Blindsided

by Amy Daws

  A few of the girls roll their eyes and giggle while taking a drink, including Belle, Indie, and Leslie. They’re all drinking! So what do I do? I giggle-snort and take a sip myself, like the sexually curious woman that I am.

  Santino’s eyes flare curiously at me and glance down at my chest again. From across the room, I hear Mac clear his throat loudly, and I turn to find him staring at me with a frown. I shrug like kissing girls is no big deal because it’s obviously not. Then I take another drink because the drink is my acting juice at this point. The more I drink, the better my performance will be.

  “Never have I ever done reverse cowgirl!” Belle states next, holding her glass up proudly.

  The crowd cheers, and my eyes widen. Reverse cowgirl? Is that like a role-playing thing? Perhaps the girl dresses up like a cowboy and the boy dresses up like a cowgirl? Gender swapping? How modern! I take a big gulp of my drink because I used to play cowboy with the neighbour boy next door to me. But one day he tied me up and spanked me until his mother caught us, and she threw me out of their house.

  I quickly take another drink because something about this cocktail is making me parched. When I finish, Santino hits me with a high five. Okay then! Drinking gets you high fives. I’m rocking at this Never Have I Ever game!

  “Never have I ever…” the youngest Harris Brother, Booker, says, “…had sex in a car.”

  The eldest Harris brother, Gareth, tips his glass to Sloan before drinking along with Camden, Indie, Vi, and Hayden. This bunch must have a thing for cars. Bleddy hell, looks like I’m up again! I take a sip.

  “Never have I ever pierced anything below my neck,” Booker’s wife, Poppy, says, fluffing her blond pixie hair coyly as she takes a sip. I take a sip too, wondering what on earth could sweet little Poppy have pierced?

  I notice Allie watching me curiously, probably because she’s one of the only people who knows about my virginal status. Well, she kind of knows. It’s not something I’ve flat out admitted to her, but last year, I mentioned something to her about a twenty-plus-year dry spell, so I’m sure she got the picture. She’s thankfully decent enough not to bring it up to me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mac looks rather moody for some odd reason. My brows furrow because, shit, is he judging me for being falsely promiscuous? He certainly better not be!

  Allie’s lips purse together like she sees Mac’s displeasure, so I guzzle another drink. Mac tilts his head and tries to mouth something to me, but I’m distracted by Santino pulling me close to whisper in my ear.

  “Did you get the car dirty?”

  I bark out a really unattractive snort laugh. Then the laugh sort of develops a mind of its own and takes off on a noisy journey, which seems to amuse Santino because he laughs with me. At least if I’m laughing, I’m not talking. Drunken Freya talking is bad. Very, very bad.

  I turn to see Mac is still watching me. With a frown, I shake my head and focus on my cocktail because if I make eye contact with him, he might see right through me.

  “Never have I ever had sex in a public loo.”

  What the hell, sounds exciting! I take a drink.

  “Never have I ever given road head.”

  I have no clue what that one is. Road. Head. Hmmm. I imagine it’s something done on a road, but how does it involve your head?

  Suddenly, Santino drapes his arm over the back of my chair, and I can smell the pungent scent of his cheap cologne all over me.

  “Never have I ever had a threesome,” someone says from somewhere.

  I pause on this one and give it a proper think. At this point, I feel like I’m drinking, not for things I have done, obviously, but for things I’d like to do. Feels a bit more honest if I think about it that way. And since I actually know what a threesome is, perhaps I’d fancy one!

  I take a drink.

  “Never have I ever done anal.”

  Fuck me, I know what that one is. I drink.

  “Never have I ever sixty-nined.”

  More drinking, yay!

  “Never have I ever done it with a boss.”

  Drink.

  “Never have I ever masturbated in public.”

  Drink, drink, drink.

  I’ve lost track of how many drinks I’ve had. I know someone at some point put a refill in my hand, so now I have a fresh cocktail gleaming up at me. Suddenly, a chunk of ice pelts me in the chest and falls down the deep cavernous region between my breasts. I try to grab it, but it’s too late. Gone forever now.

