Game Changer

by Stewart, Sylvie

  He sends me the single brow arch and I laugh out loud, not even caring that the sound carries through the entire restaurant.

  But my smile dies on my lips at his next words.

  “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

  My head straightens and my breath locks in my lungs. Nobody has ever talked to me like that in my entire life and I know I should probably be put off by his bluntness but I so am not. In fact, half of me is ready to yell, “Check, please!” and go see if he can break my sofa.

  His eyes are daring mine to break contact and my entire body has turned electric. So, of course, that’s when the waitress returns with our dinner.

  I clear my throat and thank her before gripping my water glass and chugging the entire contents. When I glance back at Mac, he’s opening his chopsticks but that damn corner of his mouth is turned up again.

  We eat mostly in silence but it’s surprisingly not awkward. He’s a pro with his chopsticks, something that may be difficult for a lot of men with hands his size, but considering the delicate work he can perform with said hands, it just makes sense.

  My spicy salmon roll is freakin’ delicious and I’m pretty sure I moan more than once while eating. Mac basically inhales his fish and polishes off three refills of water before paying our bill and ushering me back out to the sidewalk.

  Now is my opportunity to thank him for dinner and grab an Uber back to Katelyn’s. Even if he makes my entire body sing and gives me beautiful furniture and moves me into my apartment and thinks I’m “fuckin’ gorgeous,” the fact remains that I’m not a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am girl and I don’t like breaking the girl code, even if Elle could probably get any guy she wants.

  Not to mention, I should be focusing on doing everything I can to ensure this magazine gets the green light from the board less than two weeks from now or I might be stuck working as a staff designer on some two-bit publication. And that is so not the reason I moved my ass to New York.

  I need to be smart and keep my eye on the ball, not get swept up by hormones that can’t see past the here and now. Those bitches just see a hot man who tells me I’m pretty and they’re ready to roll.

  Mac signals a cab and I try formulating the right words to tell him I can’t go back to his lair and sleep with him, but it turns out I’m wasting my time when he casually asks, “What’s your friend’s address?”

  I rattle off Katelyn’s address as an odd numbness spreads through me. What is wrong with me? This is exactly what I was hoping for, isn’t it?

  Mac hands the driver a wad of cash and repeats the information while I stand with my hands limply at my sides. Then he opens the back door and steps right up into my space, causing me to stagger back so I’m almost pressed up against the taxi.

  I swallow hard and look up at him. With my flat sandals and shorter than average stature, there’s a good foot of height difference between us. I feel a sudden panic and an overwhelming need to drink in every detail of his face. This might be the last time I see him, apart from the internet stalking I’ll undoubtedly do from now until eternity, and I haven’t even gotten a chance to ask about his scar or investigate his neck tattoo!

  “Mac.” His name comes out without my permission and with a tone of longing I certainly didn’t intend. His response is to dip his head down and raise both hands to my face. But only the pads of his thumbs make contact, tracing the line of my jaw on either side and sending a shiver through me.

  “Go spend time with your sister.” The deep timbre of his voice does nothing to help my current condition.

  His thumbs stroke back toward my chin and I forget I even have a sister.

  “I’ll call you.” I watch his lips form the words right before he lowers his head down all the way and captures my lips with his.

  His kiss is hard and assertive, just like him.

  He takes my breath with the first bruising contact of his mouth on mine, drawing my upper lip between his and sliding the tip of his wet tongue across it as my own lips finally catch on that full lower curve that’s been driving me nuts. His skin there is soft and pliant in contrast to the scruff of his trimmed beard scraping against my chin. But I don’t care if I have beard burn for the rest of my life because my sex thrums and my body screams to get closer.

  He doesn’t embrace me or even try to feel me up, unfortunately. This kiss is all about lips and tongue and the firm press of his thumbs holding my face exactly where he wants it.

  The delicious assault on my senses continues while his mouth slants for another taste and my hands finally reach up to rest on his firm chest. Even through the double layers of cotton I can feel the warmth of his skin and the contraction of his pecs at my touch.

  When he finally releases me, I’m a puddle of goo and have only remained upright due to my grip on Mac’s shirt and the frame of the taxi pressing into my back.

  He’s not even the least bit winded when he guides me down to a seated position and leans into the cab. His whiskers brush against the side of my face and his warm breath tickles my ear as he gets real close.

  “Oh, and, Poppy,” he grinds out.

  “Yeah,” I pant.

  “I don’t hate you.” He pulls back and I just stare.

  “Okay.”

  He closes the taxi door and I collapse against the seat wondering if that man has ever made an exit that wasn’t completely earthshattering.

  My guess is a big fat no.

  Fourteen

  “Never underestimate the ability of a Southern mama when it comes to playin’ dirty.”

  – Cookie Rutledge

  Friday is spent doing last-minute adjustments before the latest version of the prototype is sent to Athena for review. We still don’t have Mac’s article—we haven’t even taken the photos—but we’ll fit it in before the final mock-up runs through each department next week.

