Mack, page 9
The reality is it’s Mack who has my stomach in knots, and it’s painfully obvious. I don’t like the idea of never speaking to him again outside the courtroom. I hate the idea of never seeing him again once Mrs. Winslow’s case is decided.
When did this happen? How the eff? When did I go from calling him an arrogant prick, an asshole who doesn’t deserve the time of day, to feeling sort of sad and disappointed at the thought of him disappearing? Hell, I don’t even know him. Nothing about him. There’s zero common ground between us, nothing real, nothing remotely resembling friendship much less anything else.
You like him.
He’s hot, the only attractive man to show you attention in a year.
I don’t know what that says about me, honestly, since he goes against everything I believe in. In spite of that, I do sort of like him. I like his tenacity, even if he is a little too intense sometimes for my taste.
Let’s be honest, it’s not exactly insulting, the attention he’s been giving me.
Don’t let him fool you. That’s what he wants you to think.
Is that true? My inner voice has never steered me wrong—yet for the first time I’m tempted to ignore it. I don’t want to believe he’s using me, that I’m just some diversion or challenge. And somewhere deep down, no matter how big of an asshole he is, I get the feeling he has this scoundrel code of ethics. Like he wouldn’t do that to win.
He’s a dick, but it’s like he enjoys crushing his opposition straight up, playing by the rules.
What if he thinks he’s already won? What if all he wanted was to break me down enough to get me to flirt with him? Like it was some Barney Stinson challenge and he’s going to give Ted Mosby the highest of fives and go on to the next conquest.
“Counselor. Took you long enough.”
I freeze right in my tracks.
Oh no. I’m not prepared for this.
The text message!
My face flushes. My heart skips a beat the second that baritone voice lands in my ear. It’s like everything’s brighter now, everything’s better. Sharper. Things come into focus. Pure embarrassment and shock floods my veins. My blood pounds, my hands start to sweat, and I’m pretty sure if I try to say a word, it’ll come out shaky and giggly.
This is a disaster.
I turn slowly to make sure I don’t appear excited to see him. The second my eyes land on him, my breath hitches. God, he looks good. I’m pretty sure he’d look good if he had the damn flu, unlike me looking like death warmed over.
His slow smile tells me he knows I’m checking him out. He’s so cocky. Good thing, since that’s what it takes to break me out of the haze of flustration he puts me in.
Flustration?
Yes, flustered and frustrated.
“Hacking into my calendar now? More stalking?”
“Hacked into your calendar?” He snickers, his blue eyes warming up my chest. “More like I called your office and your assistant gave me all the details.”
Terrific, and that means I’ll have to hear it from her. “That makes me uncomfortable. Please, stop doing that.”
He leans back and folds his thick arms over his chest, smirking with amusement. “Does it now?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He starts toward me and oh shit. Oh shit. Shit!
Personal space. Why does he always have to walk closer? I’m going to smell him again.
He leans down a little, so we’re eye-to-eye. “Perhaps if you didn’t abandon me right when things get interesting, I wouldn’t need to take such measures.”
Don’t blush. Don’t blush. He just went right for the awkward situation. Leaned into it for crying out loud.
No such luck on the blushing. My face warms, but I manage to hold his gaze even as my nerves sizzle and my knees shake. Don’t take this shit. Don’t let him win. I lean back and fold my arms over my chest, mimicking him from before. “Told you, I had other things to do. I didn’t want to be interrupted.”
His nostrils flare in time with the tightening of his jaw as his gaze travels down to where my boobs are pushed together. “It’s more fun to play with a partner.”
He doesn’t say it like a question. Not at all. More like a command.
Good God, he’s making me wet. “A partner would slow me down.”
A wide smile spreads over his face, bringing out dimples I’ve never seen for the briefest moment. How the hell did I miss those? And why does he freaking need them, on top of everything else?
“Come on. Let’s grab lunch. I’m starving.” He holds a hand out.
I pull my hand back against me like I’m afraid he’ll burn me if I touch him. “I have work to do.”
“So do I, but I’m hungry. Live a little.”
“I was planning to eat at my desk.”
He glances around for a quick moment, then his hand is like lightning when it shoots out. “You’re coming with me.” He takes my hand.
Holy shit!
Why am I following him? What are you doing, feet?
The way he stared at me before he did it has my brain short circuiting. Is he really taking me for food? He didn’t say it like he was. Am I the meal?
Oh my God.
I hope he knows he’s paying.
There you go. You’re still in there, somewhere.
He walks us up to his car—the new Tesla Model S I saw in the alley—and by the time we’re there, I’m walking next to him, and he’s still holding my hand. God, it feels so good. He even has nice hands, and it’s like it’s pumping high voltage currents into my limbs.
Am I doing this? Is this actually happening? It must be, because here I am, calling Janet to let her know I’m going out for lunch and I’ll be back a little later than expected.
“You’ll love this place. They even have great brunch on the weekends.”
I snort. “Brunch?”