  Santino leans towards my chest to inspect the damage as I look up to see that the ice thrower was Mac, who looks angry for some odd reason. What’s his problem? He points his finger at me and then at the door. Does he want to go? Now?

  A voice from somewhere far away says, “Never have I ever done a dirty Sanchez.”

  The room is a mixture of groaning and howling at this point. And I don’t know why, but I feel my fist thrust into the air as I take another drink. This act elicits more cheers and prompts Santino to move so close to me, I think he might be sitting on my lap.

  Who knew that being so sexually experienced would make me so popular? Pity I didn’t have sex ages ago! And done anal and a dirty Sanchez…whatever that is.

  I am just about to take another drink when the glass is suddenly whisked out of my hand and a large, firm grip wraps tightly around my wrist. I glance up to see an enormous Mac staring down at me with a scowl on his face. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Mac with a proper frown.

  He yanks me up out of my chair, and barks, “We’re leaving.”

  My jaw drops. “But I’m having fun.”

  “Not up for discussion, Cook.”

  At least he didn’t call me Cookie, I think to myself just as Santino stands up beside me and begins to open his mouth. Mac turns his hard eyes on him, and I swear his chest inflates like a pectoral-shaped water balloon as he towers over the poor bloke. Without a word, Santino sits down, and Mac’s hand grips my wrist and drags me behind him. I glance back at the party and see everyone watching us with complete fascination. I’m quite fascinated, too, to be honest. I’ve never seen Mac upset like this. What happened? What did I miss?

  He’s silent as we make our way outside to his grey Lexus SUV where he shoves me into the passenger seat and stomps his way around to the driver’s side. When he folds his giant frame into the car and takes off down the road, a loud hiccup erupts from my mouth. I part my lips to speak, but another one goes off before I have a chance to stop it. But this time, a bit of acid bubbles up in the back of my throat.

  I slap my hand over my mouth and brace myself on the doorframe. “Pull over! I’m going to be sick!”

  Mac growls under his breath and turns down the first side street he can manage to find. He has barely stopped the car when I swing open the door and puke the contents of my stomach onto the curb.

  Saints preserve me, why does it look like that?

  “I’m vomiting blood!” I cry out to the gods up above.

  “No, you’re not,” Mac replies flatly.

  “I’m going to die!” I sob and feel snot dripping out of my nose.

  “No, you’re not.” Mac exhales heavily. After a short pause, he reaches across the centre console and pats me reassuringly on the back. “You were drinking cherry grenadine, Cookie. That’s why your vomit is red.”

  “Oh,” I reply stupidly and sit up to wipe the tears off my face. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “You clearly didn’t think about a lot tonight,” he grumbles through clenched teeth.

  “What does that mean exactly?” I growl like a pirate and close the door. I turn to look at Mac, and his stony face is illuminated by the dashboard lights. “Why are you cross at me?”

  Mac’s nostrils flare. “What the hell were you doing back there, Cook?”

  “Having a laugh,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Drinking like a fucking fish and saying you did all that stuff in that ridiculous game when I know damn well you haven’t isn�
��t having a laugh.”

  “How do you know I haven’t done all that stuff?”

  “Because I spend nearly every night with you. If you were out giving blow jobs in cars and masturbating in public, I think I’d notice.”

  I cringe at the last one, only vaguely remembering drinking to it. I brush off my reaction and square my shoulders to reply, “You don’t know everything about me, Mac. I had a life before I met you.”

  How dare he act like he knows everything about me? We don’t talk about our past relationships. Never have! It’s a bizarre no-fly zone we’ve had for the past year. Mac doesn’t ever mention his sex life around me even though I’m sure he’s getting laid on a regular basis when he’s travelling for football. So for him to assume I’ve never done any of those things gets right up my nose.

  “There are several hours in a day when you don’t see me, you cow. How do you know I’m not on dating apps, swiping right for lunch dates?” I quip, internally shuddering at the thought of those stupid apps and how horrible an experience I had the last time I used them.