  I’m thrilled at the aesthetic we’ve achieved, and I’m confident it’s fresh and appealing enough to capture a wide readership. We need to strike a careful balance since we’re overhauling one of the country’s oldest magazines, but I think even the old subscribers will find the new content and look engaging enough to subscribe—especially with the marketing plan our team has in the works to entice them.

  Even if I weren’t working for the publication, I know I’d be a subscriber. Who doesn’t need time-saving tricks paired with weekend getaway ideas, quick recipes, the lowdown on the latest gadgets, and some hot eye candy all in one place? I have a wild hair to get Bunny’s reaction to the new WHL and see if she’d be willing to give it a go. She’d make an excellent case study for her ever-shrinking demographic—the classic Southern housewife who still puts her face on before her husband wakes up and considers a new recipe from Paula Deen “news.”

  And there I go being hateful again. I suspect it has to do with the package I found waiting for me last night when I got back to Katelyn’s after my womb-imploding date with Mac.

  I thought Iris was going to disown me when I walked in the door well before dark—until I described the entire date in detail. Then she looked about as swoony as I’m sure I did.

  But the high didn’t last long when I spotted a gift-wrapped package on the counter done up so fancy it could only have been from Bunny or Martha Stewart herself.

  “What is that?” My lip had a definite curl to it.

  Iris followed my gaze over to the offending box and her mouth turned down. “Oh, that. Bunny dropped it off before I left and asked me to bring it to you. I forgot about it till I opened my suitcase.”

  I approached it like it was a bomb and plucked the card off the top where it was secured by sparkly gold ribbon. Inside the envelope was a card with a print of the Waving Girl statue, a famous Savannah landmark overlooking the Savannah river. Inside was a handwritten note in Bunny’s familiar rounded script.

  Dearest Poppy,

  I hope this note finds you well. I thought you could use a little something to remind you of home and all of us here who are desperately mis
sing you. Take good care of yourself and come see us sooner rather than later.

  All My Love,

  Bunny Collinsworth

  Because I know so many Bunnys.

  Iris came and read over my shoulder and I handed the card over so I could unwrap the package. It was a shame to ruin it, given that I’m sure the elaborate wrapping cost more than the contents of the box, but there wasn’t much I could do.

  “Oh, good God,” Iris groaned when I pulled out the first item. It was a framed photo of Bobby Lee and me from way back when we were kids. He was giving me bunny ears and I was lifting up my Sunday dress so you could see my damn bloomers. The frame was inscribed with the words “Home is where the heart is” in fancy script.

  I know Iris was on fire because she saw it for what it was—blatant manipulation. But there’s a reason Bunny wins more arguments than she loses; she’s damn good at it. Despite myself, I got a little teary. Not because seeing myself flashing Bobby Lee when he was six and I was three made me suddenly realize I was helplessly in love with the man. But because I remembered some genuinely great times with Bobby Lee—times when he was sweet and considerate and wanted nothing but for me to be happy. And I miss that. I truly do. I was lucky to have him as my boyfriend for the year that we dated, even if he turned out to be the wrong man for me.

  I handed the photo off to Iris and pulled out the next item. It was a bag of my favorite cheddar jalapeno cookies. I knew for a fact that Bunny had to wait in line to buy that for me, something she’d know I knew.

  “Oooh,” Iris said, snatching the bag from me and ripping it open. “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

  After that came a pair of sea-glass-adorned hairclips and a hand-embroidered tea towel with my name on it.

  Then, at the very bottom of the box was another photo, this one not in a frame but laying loose. I knew what picture it was before I even pulled it out. It was from the summer I turned sixteen when I started getting paid for working at the Violette Inn. Cookie, Mama, Bunny, Iris, and I were standing in front of the inn, all five of us linking arms, dressed in fancy duds for a night out. I was looking particularly proud because I was using my first paycheck to treat everyone to dessert on the rooftop terrace of Churchill’s Pub with my hard-earned money. Unfortunately, my wide-eyed teenage self didn’t realize my check wouldn’t even cover half the bill. But Cookie slipped me some cash under the table so I could save face, whispering that I could pay her back later—something she pretended to forget all about when I eventually did try paying her.

  Iris rested her chin on my shoulder. “Aww. I remember that night. Didn’t Cookie get drunk and hit on our waiter?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think she even had one drink that night. But the other part is probably true.”

  I set the photo down next to the other items on the counter and ran my eyes lovingly over each gift. Then I changed into my pajamas and listened as Iris caught me up on everything going down in her life since I left. But when we finally settled down to sleep in Katelyn’s guest bed together, it was with two photos resting on the nightstand next to my pillow.

  Well played, Bunny Collinsworth.

  * * *

  Naveed stops by my office just before five and invites himself out for drinks with Iris and me. I haven’t seen him since Tuesday and I’m happy to have him school us newbies on the best places for happy hour. He chooses a vintage-inspired pub about six blocks from work and Iris agrees to meet us, claiming she’s mastered the subway system and wants to show off her new skills.

  As we walk to the bar, I listen as Naveed tells me about a guy he’s been “talking to” online and I do my best to pretend I’m not completely distracted. But inside I feel like I’m slowly dying.

  Mac didn’t call.

