No More Mr. Nice Guy

by Amy Andrews

  He tried not to think about someone else who needed to get lucky and was just a flight of stairs away. “Not everything is about that, you know.”

  Sal laughed harder. “Sooo need to get lucky.”

  Chapter Three

  At eight-thirty that night, goaded beyond reason by Mack’s taunt that she could never be sexually adventurous, Josie was firmly ensconced on a bar stool in a pub with a second frosty Corona sitting in front of her.

  And not just any pub, but the pub she’d virtually grown up in—The Anchor. Sure, it was in the sleazy end of the Valley, and was looking a little worn around the edges, but apart from that, it was exactly as she remembered it. A place for a bunch of guys to come after a hard day’s work to blow off a little steam.

  Blue collared guys. Men smart with their mouths and good with their hands. No yuppies at this bar. No suits. No corporate speak.

  Good.

  She’d come here for the smell of beer, the low murmur of a football game running on the television, and the thick fugue of testosterone.

  And it was buzzing.

  Josie took another mouthful of beer. Even all these years later, she felt at home here. Behind her was the booth where she’d sat every afternoon after school doing her homework. The bus had dropped her off right outside the door, and Ron the chef would have something saved from the kitchen on a plate for her. Mum would mix a red lemonade, and Josie would sit there with her homework or a book until her mother knocked off at five.

  She’d loved how all the regulars knew her. How they’d called her by name and asked her how she was doing. Donna, one of the other barmaids, had helped her with her math, and they made her feel like a princess.

  That was something special in a household that struggled to make ends meet.

  Josie smiled at the happy memories now. Memories that not even the ups and downs of her mother’s disastrous love life could temper. Some could have said—in fact they had said—a pub wasn’t an appropriate environment for a young girl, but she’d felt a real sense of family at The Anchor.

  “Fancy playing some pool, love?”

  Josie swiveled on the stool to find the leather-jacketed guy who’d been checking her out for the last twenty minutes. She took a sip of her beer, smiling at him as the cool bubbles fizzed against her tongue.

  She’d show Mack.

  She’d show him that she did have it in her. That she could get busy with her list. That she could walk into a bar, pick up a bad boy, and take him back to their place to have loud, noisy, dirty-talking, bondage-style sex with him.

  If she was clever, she could knock off a few of those things on the list tonight. She was, after-all, known for multi-tasking.

  Josie smiled. “I’d be delighted,” she said.

  “I’m Ray,” he said, holding out his hand. By the way his attention snagged on the buttons pulling taut across her cleavage, he looked like he was up for some fun, and Josie felt a little buzz at taking her first step toward her sexual renaissance.

  “Josie,” she said and smiled again as he helped her off the stool.

  Ray was about her height, a little on the stocky side, and probably a good ten years older, but he was good looking in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way, and his big calloused hands looked like they’d know how to tie a good knot.

  In a non-serial killer way, of course.

  For a brief moment, as she followed Ray across the pub, the hem of her skirt swinging and fluttering mid-thigh, she felt a flicker of self-doubt and found herself wishing that Sal had been able to join her. Her friend would have quashed her doubts and given a rousing speech about courage and a woman’s needs. But she’d been called back to work at the last moment to perform an emergency operation.

  So, Josie had decided that instead of staying in, and rehashing Mack’s words a thousand times more than she already had, she’d venture out by herself.

  She’d show him she had it in her.

  “This is Gav,” Ray said, introducing her to his friend.

  Josie smiled at the pleasant looking guy about the same height but slighter. “You ready to party?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She smiled and tapped her beer bottle against his.

  …

  It was nine when Mack threw his vet bag into the metal box on the cargo bay of his truck at the end of another very long day. He’d just come from the Murray stables where he’d been checking on Tipperary, the two year old mare with a severe case of colic that had kept him out until the wee hours last night. She seemed to be over the worse of it now, and the owner was most pleased that she should still be able to run in her first amateur race on Saturday.

  As was Mack. But his exhaustion was taking precedence. He needed a shower because he smelled like horse and his belly had been rumbling for the last two hours. Not to mention he needed to apologize to Josie for being a dick today.

  Sal was right. He shouldn’t have been so judgmental. There was no reason to tell Josie he didn’t think she had it in her to pull off her list. Not that he’d changed his mind about that—he just shouldn’t have voiced his opinion. He’d offended her, and that hadn’t been his intention.

  He climbed inside the cab and flipped open his phone. Maybe if he rang her now, they could just forget what had happened today and avoid the embarrassment when he got home. Rewind to this morning when he didn’t know about Josie’s list. When his libido had been more dormant than a hibernating bear.

  He scrolled through his contacts and located her number. Mack tapped the dial button and took a deep, steadying breath as he settled the phone against his ear, grateful when she picked up on the third ring. He was worried she’d see it was him on her caller ID and decide to ignore the call.

  “Hello.”

  Her voice was husky and sounded so very, very close. Like she was sitting right beside him, her lips pressed to his ear. His body stirred, and suddenly, he was thinking about the things they could do in the privacy of his cab in this very deserted driveway.

