Overdrive (9 page)

He loved the graceful way she moved. Loved the way she committed to everything she did wholeheartedly. Loved seeing her in his clothes. Loved…her. It was no revelation, but for the first time he felt like he might have a shot at convincing her they were meant to be together.

He was deep in thought, trying to figure out how to make this—
her
—a fixture in his life, when a shrill voice interrupted his reflections.

“Mackenzie?”

Frankie’s whole body stiffened, as if she’d been whapped by a taser. He bit back a sigh and pasted a welcoming smile on his face.

“Hello, Ma.”

Frankie pinched her eyes closed as heat suffused her face. What were the odds of Mac’s mother shopping at eight o’clock in the morning? Or grocery shopping at all, for that matter.

“You know I abhor that nickname. Mother will do. Who is this?”

Frankie could feel the weight of the older woman’s stare and turned to face her. “Hello, Mrs. Galbraith.”

“Francesca Sepkaski? I nearly didn’t recognize you with all those clothes on.” Her dour expression turned even more severe as her gaze flicked Frankie from head to toe, taking in her disheveled hair and the New York Giants sweatshirt that clearly belonged to Mac. She aimed an I-demand-answers glare toward her son.

“Yes, but she goes by Frankie. Still.” He added the last with a pointed look.

“It’s okay, Mac. Francesca is fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well, the two of you can debate about it if you’d like, but I’m not calling her Frankie either way. It makes her sound like an unruly Italian boy from the Bronx,” Mimi sniffed. She pronounced it like “eye-talian”, and Mac didn’t bother to hide his eye roll.

“What are you doing here, anyway? You realize this is a grocery store, right?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. I was on my way to meet CeeCee at the tennis court, and I saw your car. Since you haven’t been returning my calls, I thought it would be a good idea to stop in, say hello and remind you about your date with Melissa tonight.”

A wave of nausea gripped Frankie, and she set the berries back in the display case.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Mac said grimly. He tried to catch her eye, but she stared at the fruit instead as hot tears pricked her lids.

“So long as you remember your obligations,” Mimi said.

“And so long as you remember that’s exactly what this evening is to me. An obligation.”

“I merely asked if you would accompany her. You agreed readily enough, and it would be unbearably rude to cancel on such short notice.”

“I had no intention of canceling. Nor did I have any intention of repeating the exercise. I accepted because you asked me to. If you somehow took it to mean that Melissa Figbert and I would fall madly in love and provide you with impeccably pedigreed grandbabies, then you misunderstood.”

Mac’s mother tipped her face up and gave a derisive sniff. “You’re being boorish, and I don’t appreciate it. When you’re done with your…little get-together with Francesca, give me a call. This matter is not closed, Mackenzie.”

“Break a leg on the court today, Mother. And give CeeCee my love.”

Mac grabbed Frankie’s hand and rolled the cart away without a backward glance, but Frankie could feel the heat of Mimi’s gaze drilling into her long after they’d rounded the corner.

“That was fun stuff,” Frankie muttered once they’d managed to get out of earshot. Her tone was ripe with sarcasm, but her body language said something else entirely. She was hunched over, arms crossed over her stomach, like she was hurting deep inside. And damn if that didn’t make him want to drag his mother back by her flawlessly executed French twist and force her to apologize.

Mac pulled the cart to a stop. “Fuck her,” he said firmly. “I would no sooner let her pick a woman for me than I would a career path. Don’t let this ruin what we have before it even gets off the ground.” Frankie kept her face averted until he lifted a finger to her chin. “Look at me.”

When she finally did, the unaffected joy on her face that had been there all night and most of the morning was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a practiced grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m looking, and the view is pretty fine,” she said with a wink, letting her gaze drift down over his chest.

The look that would have set most men aflame sent a bolt of fury through him. He would have rather seen tears. At least they would be honest. “Stop with the show, Frankie. I thought we were past that. I know you’re hurting right now.”

The smile died a sudden death, replaced by outrage. “We had a deal. There isn’t supposed to be anyone hurting. You agreed to a purely physical relationship and some good times. Now you’re poking around spots I don’t want you poke—”

“Don’t pull that shit on me,” he snapped. “From the second we kissed, we both knew it was more than that. Hell, I don’t even think you realize you couldn’t have been with me if it wasn’t more than that. This is not who you are.”

She pursed her lips, a wistful expression clouding her features before drifting away. “That’s where you’re wrong. Maybe it’s not who you want me to be, but I realized last night I like the wild feelings. I love the adrenaline rush, exploring new things, dressing sexy. Maybe it started out as a defense mechanism, but now it really is a part of me. And that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“You’re so right. It, along with so many other things, makes you an awesome person. I love that you’re comfortable with your sexuality. But don’t confuse that with being promiscuous. We did these things together because we care about each other and we trust each other. Why else would you have waited this long?” He was pushing her too hard, too soon, and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“I was busy.” She jutted her chin out stubbornly, her annoyance apparent.

“Now you’re not? What’s changed?” He shook his head, refusing to back down. “Nothing. If anything, it’s more hectic with your dad gone. The difference is you finally found someone you wanted to be with enough to risk getting hurt again. Don’t chicken out on me now.”

“What are we, five? Are you going to double dog dare me?” Her voice was steadily on the rise now, and twin spots of color rode her cheekbones. “I got news for you, pal. You can’t always get what you want. I’m sure that’s an entirely new concept to you, but it’s the truth. We had a deal. If you imagined this was going to unfold some other way, that’s on you. I never lied to you.” She thrust the last out like a shield, and he wondered who she was trying to convince.

“You’re lying to
yourself
. I’m just collateral damage. You need to face the fact that last night was special and could never have happened if you didn’t care about me.”

