Sidelined (27 page)

Mitch flags the bartender and orders me a glass and himself a bottle of beer. Instead of paying, he opens a tab, and I swallow. Since he told me that he’d take me home so I should get a cab to the bar, that tab means way more than just an evening in the bar. It means he plans to take me home, sure…but not to mine.

Operation Drink Slowly and Avoid Tequila begins now. He always did forget that I have more brains in my thumbnail than he has inside his skull.

“So,” he says slowly, meeting my eyes. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Why did you come back?”

Well, that was blunter than it had sounded in my head.

He blinks harshly, clearly taken aback by the question. “You know why I came back, Mace.”

Confused, taken aback… Who knows? “Well, yeah. But why now? Why not when Suzie told you that the baby might not be yours?”

“Because,” he answers carefully, pausing, “I found out when she was six months pregnant and the other guy she’d slept with had headed home for summer break. I didn’t want to come back and tell you in case I turned out to be Daisy’s dad.”

I lick my lips and nod, my eyes on my glass. “So it seems everyone was forced to spill secrets they’d rather have kept.”

“Mace,” he pleads.

I hold my hand up. “You walk back into my life and tell me you want me back. If, in the currently highly unlikely situation I let that happen, you’ve gotta deal with my bitchiness.” I move my eyes to his. “I have every damn right to be a bitch to you for what you did because there’s a whole lotta hurt, betrayal, and bitterness locked up and ready to assault you. You got that?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He sips his drink. “At least, now, I know there’s a chance you might forgive me. Even if it is tiny.”

“I will never forgive you.” My voice is a little frosty. “Never, Mitch. I can’t forgive you for all the pain you caused me or for the upheaval your reappearance in my life has caused.”

“You mean with the football player.”

“He has a name.”

“Jack,” he bites out, his hatred sharp and clear. “You can’t forgive me because I came back and fucked it up.”

I swallow.
Yes. Maybe.
“Jack and I… We’re not exactly serious, but we’re not exactly casual. You coming back… It’s brought back a lot of memories I thought I was over. You have to understand that. You being back in L.A. has shaken up my relationships with everyone. My best friends want to blend your balls into a breakfast smoothie.”

His lips twitch, but the smile soon dies and he reaches for me. He takes my hand and slips his fingers between mine. “I know, babe. Believe me, I know. I wish I hadn’t had to come back, but I couldn’t stay in Arizona knowing you thought something wrong. And I knew your aunt would tell your mom, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”

His hand is soft and warm against mine, the sensation of his fingers through mine familiar and comforting. It’s a strange feeling, one that stirs old feelings, reawakening what I’d convinced myself was buried.

Yet, through the comfort, there’s a jolt of fear and another, much stronger, bolt of wrongness.

I fight with the urge to pull my hand from Mitch’s grasp. “Couldn’t you have e-mailed or something?”

“So you couldn’t yell at me? No way. That was always your favorite thing to do.”

I look down and smile at my thighs. It’s true—I yelled at him way too much, but contrary to his belief, I actually hated it.

“You asked for it. You left the toilet seat up and your socks on my side of the sofa. Not to mention you put half-empty cans of Coke back into the fridge.”

“Yeah, well, turns out that your cousin does that and it’s really fucking annoying, so I’m sorry for every half-empty can of Coke I returned to the fridge.” He smiles widely.

I lift my eyes and reach for my wine glass. His thumb strokes the back of my hand in a soothing motion, but I can’t shake the wrong feeling that’s crawling over my skin. I can’t shake the want to take my hand away.

So I do.

“Mace, I didn’t mean to bring up—”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to think about the past, okay? If I do that, then I’m gonna get upset, and I had a long-ass day at work, so I don’t wanna get pissed off.” I also had a late night where I barely slept, so there’s that.

I tuck my hand between my thighs and keep hold of my glass with the other so he can’t touch me again. Comforting and skin-crawling isn’t exactly the best combination when you hold someone’s hand.

“Mace?”

I snap my head around at my brother’s voice. “Cal?”

Oh fuckety fuck fuck!

“Mitch,” he acknowledges tightly before turning his blazing eyes back to me. “Should I ask?”

“Not right now.” I smile sweetly, and at seeing the brunette hovering over his shoulder, I frown. “Where’s Amy?”

“Long story. You free tomorrow?”

“I have a feeling I’m about to be,” I sigh.

“I’m comin’ over in the morning. You will be there in the morning, won’t you?” He asks his question slightly louder so Mitch will definitely hear him.

“Yes! Jesus.” I run my fingers through my hair. “I’ll be home in the morning.”

“Good.” Cal kisses the side of my head. “Be careful, Macey,” he whispers.

“I know what I’m doing,” I hiss back.

My brother pulls back and fixes me with his cop look. “Do you?”

No. I don’t have a fucking clue. I’m totally winging life right now.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” I ask deliberately, knowing it’ll piss him off.

His jaw tightens. “This is my sister, Macey, who we won’t be speaking to for the rest of the night. Bye, Macey. Mitch.”

I swallow my laughter as he leads the wide-eyed brunette away. That was fun. But where the hell is Amy? Unless… No!

“I think he broke up with Amy,” I gasp, looking at Mitch. “Hold that thought.” I scramble through my purse and shoot off a text message to Cal.

Did u break up with Amy??????

“Come on, come on.” I tap my nail against the bar until the message box pops up.

Yes. Now fuck off.

I fist-pump the air and drop my phone in my purse. “He broke up with Amy.”

Mitch smirks. “Still hate her, huh?”

“I don’t hate her. I just wish she’d be attacked by a porcupine so her tits would burst.”

He laughs. “Why did he break up with her?”