  Crap.

  “Hi…it’s Mack.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Right. Caller ID. “I’m just on my way home…I wanted to apologize for…insulting you this morning. It was wrong of me to imply you weren’t…”

  “Up for it?”

  Mack swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Because I totally am.”

  She totally wasn’t. “I know.”

  There was silence for a few moments as he waited for her to say something. Anything.

  She didn’t.

  “I don’t want it to be…awkward between us.”

  He thought he heard her sigh. Just a little. “It’ll be fine, Mack.”

  He hoped so, he really did. He might not have seen much of her over the last five years, but he’d miss their easy familiarity if she stayed pissed at him. “I was thinking of stopping off and getting some take-out on the way home. What do you fancy?”

  “Whatever Sal likes. She had to go back down for an emergency operation. She said it’d take a few hours, and she wasn’t back when I left. I’m sure she’ll be starving, though—you know Sal.”

  The background noise hit him then. It sounded like she was out in public somewhere. He’d been so tuned in to the timbre of her voice, the husky nuance, the tension, the sighs, he’d been oblivious to everything else.

  He frowned. “Where are you?”

  “At The Anchor.”

  A spike of alarm had Mack sitting up straighter in his seat. “The what?”

  “The Anchor. Where Mum used to work.”

  Christ. The Anchor. Tension crawled across his traps. “It’s not like it was in your mum’s day, Josie,” he warned. “It’s a really rough neighborhood there now. Not good for a lone woman.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Besides, I’m not alone. I have two lovely guys keeping me company.”

  Mack heard some male laughter and Josie’s muffled voice as she said something to both of them he couldn’t catch.

  His alarm grew.
>
  “Stay there. Don’t move. I’m forty-five minutes away.” Less, if he floored it, and he had no intention of doing anything else. “I’m coming to pick you up.” He just hoped she’d be all right in the interim.

  “Mack. I’m fine.”

  Her voice was testy, but he didn’t care. She could get her knickers in a twist as much as she liked, because somebody had to look out for her while she was hell bent on putting herself in harm’s way. “I’m coming.”

  He hung up the phone and kicked the engine to life.

  …

  Josie blinked at the phone. What the? Of all the over-bearing, paternalistic crap. First, he virtually accused her of being boring in bed and now this.

  Mack coming to her rescue was the last thing she wanted.

  Especially as she wasn’t in any real danger.

  Sure, her spidey senses had kicked in about fifteen minutes ago as her two male companions continued to drink steadily and started hinting at a party-for-three. And Ray was getting a little grabby.

  But until then, she’d enjoyed their company and some light-hearted flirting. She’d relished their frank admiration and their blatant perving on her backside whenever she leaned over the pool table to take her shot. She was so used to dressing on the conservative side that it felt good to be in something a little more risqué.

  But a threesome really wasn’t something she wanted to try first up. Especially not a drunken threesome. She’d need a certain level of trust for that particular fantasy—not something to check off her list with perfect strangers, no matter what she’d intimated to Mack.

  Plus, a ménage wasn’t exactly sex 101. It was one of those things you built up to, right?

  Like pretzel sex.

  She wasn’t worried, though. She knew she could extricate herself from them easily. They weren’t giving off any aggressive or possessive vibes, and she had her wits about her—she was only halfway through her third beer. Not to mention, she’d excelled in her yearly self-defense classes.

  She’d have one more game of pool, finish her beer, and then head home.

  It bugged her, though, that Mack was right. That his point had been proven. She wasn’t up for it. At least not tonight. Number four on her list was being offered to her on a platter, yet she was chickening out.

  Josie didn’t want him to be right. She especially didn’t want him here to witness how not up for it she was. She was merely being sensible and cautious and could do without his gloating.

  She took a deep swallow of her beer. “Last game,” she said. “Rack ‘em up.”

  …

  Josie had no regrets as she walked out into the warm summer night a half hour later, heading for the taxi stand six blocks away. She’d had a good start at The Anchor. The only way she was going to accomplish her list and be more open to sexual adventure was to get out there and practice.

  Flirt and laugh and enjoy the company of the opposite sex. Get comfortable in their presence.

  She’d rarely socialized when she was with Curtis, apart from the school functions they’d been required as members of staff to attend, and she felt like she’d lost that skill.

  Practice made perfect, right?

  The streets weren’t exactly busy, despite the cram of parked cars—there must be an event somewhere—but Josie still had to weave around an odd bunch of oncoming revelers. And it had taken her only a couple of minutes to realize she was going to regret wearing her impractical, red, six-inch heels.

  Josie had bought them on a whim earlier today, egged on by Sal who’d approved of them via a text picture. Her best friend had insisted they were a sign of her emancipation.

  They were great to look at, but hell to walk in.

  Two blocks later, she decided they were absolute torture as twin blisters formed on her heels. They were painful, and she was concentrating on walking in a way that lessened the rub when two young guys loomed in front of her. She barely registered their presence as she moved to walk around them. It wasn’t until they stepped in the same direction, preventing her passage, that she tuned back into her surroundings. A prickle of alarm crawled down her spine.

