“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” I muttered. I blew out a breath before continuing. “I would kind of freak out if I wasn’t the one on top. Needless to say, that made things awkward.”
I inwardly cringed when I thought about the panic attack that followed my first attempt at intimacy since Jaxon. Talk about a way to ruin the mood. Jeremy was a bass guitarist I’d met at an open mic night. He was quiet, kind of shy, and he was in the business for the right reason—he loved making music. We bonded over the common interest, but the physical chemistry between us had been lacking and I was never able to feel comfortable with him.
“You needed to feel like you were the one in control,” Jimmy concluded. “That makes sense.”
Feeling exposed, I looked away. “You can be honest. You must think I’m pretty messed up, huh?”
“Anyone would be messed up after that,” he replied.
He didn’t completely answer my question, but at least he didn’t try to deny it that he thought I was messed up. This was supposed to be an honest conversation, after all.
I chugged the rest of my beer and glanced over to find Jimmy watching me.
“Please stop looking at me like that.” My voice came out small.
“Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me.”
His jaw clenched. “I could kill him for what he did to you.”
“I already tried that,” I said in a sing-song voice, my intoxication level going from tipsy to full-on drunk.
“Have you talked to someone about it?” Jimmy asked. “Like a doctor or something?”
I nodded. “Yep. I went to therapy for a year when I moved down to Nashville. It was the one thing my parents asked me to do when I left. I even attended a support group for a while.”
“Did it help?”
“Not really.” I pinned him with my gaze, wanting to appear strong. “Yes, the experience changed me, but I’m not ruined.”
“I don’t think you’re ruined,” he said sincerely. “I like you just the way you are.”
Pushing off the wall, Jimmy floated over to me, closing the four-foot gap between us. He took the empty beer from my hand and placed the bottles outside the hot tub.
Then he sat next to me.
My breathing hitched when he linked his pinky finger with mine underneath the water.
A gesture of support. How could such a small action make me feel so safe?
I could feel his eyes on me but I didn’t dare look his way. Instead, I tightened my finger around his and relaxed back into the water. We sat that way for several minutes in silence as I soaked up the physical contact.
We’d been still for so long that the motion detector light turned off. Jimmy’s finger rubbed against mine and it made me wish for something more.
If I tried hard enough, I could almost imagine that I was just a normal twenty-one-year old girl sitting next to a guy I was crushing on.
Jimmy shifted toward me like he was preparing to say something, but I broke the silence first.
“So, the friends with benefits thing. That’s something you’ve done before?”
He took several seconds to respond and his answer was short. “Yeah.”
Feeling bold from the alcohol, I made a desperate suggestion. “Could we do that? Be friends with benefits, I mean.”
“No,” he responded quickly, as if the very idea of being with me like that was out of the question.
Ouch.
My cheeks flamed, and I was glad it was too dark for him to see it. Humiliation from the rejection was a total buzzkill.
Suddenly, I felt ridiculous for throwing myself at Jimmy. Here I’d been thinking we were on the same page, and he was just trying to be a friend.
“Okay.” I stood up on shaky legs, causing the water to splash around me. The light came back on and I tried to climb out of the hot tub without slipping on my ass. Grabbing a towel off the patio chair, I hastily wrapped it around my waist. “You’re right. That was a really bad idea. ’Bye, Jimmy.”
Turning quickly, I started back toward my house.
“Mack, wait!” I heard splashing behind me and I walked faster, determined to end this awkward-as-hell night.
“Goodnight,” I called without stopping.
I heard an “oh shit” followed by a thud, and I turned to see Jimmy sprawled out on the lawn.
Fantastic.
He was wasted.
And that meant I couldn’t even seduce a drunk guy.
But despite how embarrassed I was, I couldn’t just leave him there.
Trudging back over, I nudged his shoulder with my foot. “Hey.” Nothing. I did it again. “Hey.” Still no response. Bending down, I shook him with my hand. “Jim—”
My word turned into a screech because he grabbed me, pulled me on top of him, then rolled us until we were laying side by side. It took me a moment to focus on Jimmy’s face.
He grinned. “Fooled you.”
The cool grass felt good on my heated skin as Mackenna fumed.
“That’s not funny, James Peabody Johnson,” she snapped, trying to push away from me.
Laughing, I held on tight. “Yeah, it is.”
Giving up, she stopped wiggling and let out a sad sigh. “I can’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with me.”
The hurt in her voice caused an echoing ache in my chest. Her eyes stayed focused on some spot on my shoulder, and even without much light I could see the blush on her cheeks.