  “Well, are you?” Mac asks, pinning me with a look I can’t altogether decipher, especially since I’m seeing two of him.

  “It’s none of your business!” I point at the road. “Just take me home. I don’t want to be in your presence anymore. ”

  Mac eyes me harshly for a moment before he finally puts the car in drive and continues towards my flat. When we arrive, Mac gets out to walk me inside. I don’t bother arguing because my tummy heaves like it wants to be sick again.

  A strange urge to cry comes over me when I can’t find my keys in my bag. As if reading my emotions, Mac gently moves me aside and unlocks the door with the spare set I gave him several months ago when he took care of Hercules for me.

  “Took care” is a bit of a stretch, considering Hercules won’t go near him. But Mac made sure Hercules had food, water, and a clean litter box, so perhaps I shouldn’t be so hard on him right now.

  Mac rides the lift up the five floors with me. Once we’ve arrived, he unlocks my flat door just in time to see orange-spotted Hercules bolt back into my bedroom.

  “Even Hercules is cross at you,” I state as I undo my heels and drop them on the ground with a loud thud.

  “He’s always cross at me,” Mac replies flatly. “I forgot he was orange until just now.”

  “He’s shy,” I reply as I shuffle into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Not everyone likes to be the centre of attention like you.”

  Mac follows in my wake, glaring at me with narrow, accusing eyes. “You definitely weren’t shy tonight when you played that game and made a complete tit of yourself.”

  “Don’t have a go at me! I was just playing along,” I groan defensively as blips of the game come back to me. I cringe inwardly at how right he is. “And you don’t know that I haven’t done all of those things.”

  Mac exhales roughly out of his nose and crosses his inked arms over his chest. “You’re right, but I know for a fact you didn’t do at least one of them.”

  “How do you know?” I hiss.

  He splays his hand out on the counter and lowers his eyes so they’re level with mine. “Freya, do you even know what a dirty Sanchez is?”

  My brows furrow, and I take a swig of water before replying, “Of course I do.”

  He stares at me expectantly. “I’m all ears.”

  I falter for a moment but then realise that Mac probably doesn’t know either, so I just make something up. “It’s when you have The Sex on a dirty tribal blanket.”

  Mac closes his eyes as if he’s embarrassed. “Not even close. And for the record, people who say ‘The Sex’ generally don’t have a lot of it.”

  “Then what is a dirty Sanchez, Mr Sex Haver? First, you educated me on Netflix and chill, and now this. I had no idea I was friends with a sexual savant!”

  Mac ignores my jab, and replies, “A dirty Sanchez is when a lad sticks his finger up the bum of a lass, then wipes it across her upper lip.”

  “That’s fucking disgusting!” I screech loudly.

  “I know!” Mac roars, standing back up to his full height and puffing out his chest. “And you took a drink in front of all those people like you you’ve done it when I know damn well you wouldn’t do that if your life depended on it.”

  “I wouldn’t do it if Hercules’s life depended on it!” I agree in earnest. “I love my cat, but if the choice was between me smelling my own arsehole or Hercules having to meet his maker, he’d have to go.” I do a quick sweep of my flat, worried that Hercules might be listening.

  Mac’s heavy exhale turns my focus back to him. “Then please tell me, what in God’s name you were doing tonight, Cookie? What was that performance all about? And don’t blame the alcohol because I know it had nothing to do with you being a wee bit pissed.”

  I shrug helplessly and clutch the water against my chest like it’s a shield that will protect me from Mac’s scrutinising eyes. “I was just trying to fit in.”

  He scoffs with disbelief. “Since when are you desperate to fit in?”

  Since I decided I didn’t want to tell a room full of people that I’m a twenty-nine-year-old virgin and my sexual experiences are bleak at best!

  “I didn’t want everyone in the room to know,” I murmur and press the cool plastic water bottle against my forehead in some vain attempt to gain strength.

  “Know what?”

  My eyes flare angrily as I jerk the bottle away from my face. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “What?” Mac asks thickly.