  “Well, hello there, sexy lady.”

  Chapter Four

  Josie groaned internally as she assessed the guys who blocked her path. They didn’t look that dangerous. One was short and slight, the other was about her height and looked like he spent way too much time at the gym.

  Both seemed a little unsteady on their feet.

  Fabulous. Just what she needed on top of blistered heels.

  “Gentleman,” she nodded politely. Nothing like a bit of reverse psychology—hopefully, they’d act like gentlemen.

  She stepped to the side to pass around them, but they blocked her again.

  “Where are you off to in such a rush?” beefcake said, stepping in closer and putting his hand on her hip.

  Josie felt a surge of alarm, every muscle in her body tightening at the smell of alcohol on his breath, but forced herself to be calm, like she’d been taught in self-defense classes.

  She scanned the street, which was far less populated now that she was farther away from the pub. She tried to take a step back, but his grip tightened. “Remove your hand immediately,” she said in a voice that was firm and brooked no argument.

  Short stuff laughed idiotically and dug his elbow into his friend’s ribs. “She’s feisty.”

  Josie shot him a venomous look. You ain’t seen nothing yet. “Remove your hand or I will scream very loudly and be forced to hurt you.”

  Beefcake laughed and swayed slightly. “Now, don’t be like that, pretty lady. We just thought you might like to party with us somewhere.”

  She glared at him. Was Wednesday some sort of unofficial ménage free-for-all? She couldn’t believe she was being accosted on a public street at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night by Dumb and Dumber.

  She tried to move again, but he had a grip like a heart attack.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time,” Josie said through clenched teeth, her pulse ratcheting up as her body prepared for action. “Step back and take your hands off me.”

  She’d never had to use her self-defense skills, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

  “Or what?” he said belligerently, huffing alcohol-soured air into her face.

  “Or this.”

  Josie started at the sudden, but welcome, intrusion of a very familiar male voice. Relief, hot and sweet, flooded through her system.

  With his hand clamped down on beefcake’s shoulder, Mack spun him around, finally freeing Josie’s hip. He sidestepped as beefcake threw a sloppy punch and ended up sprawled on the pavement.

  “Hey,” Shorty yelled as his friend landed on his butt.

  Beefcake growled and spluttered, struggling to get up, but was too inebriated to co-ordinate his movements in any meaningful way. Shorty dashed over to his mate and tripped over himself, ending up sprawled on the ground next to him.

  Josie, her heart rate off the scale, looked up from the Laurel and Hardy act to Mack, who glowered at her now. “Let’s go,” he snapped.

  …

  Mack grabbed Josie’s hand and yanked, turning in the direction of where he’d left his car. He’d had to park what seemed like a mile away and been worried sick the entire, interminable walk. With good reason, apparently. His heart raced, and the cold knot of fear that had formed in his belly, when he’d spied Josie being accosted a minute ago, now lodged in his throat, almost choking him.

  Which was just as well because he was blindingly furious with her, and he didn’t trust what he might say.

  “Mack.”

  He steamed on, ignoring her, dragging her after him. How dare she put herself in such danger. Images of what could have happened formed thick and fast in his head, stoking his fury.

  “Slow down, Mack! I can’t keep up in these damn shoes.”

  “That will teach you to wear shoes that scream fuck me. Won’t it?”

  Her outraged gasp was l
oud enough to be heard over the sound of his heart beating like a jungle drum in his head.

  She wrenched out of his grasp. “I beg your pardon.”

  Mack turned to find her stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

  Yep. He should have shut up.

  “I hope you’re not implying that I deserved what happened just now because I’m wearing red high heels.”

  Mack bit back an explosion of anger that bubbled up inside him.

  Josie continued, “Because a woman should be able to wear what she damn well likes without fear of molestation by sleazy, drunk cretins who were never taught that no means no.”

  She tossed her hair, which was loose and silky around her head, and there were two bright spots on her cheeks. Her chest was heaving in and out, and she looked so defiant and outraged, and, God help him, so damn sexy, Mack realized his reaction from this morning wasn’t the strange, isolated event he’d been telling himself it was.

  At the moment, he was walking a very fine line between wanting to throttle her and wanting to fuck her very hard against the nearest available surface.

  And that confused the crap out of him.

  “I should think you would know better than that,” she said.

  “For God’s sake,” he yelled, uncaring that anyone around could hear, “of course I don’t think that, and you know I don’t. But can you please just spare me your feminista crap tonight, because you just scared ten years off my life. I’m sorry if I’m trampling all over your women’s lib principles, but Jesus Christ…”

  Mack stalked toward her a couple of paces until he could reach out and touch her if he wanted—just like that idiot who’d pawed her hip. The memory sliced through him again, and he cursed the lack of parking that had forced him to leave the truck too many blocks from the pub.

  What if he’d been too late? What if they’d managed to overpower her? What if they’d…? He felt ill just thinking about the possibilities, his heart thundering at the near miss. And the fact that it was his fault she was out here in the first place, only made it worse.