing, he says, “You like dancing.”

  I open my mouth to answer and then bite down on my lip for a second when I realize it wasn’t a question. His eyes focus in on the movement so I immediately release my grip. “You could say that.” Just like you could say the sky is blue or Sam Hunt is okay looking. “How about you?” I ask, just so I can see his reaction.