  I close my eyes as if in pain. If the big ox hasn’t figured out by now that I still have my maiden tag, I’m certainly not about to tell him. “That I haven’t had a proper date in years, never mind kissed a bloke. That no matter how hard I try, I can barely string together a comprehensible sentence around a man. I was hoping to find a date for Allie and Roan’s wedding, but I’m hopeless! You should see me around blokes. I turn into a tongue-tied freak who says words backwards and out of order. It’s like I’m reading a crossword puzzle aloud.”

  “You speak in front of me all the time,” Mac argues, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You even use words I have to google the meaning of later.”

  “Well, you’re not a proper bloke.” I turn away from him to exhale so he doesn’t smell the vomit on my breath.

  He steps in close behind me, and his voice is husky when he replies, “Last I checked, my cocker and balls were upstanding citizens, though I do think they crawled up inside my body when you drank to dirty Sanchez earlier.”

  “Enough talk about dirty Sanchez. Do you want me to be sick again?” I twirl around to eye him angrily. “I just mean you’re not a bloke that I fancy. I was trying to impress that Santino fellow, or at least not make a fool of myself in front of him.”

  “So you fancy the lawyer? He’s a fucking creep. He used to make the Harrises take him out to clubs and stuck to them like glue in hopes of shagging their cast-offs.”

  “I don’t fancy Santino!” I exclaim. “Are you thick?”

  “Christ, I must be because I’m lost.”

  “I fancy Javier! The Spanish barista who works at the coffee shop by the boutique. He’s bearded and wonderful, and he gave me his number yesterday. I’ve been in a state about it ever since.”

  Mac blinks at me stupidly. “So call him. What are you waiting for?”

  Heaven help me so I don’t bash this man’s head into the refrigerator.

  “Haven’t you been listening, Mac? It’s obviously not that easy for me, and I still have no idea why he gave me his number. He must have magically forgotten about the time I spilled an entire tray of coffees and was in such a tizzy, I marched behind the counter and grabbed a mop and bucket, which apparently isn’t proper because the health inspector was there, and I wasn’t using the mop correctly, and Javier almost got a violation because of it! He wasn’t even cross at me for it!”

  Mac smiles at me like I’m hi
s nan with Alzheimer’s again. “Probably because he fancies you.”

  “Fat lot of good that will do me if I can’t even muster up the nerve to call him.” I look up and eye Mac seriously. “In case you didn’t realise tonight, I’m a little inexperienced with The Sex.”

  “You really have to stop calling it The Sex.”

  “I’m not taking lessons from you on the English vocabulary, okay?” I snap defensively as my chest heaves with anxiety because admitting these suppressed feelings I’ve had for Javier for months feels like I’ve shit out a giant elephant. Forget shitting kittens. This admission is shitting an elephant. Although, I still haven’t told anyone that I’m an actual virgin, and that’s probably where most of my anxiety comes from.

  All of these thoughts cause my balance to sway. Mac notices, and in a split second, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and begins leading me towards my bedroom door. “Why don’t you go to bed and we can talk more about all of this tomorrow?”

  “I don’t want to go to sleep,” I pout. “I want to die from embarrassment because that entire party thinks I’ve done a dirty Sanchez.”

  “Everyone was drunk. Don’t even worry about it, Cookie.”

  “I need a cookie is what I need.”

  “I’ll bring you cookies for breakfast tomorrow,” Mac says, opening the door and standing at the threshold. He flips the light on and glances inside like my bedroom is a curious place he’s never seen before.

  Come to think of it, the loo down the hallway is probably the closest he’s got.

  “Promise you’ll bring me cookies?” I ask pathetically while slumping against the doorframe.

  “Promise,” he replies with a grin and glances down at my dress. “Are you…okay to get out of that and put yourself to bed?”

  My eyes go wide, and I quickly cover up my cleavage. “Yes! Crikey, I think I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you enough for one night. I don’t need to scar you for life with the sight of all my wobbly bits as well.” I shudder at the thought of Mac seeing me in my knickers.

  Mac looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Utter shite.”