After what I learned tonight, things became a lot more complicated. I wasn’t dealing with a girl who simply didn’t like me—that was something I could work with. No, this was someone who’d been traumatized.
This wasn’t a matter of winning her over with my charm but a matter of gaining her trust, which presented a completely different obstacle. A much more difficult obstacle.
I wasn’t deterred, though.
We just needed to get to know each other. People said the best relationships started out with a foundation of friendship.
I’d be the best fucking friend she’d ever had.
What she was offering was every guy’s dream—a summer fling with a hot girl who lived two states away.
But I wanted more than that from Mackenna. If I agreed to her offer, I’d be settling.
I needed her to know my reasons for saying no.
“Do you want to know why I really came over to your house yesterday?” It was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t wait for her to answer. “I wanted to ask you out.”
“On a date?” she asked incredulously, her eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline. “But you don’t even like me.”
Grinning, I tucked some of the damp hair behind her ear.
“You’re so wrong about that. The truth is, I want you so bad it hurts. And I’m not just talking about my dick, even though you’ve been the cause of blue balls for me constantly since we met.” Her eyes widened at my candor, and I continued before she got too freaked out and ran away. “But I won’t do casual with you. It’s all or nothing.”
“I can’t believe you’re turning down no-strings-attached sex,” she said, shocked.
I laughed. “Neither can I. Honestly, though…I can’t have sex with you if you don’t trust me, if you don’t feel safe. Don’t you see how messed up that would be? You deserve better than that.” I paused. “And so do I.”
“Okay, I see your point,” she said with a slight pout.
Suddenly, I wanted to kiss that scar on her forehead. Then I recalled the way she freaked out when I asked about it. Dread formed in the pit of my stomach when it occurred to me how she might’ve gotten that injury.
“Did he do that?”
“Do what?”
I answered her by placing my lips over the mark, giving it a light kiss.
Sucking in a breath, she nodded. “We went hiking one day. He came on to me and I said no—not because I didn’t want to have sex outside, but because I didn’t want to at all. And I told him that. He got mad and
pushed me. I hit my head on a rock.”
My fists clenched behind her back. “How many stiches did you need?”
“Four.”
I’d never had the desire to kill anyone before, and it was a weird feeling. Sure, I’d been in fights, but I never really wanted to hurt anyone. That wasn’t the case now.
I wanted to find this guy. I wanted blood.
“Do you really think he’s going to come after you?” I pulled back a little to look her in the eye.
Her lips pressed together. “I don’t know. The scariest part is not knowing what he’s thinking or what his intentions are. It’s been such a long time. Honestly, I thought he would’ve forgotten about me by now.”
“This is the same guy you shot, right? I’d say that would make you pretty memorable,” I joked, trying to lighten the situation. “And totally badass, by the way.”
My comment didn’t make her laugh. Instead, her fingers tightened on my shoulder and her voice came out in a whisper. “What if he’s here? Like, right now… What if he’s watching me?”
I understood her concern. A small part of me hoped he was watching. Because if he was nearby, that meant I could get my hands on him. And if I could get my hands on him, I’d make sure he never harassed Mackenna again.
But I kept those thoughts to myself.
“I’m staying at your house tonight,” I told her, making sure my tone left no room for argument.
“I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with me,” she shot back, her slurred words giving away her level of intoxication.
“I’m not. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s not big enough for you anyway.” Her argument came out stilted and half-hearted. From the way some of the tension left her body, I could tell she felt safe with me.
“It’s either that or I sleep on your porch,” I told her. “Your call.”
Letting out a cute huff, she sent me a sexy smirk that went straight to my dick. “Are you going to be my bodyguard or something? ’Cause that’d be kinda hot.”
“Yes,” I said seriously.
“Do you have any more beer?” she asked.
I smiled at the random change of subject. “Sorry, no.”
“That’s okay.” She sat up, holding onto the pink towel around her waist. “Let’s go finish off my Boone’s Farm.”
Jumping up, she ran toward her house, and I had no choice but to follow.
The leggings Mackenna changed into were purple, decorated with yellow starfish. When I realized I didn’t have anything to wear except my wet swim trunks, she ran upstairs and came back down with a pair of gray sweatpants. They were a little short, the ankles hugging me mid-calf, but the waist fit.
She offered to find me a T-shirt, too, but when I told her I was good without one, she rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about hot nipples.
Between the whiskey, beer, and wine, I knew Mackenna had to be pretty drunk. Which is exactly why I asked her to sing for me.
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 ther
e 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.”
The Good Guys Box Set: TRUCKER, DANCER, DROPOUT, and A Trucker Wedding Page 58