  I’m aware of all the various rules about how much time you should wait before calling after a date, but none of them are helpful in this case. Because a) Mac does not strike me as a person who plays by the rules. In fact, he strikes me as the kind of person who’d burn the whole damn rulebook after scowling at it in a super sexy way. And b) it’s Friday evening and Mac does not have my cell phone number.

  I’ve been kicking myself all day long for not clearing my Mac-induced haze for long enough last night to give him my digits, but it’s no use. This means if I want to talk to him before Monday, I’ll have to be the one to call and, most likely, need to deal with Jonathan in the process. Ugh.

  When we arrive at the bar, Iris is already standing outside. I introduce her to Naveed and we all go inside where Iris and I look for a spot to park our trio and Naveed grabs us our first round of drinks.

  And, because she’s my sister, Iris immediately knows something’s wrong.

  “Spill it.”

  “Spill what?” I feign innocence as I tuck back a strand of hair that’s fallen out of my updo.

  “The reason your face looks like that.”

  “Rude.” I look her over to see if I can throw an insult her way but she looks adorable as usual, with her shiny blond hair and her slim bod decked out in a trendy floral romper and heeled sandals.

  “Quick. Before your friend gets back.” She cocks her head to the bar.

  I crane my neck and see that Naveed is already being served by the bartender.

  “Fine. He didn’t call.” I sigh.

  “Who? Mac?”

  “No. Donald Trump. Of course Mac.”

  Her brow knits. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”

  I know she’s right, but I explain my thought process, ending with, “I’m obviously a horrible kisser and he’s decided Elle the supermodel is a much better option.”

  “Chill please. He’ll call.” She leans against the wood-paneled wall.

  I open my mouth to argue about the cell number again but she cuts me off.

  “You really think a man like that can’t find a way to get your number? He probably just had a busy day banging on fiery things.”

  The mental image of Mac doing just that fills my mind and I suddenly feel a bit woozy.

  “How can you sound so sure?”

  Her hand hits her hip. “Easy, dummy. He has my car.”

  “Oh.” I’d completely forgotten about that.

  “And besides,” Iris holds up her phone. “I have Alec’s number. I can just text him for Mac’s if you want.”

  “No!” I lunge for her phone just as Naveed approaches with three drinks.

  “Oooh. Girl fight.” He waggles his dark brows.

  Iris bares her teeth and growls like a tiger.

  “I like her,” Naveed says to me, handing over my drink.

  “Good. You can have her.” I scowl at Iris but it bounces right off her.

  “Whatever. You’d miss me too much.”

  She’s absolutely right, of course.

  “Why the jello wrestling over the phone?” Naveed asks, bringing his drink straw to his mouth.

  “Poppy doesn’t want me to hunt down this hot guy’s number.”

  I don’t want Naveed knowing anything about Mac and me. He may be one of the only people in my professional life who’s seen the real me, but even so, it can’t look good if I’m seen getting involved with someone we have business with. And anyway, Mac and I aren’t involved. In fact, I should be happy he didn’t call. It makes things simpler.

  “All I heard was hot guy. Tell me more.”

  I give Iris the universal girl face for “Abort!” and, thankfully, she receives it loud and clear.

  She waves a dismissive hand. “Just some dude who helped us out yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Naveed seems deflated so I bring up the subject of his new guy and before long he’s regaling us with stories of some of his wilder online conquests.

  After a bit, we’re able to snag a high bar table from a departing couple and we settle ourselves in. I’m beyond relieved to get off my feet, promising myself to relegate these heels to the nope bin as soon as we get home.

  In the middle of Naveed’s introducto
ry lesson on how to shop in Manhattan Iris slides her phone across the table with a sly smile. When I look down I see she has three new text messages from a clearly eager Alec.

  Alec: Hey beautiful. Returned the trailer.

  Alec: Mac wants your girl’s number.

  Alec: You want to meet up for a drink tomorrow?

  It’s all I can do not to take a victory lap around the bar. I will my face to remain expressionless in case Naveed is watching me. But I don’t need to worry because when I glance his way he’s got his nose in his own phone looking for a link for Iris. I shoot her a subtle nod and she grins like a lunatic as she types a response to Alec.

  Five minutes later, my phone vibrates with an incoming call. I shoot Iris a wide-eyed look of panic and quickly excuse myself. It takes what feels like an eternity to weave my way through the happy hour crowd and out to the sidewalk where I can hopefully hear.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Mac.”

  A sappy smile overtakes my face and I give myself an eyeroll when I realize I’m literally twirling my hair between my fingers like a lovesick teenager.

  “Hi.”

  “Your bed get delivered?”

  Hearing him just say the word bed makes something go bump in my panties.

  “It did. First thing this morning, in fact. I’m looking forward to testing it out tonight.” Oh my good lord baby Cheez-its. I can’t believe I just said that.

  Mac makes that humming sound.

  If I don’t bring things around, I’ll be combusting with pent-up sexual frustration out here on the freakin’ sidewalk for all to see.

  “Yeah, Iris and I are having drinks in Midtown and then we’re packing my suitcases to finish moving me in. I’m an official New Yorker.”

  “How long is she in town?”