Mac’s eyes hit everyone in the room then land on me. She does a good job keeping a straight face, but I don’t miss the way her eyes widen a fraction. “Hi, guys.”
“Okay, get back to baseball.” Layla takes Mac’s arm and turns her away, but her eyes stay on me until she’s forced to follow.
Caleb and Killer stay turned toward the spot she disappeared from. I’m not surprised. She’s gorgeous and not in a subtle way. Her long legs and striking appearance make her stand out even in jeans and a leather jacket.
“Good-looking woman,” Caleb says before turning his attention back to the game.
A violent surge of possessive energy pulses through my body. She’s not mine. She’s not mine. I repeat those three words, hoping that it’ll squash my urge to land a haymaker on my friend.
“She got a man?” Caleb directs his question toward Blake.
“How the fuck should I know?”
“Have Layla set me up.”
“What? You can’t ask a chick out on your own?”
“I can, but have Layla feel it out for me first.”
The urge to piss disappears, and I take my seat back on the couch. “She’s got a man.” I’m usually a horrible liar, but those four little words flow effortlessly from my lips.
Caleb looks at me. “She does? You sure?”
I shrug and pretend to watch the game. “Her bike got a flat after work, and her man came and took care of it.”
Aw, shit. My chest swells with blooming warmth at the truth in my lie. I’ve considered what it would be like to be the man that Mac calls hers. The voice in my head tells me she deserves better. The shame trailing my issues screams that I’m not worthy of her. I drop my head and study the carpet, heavy with the physical weight of all the reasons why she shouldn’t want me.
But the thought of her being with anyone else is something I can’t bear. Now that I’ve felt her lips on mine, I’m craving more. My body reacts as it always does and nausea piggybacks my arousal.
I excuse myself and hope a quick splash of cold water will do the job of a cold shower. Walking down the long hallway to the bathroom, I hear female voices coming from Jonah’s bedroom. I stop and peek inside the open door to find Raven, Layla, and Mac all sitting on the bed. Raven’s sitting cross-legged with one hand on her small pregnant belly. Layla is lying on her side, her head propped in her hand. But my eyes are drawn like magnets to Mac. She’s sitting on the bed, one leg cocked up and her other foot still on the floor. Her head is thrown back in laughter, and the smile that accompanies it sucks the air from my lungs.
I duck back into the hallway and listen.
“What about you, Mac? Where are you from?” Raven’s the one who asked.
“Oh, um . . . I’m from a crappy little dirt town. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s about two hours from Vegas and in the middle of nowhere.” Mac’s voice gets soft, and I can picture the pink that probably colors her cheeks.
“That’s nice.” Layla’s voice is cheery, as if she’s trying to ease Mac’s discomfort. I knew she sounded embarrassed. “So you have family nearby.”
Seconds tick in silence and I resist the urge to peek around the doorframe to see what’s going on.
Throat clearing. “I don’t have any family. My parents are dead.”
A small gasp. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m not. I was really young, and the memories I have of them weren’t all that good.”
Mac lost her parents? Makes sense. Her strength and independence comes from somewhere, but I’d never guess she didn’t have a family. We have more in common than I thought.
“I know what that’s like,” Raven says. “My mom and I only started to have a relationship these last six months. And my dad, well, I . . .”
I’m stuck in place, hanging on to every word.
“Yeah, I heard,” Mac says. “Sounds like you did what you had to.” She sounds angry?
That can’t be right.
“I did,” Raven says with soft determination.
We’re like a threesome of misfits. No parents, lost to the world, and searching. But Raven found her future with Jonah. She’s pieced together her history and reconciled it with her present.
Unlike Mac.
She has no family, she’s living with a stripper who has horrible judgment when it comes to men, and from what I can tell she doesn’t seem to be surrounded by friends. She didn’t even have anyone to call the night I met her in the alley with a flat tire.
I may be like her in a lot of ways, but I could name ten people off the top of my head who would drop everything if I needed them. Sadness wells up in my gut, remembering a time when I had no one, after I was released from the hospital and before I started kickboxing. Dammit. The memory is so close to the surface, but not close enough to touch. Only the loneliness is vivid.
“Rex?” I jerk my head up to find the three girls in the hallway, staring at me. Layla steps closer. “You okay?”