“Rex, wait.” Fuck, that’s the second time I’ve heard her say my name and the sound pulls me in like a beacon.
She moves across the few yards that separate us. Stepping in close so that there are only inches between us, she tilts her head back to look up at me. The security light above her garage gives me a better look at her face. Her dark eyebrows drop low over eyes so light brown they’re like the color of sand. I breathe in deep and the scent I caught of her in the truck cab is intensified at this proximity: mild coconut and something sweet, like suntan oil and some exotic fruit. She smells like vacation.
Pushing a strand of hair off her cheek, she tucks it behind her ear. “Before you go . . .” Her teeth run along the full cherry-pink flesh of her lower lip, and the sudden urge to taste it flares raw and ugly in my gut. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” She throws a quick look, almost unconsciously, over her shoulder toward her house. “Now’s not the time or place, but I’m afraid if I don’t commit to telling you then you’ll never talk to me again and then I’ll never get that chance back.”
I knew it. This is where she’ll drop the crazy bomb that explains why she’s acting so weird. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing. I offered to help her out; she took me up on the favor. That should be the end of it. But why do I feel the slight sting of rejection at her kicking me out? “Hit me with what you got to say or don’t. I was just helping you out of a tight spot.”
Her long eyelashes flutter a few times as she leans in close. “Can we get together for coffee sometime or maybe—?”
The loud crack of a slammed door spins us both toward the garage. Stepping out from the dark is a guy I recognize immediately.
Motherfucker. What the hell are the chances?
“Oh shit.” Mac takes a few small steps, positioning her back to my front and putting herself between me and the dick from last night.
“What do we have here?” He saunters toward us, his shirt off to freely display his biker affiliations. “Snow White, I didn’t know you were cozy with this butt-lovin’ friend of Dorothy.”
A fire ignites in my gut. I step toward him, but Mac leans back against my hips and stomach.
My lips curl over my teeth. “I’m actually happy to see you again, Tubby. Feels like we didn’t get to finish what we started last night.” I take another step forward. The smell of a Caribbean cocktail wafts just below my nose. I don’t take my eyes off the asshole, inching closer, as Mac digs in her heels to halt my advance.
“Yeah, I bet you want to finish me off.” Hatchet glares. “But I got news for you, pretty boy. I don’t do dudes.”
I lunge into Mac’s back. “You motherfu—”
“Back off, Hatchet,” Mac says, her voice firm and undeniably serious. “Go back inside. Now.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “And if I don’t? What’re you gonna do about it, bitch?”
A strange feeling swells from my stomach to my chest. “Don’t you fucking talk to her, asshole. Your problem’s with me.”
He looks from me to her.
“Don’t fucking look at her either, unless you’re doing it to apologize.” I keep my voice low, hoping to avoid the neighbor’s involvement. The slight tick of his lips says I was loud enough for him to hear.
“Well, well, well, looks like our man’s man got a taste of some * and switched teams.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hatchet!” Mac says.
That’s it. I’m already about to jump this fuck for disrespecting a woman in her own driveway, and his verbal taunts are burning like acid.
My hands grip Mac’s shoulders and move her aside. She scrambles against me, but I step past her with ease.
“Rex, no!” She tries to hold me off, but I move quickly right into Hatchet’s face.
“I’ll give you first shot, fucker.” I smile, readying for the lightning pain that’s coming and excited about it. “Look.” I interlace my fingers behind my back. “Won’t even put my hands up.”
Hatchet’s eyes flare. “You’re bluffin’.”
“Try me, dickhead.”
He cocks his elbow.
“No!” Mac’s voice rings out. She throws herself between us seconds before his fist slams into her jaw.
She drops.
His eyes go wide.
“Motherfucker!” I attack with a right hook that sends him stumbling back.
He swings and hits my chest. My arm. One to my jaw. I feel nothing but the stimulating fury that powers my muscles.
Then, one after another, I let my fists fly. In a brutal wave, the anger and drive to defend boil over into punishing hits. We drop to the ground, putting him at the disadvantage. I lock him up with my legs. Arms swinging.
It doesn’t take long before he tires, and he no longer fights back. He could be knocked out, but my guess is he ran out of steam. Even still, I don’t let up, raining my fists into every exposed part of his torso. Something pulls me from behind.
“Stop!” Mac’s voice sounds far away.