“Easy. She was hitting on Jack at dinner on Monday.”

Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.

Mitch freezes, his beer bottle tipped to his lips. Slowly, he lowers it and glares at me. “Jack had dinner at your parents’ place?”

“He did.”

“You didn’t take me home for six months.”

“I didn’t.”

“Why the special treatment for him?”

Jealously reeks from him, and so does possessiveness. But it’s a dirty kind of possessiveness—it’s selfish, pure and simple. He wants me, and if he can’t have me, he doesn’t want anyone else to have me. It’s a million miles away from the protective possessiveness Jack has.

And it’s not fucking cool.

“Okay, first.” I sit up straight and fix him with a hard look of my own. “It wasn’t my choice. Cal mentioned to Mom that they’d met and Dad overheard. He got stuck on the idea of talking to a football player, and I couldn’t say no. Secondly, I’m single. Last time I checked, that means I can take whoever the hell I want to dinner with my parents and no one else gets a say. And, finally, you are the very last person who gets a say on who I take home.”

“Shit, Mace…”

“I think I need to go home now.” I finish my wine and grab my purse.

“I’ll take you,” Mitch offers.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Macey, I told you I would, and there’s no point in you getting a cab when I’m here.”

“Fine,” I sigh heavily and storm over to the door, glancing at my brother as I do. I catch his eye, and he lifts his brows. In response, I grit my teeth and push the door open.

I walk to the BMW in the corner of the parking lot and yank the passenger’s-side door open once Mitch has unlocked it.

“Messy as ever, I see.”

“Yeah. I really have to hire someone to clean it for me.” He inserts the key and brings the engine to life.

I make a noncommittal sound and turn to look out the window. Getting from the bar to my apartment takes way too long, and every second that passes is filled with tension. Each beat of that tension prickles at my skin, begging me to break it, but I won’t. The silence is perfect. If I talk, I might yell or cry or do something dumb. Like hit him on top of his head with my purse.

When we arrive at my apartment, I get out of the car and walk around to his side. I stand awkwardly for a moment. “Well, thanks for the ride home. I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Wait, Macey.” Mitch gets out as I step back and comes toward me.

I take a deep breath as he closes the distance between our bodies and rests his hands on my arms. He stares into my eyes for a beat or two and then dips his head. His lips meet mine hesitantly, so light that I can barely feel them. When I don’t push him away, he steps closer again, kisses me harder, and lifts his hands so his fingers curl around my neck.

The kiss is safe. It’s comforting and predictable, and it feels an awful lot like home.
Mitch
feels like home. Despite everything, he does. And that’s a feeling I can’t make go away, no matter how hard I try.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks quietly after breaking the kiss.

“What day is tomorrow?”

“Saturday.”

I shake my head. I promised Jack I wouldn’t do that. “I’ll call you on Sunday.”

“Okay, beautiful.” He kisses me again, a gentle touch that lingers on my lips, and pulls back.

I swallow and lift my hand lamely before turning and walking into my apartment complex. Instead of taking the elevator, I head for the stairs to walk the four flights to my apartment. Each step is heavy. Much like the pounding of my heart.

Each beat is laced with guilt and the kind of self-loathing that will eat at you and drive you crazy. I hate every bit of it.

I shouldn’t feel guilty for anything. I’m not in a relationship with either Jack or Mitch. Hell, I could fuck them both in one day if that’s what I really wanted to do. I can do whatever I want, and I should be able to do it without wanting to bash my own skull in with an iron.

So why can’t I stop thinking about what that kiss would do to Jack?

Why am I even thinking about him at all?

He told you to go to your ex, idiot.

But what if it had been a test? What if he had asked me to see if I would—what if he had asked me to see how much I really want him and my actions were the answer? Because I’m almost certain running away before he’d gotten out of the shower was the wrong answer.

It was also incredibly pathetic and weak.

Shit. This is my life. This is my body and my heart these guys are playing with. You can’t throw my heart around and slam it into the ground just because the game dictates it. My heart is not a fucking football.

Although, if it were, I’d slam it into both of their pretty faces.

I never wanted this. I never wanted to be torn between the guy I’ve always loved and the guy my body wants me to love.

Then again, though, I didn’t exactly want all the shit Mitch did, so what does Karma care what I want?

Hey, Karma. I think I’ve had enough relationship bullshit to last me a good few years. How about you bump one of these fuckers off so I don’t have to choose anymore?

Wait, does that put me under the “bad Karma” list? Crap. It does.

Ms. Karma, ignore the bumping off. Just give one of them a great, big, fat, witchy mole on their face. No one likes a witchy mole in the bedroom.

I put my key into the lock on my door and push it open.

“Macey,” my neighbor across the hall calls.

“Will,” I say turning. “Hey. How are you?”

“I’m good.” He smiles. “You got a delivery earlier, but you were out, so I took them in.”

I frown. “Them?”

“These.” Will’s girlfriend, Tracey, walks through the door with a giant bunch of red roses.

My jaw drops open. “You’re sure these are for me?”

Will smirks. “Well, your name is on the card. And tell whoever sent them to you thanks, because now Trace wants roses.”

I grin. “Get to it, Will!”

Tracey winks and laughs. “They’re beautiful.”

“They are,” I say softly, staring at them. “Thanks. For taking them in.”

“No worries. I pretended they were mine for a while there.”

I return Tracey’s smile and carry the gigantic bunch into my apartment. I kick the door shut behind me and set them on the kitchen table. After grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge, I pour a glass and extract the card tucked between the flower heads.

I slide my pinkie finger under the flap on the envelope and slide the small card out.
Sorry, baby,
is scrawled across the open card, and under it is Jack’s name.