“Maybe I am a little tipsy, but nothing I can’t handle.” She went to stand, and Hunter pulled her back down before she tumbled over and right out of her strappy sandals and onto her very fine ass.
“A little?” He wrapped an arm around the back of the swing and pulled her to his side. “It only took two glasses for you to stop scowling at me every time I opened my mouth, and this looks like your third.”
“I wasn’t scowling,” she argued, but her smile said she was happy he’d noticed her displeasure. “I was concentrating on what you were saying.” She dismissively waved her hand in his direction and nearly smacked him in the chest.
He caught it beneath his and trapped it there. “Trouble, your scowl packed enough ice to cryogenically freeze my nuts. Now it’s just warm and bright, telling me you’re well past drunk.”
“That must have been some scowl.” She patted the swing for the throw Savannah always kept outside, but since she was two sips from shit-faced, her aim was off in left field.
Hunter picked up the blanket and tucked it around her body, noticing more of those curves he’d been trying to forget.
“I’ve always said you had quite the mouth.” He waited for her to get comfortable, then rested his hand on her thigh and transitioned seamlessly into implementing his plan. “Speaking of which, we need to talk about the album.”
With a cute little sigh, Mackenzie rested her head in the cradle of his shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”
“What, no argument?”
“Nope, you smell too good,” she murmured into his neck. “And come tomorrow, when I’m not so ...drunk”—she threw up air quotes—“I won’t have this chance again.”
And Hunter knew that, even though it was a shitty move, if he didn’t push now, he’d never get this chance again. “There’s still a lot forus to talk about, a lot of feelings to lay out in the open, but the bottom line is ... I need your help, Trouble.”
“You don’t need anyone’s help,” she said with a yawn.
“Not true.” He needed her more than he could admit. “I need yours.”
“Can’t happen. The thought of getting downtown every day, navigating a busy office building, learning a new floor plan ...” She shivered. “That sounds about as inspiring as rehab.”
Hunter had never considered how the little everyday things he didn’t have to think about were just more obstacles for her to overcome. Thankfully, he was excellent at finding solutions.
“I can pick you up, and we can use a familiar place,” he suggested. “Maybe the back room at Big Daddy’s.”
“I have a driver I use when I need to, but the bar is too loud and busy.” She shook her head. “You’ll do fine on your own.”
“I don’t want fine.” He’d tried fine. Found it incredibly boring. But nothing about Mackenzie was boring. Hell, she could send his world spinning with one look.
Hunter placed a crooked finger under her chin and looked down into her face. Holy hell, he’d forgotten how potent those mossy pools could be.
“Not when it could be incredible with you,” he finished.
“It would be incredible for a while, but”—she shook her head—“eventually it will end, and nothing would ever be incredible again.”
Will end,as in a definitive expiration date. Not what he wanted to hear.
“It doesn’t have to. This can be whatever we want it to be, last as long as we choose.” And he hoped she’d choose the long-term. Because even though he was still working through his anger, he’d take her at his side any day over the alternative.
He’d lived through losing her once, wasn’t interested in a repeat.
“What if I choose wrong?” she said, and to his horror, her eyes went misty. “What if I choose wrong and ruin everything?”
He wanted to tell her that as long as they were honest with each other, there wasn’t anything that could go wrong. But then the misty turned to more of a glisten, and he was pretty sure she was one sniffle away from real tears. And suddenly he wasn’t sure how to handle the turn of events.
Tears didn’t scare Hunter. He’d learned the power of embracing waterworks in the sixth grade when he’d found Carrie “Full-C” Callahan crying over her English grade behind the schoolyard. Instead of walking past her, like his buddies had done, Hunter had asked her what was wrong.
Ten minutes of tears and a hug later, he’d become the first kid in his class to round second base. And junior year, when Carrie’s boyfriend dumped her for a gymnast, Hunter made that home run. Not that there were going to be any home runs with Mackenzie, besides the chart-toppers they’d make.
No, tears weren’t a problem. Tears led to talking, which led to hugging, which for Hunter usually led to a whole lot of lip action and hip traction and—Sweet baby Jesus, when did his mouth get so close to hers?
Had she moved, or had he? Not that it mattered, because one little dip of the head and he’d know exactly how much bourbon was in those juleps. And talk about the wrong way to start this partnership off.
