Even three sheets to the wind, I thought I’d get an argument from her, so I was surprised when she picked up her guitar. Settling into the blue chair, she clamped a small triangle pick between her teeth while she plucked at the strings and adjusted the tuning knobs.
Once she seemed satisfied with the tinkering, she turned to me. “Okay. What are you in the mood for?”
“Something of yours.”
She groaned. “Seriously? Which one?”
“The one you were playing the other day.”
“‘If Only’?”
I shook my head. “It was about being lost or something.”
Her eyes widened to the point of comical. “You heard me play ‘Weak’?”
“If that’s what it’s called, yeah.”
“No,” she said, furiously shaking her head back and forth. “That’s, like, the most personal song I’ve ever written. I wrote it when I was eighteen, right before I left for Nashville. No one’s ever heard it.”
“But I heard it.”
“You weren’t supposed to.” She glared with unfocused eyes.
I sent her a charming grin.
Swaying a bit, she absentmindedly strummed the strings, as if her instrument was an extension of her own body.
For a second, I envied the passion she had for her career.
At her age most people were still in college, getting buried in student debt or working a dead-end job living paycheck to paycheck. Some people went their entire lives without finding their thing—the thing they were put on this earth to do.
One of my biggest fears was that I would end up being one of those unfortunate people.
But this amazing girl in front of me already had it figured out. She had talent, perseverance, and luck on her side. I knew she was lonely, though. Because of her past, she’d gotten used to shutting people out.
I wanted her to let me in.
“That song is too depressing,” she continued, still plucking random notes. “People want hopeful words, especially when it’s about something so serious. They want a song that will make them feel like there’s a way out. Like everything is going to be okay.”
“And the song isn’t about that?”
“No. It’s the opposite, actually. The way it feels when you’re in a dark time.”
“I want to hear it again. Please?”
Glancing up at the ceiling, she let out a cute growl before emptying her wine glass.
“Don’t think this is going to be a regular thing,” she slurred. “I can’t even feel my face right now.”
I started cracking up, but my laughter was cut short when she began to sing.
I got your message, God,
I read it clear and loud,
This isn’t the way I ever
thought things would turn out,
I’m a fucked-up mess of chances,
In this fucked-up life I live,
Here’s to a second chance,
That left me here for dead,
Here’s to the world I know,
We have driven this road hard,
And packed the gravel down…
We are the weak,
We are the lost,
We are the sick and tired of being left alone,
Being left alone…
Maybe I can’t find the words,
This isn’t the first time
I’ve been down and out,
This is a tightrope walk,
With the blinders on…
As she started the chorus again, singing about being weak and lost, I knew I was getting a glimpse of something personal, something deep inside her no one else had ever seen.
This was the eighteen-year-old version of Mackenna—broken and alone—baring her soul in the form of song lyrics. Lyrics she’d kept all to herself.
In that moment, I felt more connected to her than I ever had to anyone. And I’d only known her for a few days. How was it possible for me to see inside someone’s heart so soon? Someone who was so determined to keep me out?
And after those last chords rang out, she gave me a lopsided smile. That dimple appeared and I was speechless.
I was such a lucky motherfucker. Not just because I got to hear her sing, but because I had the opportunity to know her.
And I needed to tread lightly so I didn’t mess it up.
When she leaned over to set her guitar on its stand, she lost her balance.
“Whoa.” Reaching out, I caught her around the waist before she could hit the floor. “I think we should get you to bed.”
“The room is spinning,” she grumped.
Kneeling in front of her, I placed my hands on each side of her face. “I need you to tell me the truth. What are the chances you’re going to throw up?”
“None.” She wrinkled her nose, then a burp bubbled up. “I think.”
“Come on,” I said, scooping her up into my arms.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, though there was no heat behind her words. Looping her arms around my neck, she didn’t seem to mind having me hold her. Just like on the couch earlier, her body relaxed and she rested her head on my shoulder.
“Carrying you up the stairs,” I replied. “Which one is your room?”
As I reached the top step, she pointed to the right. I kicked the door open before flipping the light switch with my elbow. The room stayed dark.
I looked up at the ceiling fan. “Your lightbulb burn out?”
“No. My lamp.” Waving her arm at the small lamp on her nightstand, she snickered. “It’s a touch lamp. Like magic. Seriously, just touch it and it turns on. Ohh, that sounded dirty.”
I laughed, enjoying her drunk rambling as my feet padded across the hardwood floors. “I’ll be sure to touch it.”
She giggled as I gently placed her onto the bed. “Won’t Beverly wonder where you are?”
I shook my head. “She spends most nights at Ernie’s anyway. If I get back early enough, she won’t even know I was gone.”
“Such a troublemaker,” she taunted, falling backwards and closing her eyes.
Bringing my hand to the light, I tapped it once and dim light filled the room. The lamp looked old, with shiny brass and glass plates that were decorated with a floral design.