She held up a staying hand. “I’m done with this conversation. Enjoy your waffles, Mac. I’m going home.”

“Don’t go.” Anger warred with fear as he watched her retreating back. “At least let me drop you off. It will take you forever to walk.”

She didn’t turn around. He fought the desperate need to follow her, knowing he’d already pushed too hard. If he stood any chance at all of her coming around, it had to be on her terms. She rounded the corner, disappearing from view, and he let out a string of curses. Despite his best intentions, he’d still managed to drive her away, and in record time.

Now to figure out how to drive her back.

Chapter Eight

Frankie stared blindly at the carburetor on the greasy towel in front of her. After leaving Mac in the dairy aisle of the grocery store then spending the rest of her Saturday watching old movies, she’d gone to the garage in hopes of finding something to keep her mind busy. She’d scooped up a couple smaller parts to take home and work on. Now Sunday was more than half over, and she’d done little more than stare into space trying not to imagine Mac slow dancing with Melissa Figbert. The girl with a last name that sounded like something plucked from a tray at the Russian Tea Room. She was probably a classic beauty, the picture of grace, and had perfect fingernails without a hint of grease under them. Surely, she knew how to waltz, put together a soirée at a moment’s notice and maybe even do embroidery.

Frankie let out a heavy sigh and risked another glance at her cellphone. Nothing from Mac at all. Maybe he’d finally come to his senses. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat and picked up a screwdriver. It was bound to happen. She should be grateful it was now, before she was balls to the wall, head over heels in love with him.

She was so tangled in thought that she jerked in response to the sharp rap on the door.
Mac?
Her stomach did a flip as she rushed to the window. She pushed aside the curtain to see a cream Mercedes in the driveway. Not Mac. Then who?

She crossed the room to the door, sparing a glance at the face staring back at her from the glass doors of the hutch. Wincing, she said a silent thanks that it wasn’t Mac at the door. She looked like shit. Yanking the elastic band from her hair, she gave the long locks a quick finger brushing before sweeping it back into a ponytail.

The knock came again, this time more insistently.

“Coming!”

She peered through the peephole to see Mimi Galbraith glaring back at her. Blood rushed to Frankie’s ears, and her hand stilled on the doorknob. This couldn’t possibly be good, but what could she do, leave the woman on the stoop?

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Francesca, open the door. It’s chilly and I’ve forgotten my scarf.” The crisply issued command brooked no argument, and Frankie responded like a scolded schoolgirl, swinging the door open.

Mimi swept in on a cloud of Shalimar, making a beeline for the kitchen, leaving Frankie to stare after her. “I’d love a cup of tea,” she called.

Frankie shook off the initial shock, closing the door with a snap as she ran through the possibilities for this visit. Only one of them made any sense at all. Mother Galbraith had been thwarted the day before because there was safety in numbers. Today, she’d come by in hopes of cornering the weakest gazelle alone and tearing her to shreds. Little did she know that their little ménage à awful at the grocery store had been all the convincing Frankie needed to back off. She’d known from the start this thing with Mac was an exercise in futility, but the thrill of being with him had lulled her into some sort of opium-like daze where for a few sublime hours she believed anything was possible. No longer. That didn’t mean she was going to let this woman make her feel like a piece of trash, though.

She squared her shoulders and gathered up her courage as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Listen, Mrs. Galbraith. I can guess why you’re here, and while I appreciate your sticktoitiveness, there’s no need to waste your time or mine. Mac and I aren’t a couple. We never really were and we are even less so now. Our relationship from here on out, if any, will be strictly platonic and centered around business.”

The older woman shrugged off her coat and thrust it at Frankie. “On a hanger, not on a doorknob please,” she instructed, then sat ramrod straight in the nearest chair, crossing her trim ankles as she waited expectantly.

Frankie stood for a moment, at a loss for words. With a sigh, she loped off to again do Mimi’s bidding, muttering to herself all the while. Why couldn’t she send her packing? Was she that much of a wuss? She comforted herself with the thought that she’d had an emotionally draining couple days and, had she been one hundred percent, she would’ve held up much better against the bulldozer that was Mimi Galbraith.

By the time she returned, Mimi had laid out a small stack of photos—some black and white, some color—on the table. “Sit.”

Frankie sat.

“Would it surprise you, Francesca, to know that I’m fully aware of my flaws as a woman and a mother?”

Frankie shook her head politely but apparently didn’t manage to camouflage her doubts on that score because Mimi’s rose-tinted lips twisted into a wry smile.

“I suppose I deserve that. I don’t comport myself in a way that indicates humility, do I? But on the inside, believe me, I can be as neurotic and unsure as…others.” She raised a brow at Frankie pointedly.

“Oookay.” Things had taken the oddest turn. Suddenly Frankie’s theory seemed off, and she had no clue where the strange encounter was heading.

“I know that I’m demanding and snobby. I know I care far too much about what others think. I nag my only son as if it’s my purpose in life, and even that pales in comparison to the amount of abuse my husband takes.”

Mimi rifled through the photos, plucked one from the bunch and held it out to Frankie. A lovely young woman, around fifteen years old, stared up at her. Her golden hair leapt off her head in a riot of curls, and the most beguiling gap-toothed smile wreathed her sun-kissed face. Freckles sprinkled her nose and the apples of her round cheeks. Her eyes snapped with a devilish delight that had Frankie’s lips splitting into an answering grin. The child’s zeal was infectious.

“That’s Mary-Alice Starkey. She’s a pip, isn’t she?” Mimi said, her tone bittersweet.

Fear lanced Frankie’s gut. “Is she…dead now?”

A crack of laughter exploded from Mimi’s mouth, and she nodded. “Oh yes. Long dead.”

As Frankie stared into the eyes of the woman before her then back at the picture, one piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Holy crap, that’s you.”