Glancing over at a silent Mackenna, I thought she might be passed out, but she was staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes.
“How are you feeling?” I sat down next to her.
“I think I have a crush on you,” she rushed out, the words running together.
I chuckled, lying back so we were side by side. “Oh yeah?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, but I think this is what it’s supposed to feel like.”
Puzzled, I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never had a crush before?”
“Of course I have. I mean, when I was younger, there were some boys in school I thought were cute. But it was different then.”
“How so?”
“Well, for starters, I didn’t think about them naked.”
Fuck. I loved it when she was transparent with me, but her honesty was seriously testing my resolve to keep my hands to myself.
Grunting, I threw an arm over my face. “You’ve gotta stop saying stuff like that.”
“I thought you wanted me to be honest.”
“I did. I do.” My words came out muffled. “Fuck.”
She giggled again and I felt the mattress dip. Letting my arm fall to the mattress, I looked over to find Mackenna propped up on her elbow, seeming a little more sober now.
“I want a compromise,” she said in that bossy, business-like tone I liked so much.
“Oh, this is gonna be good.” I laughed. She was tenacious.
“We do the friends with benefits thing—” She cut off my attempt to
argue by holding up her hand. “You want me to trust you if we have sex, right? Show me how. I want to know what that feels like. Please?”
She was begging—fucking begging—me to have sex with her. My thoughts went wild, trying to figure out a way to give her what she wanted, while also getting what I wanted, too.
Conflicted, I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “I don’t know, Mack…”
“Please, Jimmy,” she pleaded, obliterating my self-control.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to say no to you?” I asked quietly, feeling vulnerable.
Playfully poking me in the chest, she grinned. “Then don’t say no.”
“Okay, I’ll humor you. What do I get out of this?”
“Well, there’s the sex part,” she pointed out. “Plus, if we’re having sex, then we won’t be arguing. That’s a win-win.”
“Unless it’s angry sex,” I added with a wink. “That could be fun.”
Mackenna rolled her eyes. “We’d need to lay some ground rules, though.”
“What is it with you women and your rules?”
“It’s important to have boundaries.”
“Alright.” I sighed. “Let’s hear it.”
“Rule number one—you can’t buy me flowers,” she said. I must’ve looked confused because she explained, “Flowers are a waste of money. If you’re going to spend money on something, at least let it be useful. Like guitar picks.”
“Guitar picks,” I repeated, amused.
“Now it’s your turn.” She made a ‘go ahead’ gesture with her hand.
Shrugging, I toyed with a strand of her hair. “Don’t have any.”
“Not even one rule?”
“Nope. I don’t play by the rules anyway.”
She gave my shoulder a shove. “I’m serious.”
I laughed.
“Okay, okay. Geez.” Pausing to think, I tried to think of something I wanted from her that she wouldn’t normally agree to. I snapped my fingers when it came to me. “You have to sing to me every day.”
She gasped. “No way.”
“You said I get a rule. That’s rule number two.”
“Once a week,” she bargained.
“Twice a week,” I countered.
“Fine.” She huffed, and I smiled because I got my way.
“What’s rule three?” I asked, distracted by the way her fingers explored the tattoos on my forearm.
“Obviously, we can’t fall in love with each other, but I don’t think that should be a problem since we can’t go more than one day without pissing each other off.”
“Next,” I said, purposely avoiding any agreement to rule three.
“Your turn again,” she told me.
Then a brilliant idea came to me. “You’re mine for as long as I’m here. One hundred percent exclusive.”
Her face screwed up, causing an adorable wrinkle between her eyebrows. “That’s not really friends with benefits then. Doesn’t that mean we’re dating?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much. I refuse to share you, so, no dating anyone else.”
“Okay,” she gave in, and I had to restrain myself from doing a fist pump in the air.
“I can’t believe I’m dating Mackenna Connelly,” I said teasingly, and she scoffed. “One of your songs is on the radio, and here you are, hanging out with a bum like me.”
“Hey,” she said softly, her fingers traveling up to my bicep. “You’re not a bum.”
“And you’re not as unfriendly as you want people to think you are.”
Her lips turned down. “And you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“But I’d like to.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked, apprehensively biting her lip.
“A lot of things,” I answered honestly.
She sighed and the next words came out sluggish. “Today’s been a weird day.”
“Maybe it’s time to sleep it off,” I suggested. “You’ll probably be dealing with one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
“Okay. But first, I have to pee.” Staggering to her feet, she made it across the room, and I heard the bathroom door shut in the hall.
I fell back onto her pillows and closed my eyes. Her sheets smelled good. Clean and something that was distinctly Mackenna. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right here. With her.
When I heard her shuffle back into the room, I made a split decision. Keeping my eyes closed, I stayed still and tried to even out my breathing.
“Jimmy?” She poked me a couple times in the chest. “Jimmy.”
I feigned a snore.
It took a lot more than a few shots and a beer to get me pass-out drunk, but she didn’t know that.
I was a bastard for pretending to be asleep. Ultimately, I was forcing her to make a choice: stay here with me or go sleep on the couch. My intentions were completely innocent, though. I just wanted to be next to her. Feel her warmth and watch her sleep.
And yeah, I knew how creepy that sounded.
But also, my instincts told me to stay as close to her as possible. If anything happened, it would be a lot harder to keep her safe if I was in a different room.
Staying completely still, I waited. I could almost hear Mackenna’s inner thoughts as she debated what to do.
When she let out a resigned sigh and dropped her head onto the pillow next to mine, it took everything I had not to wrap my arms around her.
This night had taken an interesting turn.
I’d gotten Mackenna to agree to date me. Exclusively. Technically, we were in a relationship.
For now.
It was a giant victory and I gladly accepted it.
CHAPTER 16
JIMMY
Mackenna was a bed hog. Correction: she was a fucking starfish, just like the ones on her leggings.
Those memes about co-sleeping parents with children who can take up an entire bed, despite being tiny? Yeah. It was like that. Only Mackenna wasn’t toddler-sized.
Somehow I’d ended up lying on my back in the middle, and Mackenna was sprawled out on top of me, arms and legs spanning the width of the mattress. Her head was tucked below my chin, her lips resting against my neck. Every puff of her warm breath on my skin sent a jolt straight to my dick.
My hard-as-hell dick, which was nestled right against her pussy.
Even through the sweatpants, I could feel the heat coming off her center. My balls ached with the need for release and I knew I’d be rubbing one out in the shower later.
Every now and then, she would sigh and wiggle a little.
It was torture.
Really good torture.
To distract myself, I thought about my first day on the job at Hank’s. Nervousness took over as I wondered what tasks I’d be doing and if I would even be good at it.
Would I fail at this, too?
I’d been straightforward with Hank when I told him I had no experience with cars. When I was younger, I went through a phase where I liked to put together those model cars, but that wasn’t the same as working on actual vehicles.
From the pinkish glow coming through the window, I estimated it was almost 7:00, but I didn’t want to leave yet. I allowed myself several more minutes of feeling Mackenna on top of me. And when I couldn’t hold back any longer, I wrapped my arms around her, placing one hand on the small of her back and the other by her neck.
Brushing the hair away from her face, I ran my hands through the silky strands a few times. She shifted up my body, which was a small relief for my dick, but it put my face right by the place where her neck met her shoulder.
Running my nose along her skin, I inhaled. The smell of the water from the hot tub still lingered, but there was something else.
Slightly sweet. Her.
“Mack,” I
whispered, my lips grazing her collarbone.
“Hhmmff?”
“I gotta get back home to get ready for work.”
Quickly sitting up, she looked incredibly adorable in her sleepy, rumpled state.
“I’m so sorry. Did I make you late? What time is it?” she babbled, rubbing her eyes.
I chuckled. “No, I’m not late, but I thought I should get back before Grandma realizes I’m gone.”
Nodding, she made a sound of agreement. But she was still straddling me, anchoring me to the bed.
Unable to stop myself, I rubbed my hands up her thighs. “Baby, as much as I love seeing you like this—and I really, really love seeing you like this—you’re gonna have to get off me so I can leave.”
Her eyes widened before she squeaked and ungracefully fell to the other side of the bed. Leaning her back against the wall, she covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, my God.” Her voice came out muffled. “I’m so sorry for molesting you.”
I threw my head back and laughed.
“I’m not complaining.” Grabbing her ankle, I dragged her back over to me and placed her leg over my lap. “Text me today to let me know you’re okay. I’ll be over as soon as I get off work.”
“You worried about me, James Peabody Johnson?” she teased with a smile.
I decided to let her get away with calling me by my full name, because it was sexy when she was playful.
Throughout my life, the unfortunate middle name had been a source of embarrassment. Dad always went on about how it was a family name and how I should be proud to have it. Honestly, it didn’t sound so bad passing through Mackenna’s lips. And if it gave her a reason to flirt with me, she could say it all day long.
“Yeah, I’m worried,” I told her honestly. “Lock your doors. Stay by your phone.”
“You’re kind of cute when you’re bossy.”
“I’ll remember you said that.” I gave her knee a squeeze before reluctantly moving off the bed. “You should go back to sleep. There’s no reason for both of us to be up this early.”
Mackenna seemed to agree, because she collapsed back into the pillows and pulled her purple comforter up to her shoulders.
Fighting the urge to crawl back into bed, I forced my feet to move. Stopping in the doorway, I looked back at her. With a flick of her fingers, she gave me a cute wave before burrowing further under the covers.
Dropout (The Good Guys Book 3) Page 12