“Hell yes. I love brunch.” He says it with so much confidence. I figured men would make fun of each other for something like that. Though he seems like a man who doesn’t give a damn, would probably wear a pink shirt and still look alpha as hell.
“Do you routinely take women to brunch?” I already sound jealous and desperate, good God.
“Never had a reason to. I think I’ll take you some time.”
I can’t just keep handing him little victories like this, no matter how bad I want to. “I don’t really like brunch.” Lie!
“I’ll change your mind.”
I roll my eyes, but the reaction is obviously fake. “Doubtful.”
“Know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re full of shit—again.” He glances my way with a smirk before flooring the gas pedal.
The electric car explodes down the road, throwing my back into the seat.
“Jesus Christ. Could you slow down?” I clutch the seat in horror as we zip in and out between other cars.
“Need to relax a little.” He laughs. “Way too high strung. I think it’s an act.” He stares straight ahead like we aren’t flying through downtown Detroit doing seventy miles an hour. “Specifically for me, which is curious. When you let yourself go and be in the moment, you can be a lot of fun.” He whips around a car right before we hammer into the rear bumper. “Or is that what makes it fun? Playing this little game of ours?” He glances over, down at my skirt.
I know exactly what he’s hinting at, and I grip the oh-shit handle on his car a little tighter. He’s wondering if I was lying about wearing panties. Oh God, and I’m not. I can’t with this skirt, but I was the other night when I told him I wasn’t.
“Just remembered, I need to do something at the courthouse.” Why is it so hard to speak right now? “Take me back.”
He shakes his head and smiles, then whips into a parking space. “Don’t be ridiculous.” We arrive at the restaurant, one way out of my price range of course.
Mack hops out and flips the keys to the valet.
I sit there, breathing heavily. I never drive above the speed limit—ever. My heart is still in my throat.
It takes me a second to regain my wits, and the door flies open next to me.
“Come on.” He holds a hand out.
I sit there, contemplating my options, waiting for him to just grab me and pull me out of the car, the same way he just yanked me out of the courthouse.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t. It’s like he’s drawn a line and this needs to be my decision.
I tell myself to refuse, and I sit there, staring right at him, shaking my head. Not as if I’m rejecting him, but more like he’s a homicidal maniac who drives like it’s the Indy 500.
He looks like he’s trying to suppress a laugh, like his driving was purely for amusement and to make me uncomfortable.
He finally shrugs and says, “Yolo?” Then, he lets loose a laugh and it’s so freaking cute. He looks like a little boy for a split second.
I continue to shake my head at him, but I reach out for his hand. It almost feels like we just made a truce in that moment, reconciled all our differences, and this is so scary and dangerous. He’s right, though. I never have any fun—ever. What could it hurt? One lunch?
That’s how he’s going to get you.
He leads me inside, and he’s recognized instantly by the hostess. I try to ignore the way her warm, familiar smile sets my teeth on edge. I swear to myself he’s staring at her ass on the way in, but I may be forcing myself to think that.
I have to ask. “Spend a lot of time here?”
“I don’t like to cook. I’m known quite well at the restaurants around here.”
Must be nice. I manage to bite my tongue before that slips out. I can’t imagine making enough money to eat at these places whenever I don’t feel like cooking, and it sounds like he does it every night.
The hostess seats us and they take our drink orders.
“Tell me about yourself, Presley.” He leans in, those eyes of his crawling over me like he’s trying to… what? Figure out a puzzle? Take me apart? I feel exposed all of a sudden, like he can see through my clothes. He knows about the panties.
I should be embarrassed, but it’s doing something for me.
Focus! “Not much to know. I’m a simple person. What you see is what you get.”
“Nope.” His slow smirk and the slight narrowing of his eyes leave nothing to the imagination. I know exactly what he’s getting at.
Did somebody turn the heat up in here all of a sudden? I have to resist the urge to fan myself. “Excuse me? This feels like an interview.”
He shakes his head and leans back. “There’s nothing simple about you.”
My face heats up. “Was that an insult?”
He glances away like he just saw someone he knows. “A compliment, actually. But I’m sure you don’t enjoy receiving those from a man like me.”
“What’s good here?” I try to change the subject.
“Everything.”
We’re silent for a brief time after that until we get our menus. I notice he brushes his to the side, probably so familiar with it that he doesn’t need to look. I’m glad for the distraction, and for an excuse to hold something in front of my face. Once he can’t see me, I close my eyes for a second, take a few deep breaths and hope he can’t tell my hands are trembling.
He’s just a person. Just another human being. There’s nothing about him that warrants this kind of overreaction. Maybe if I tell myself that enough times, I’ll believe it. “Cobb salad looks good.”
“You’ll have enough for dinner. The meals are gigantic. One of my favorite things about this place. I hate paying out the ass for something the size of an appetizer. It’s insulting to my appetite.”
I lower my menu and find him with a hardened face, like he can’t stand those fancy places that feed you three ounces of a steak.
“Same. I can’t stand feeling like I got ripped off, especially if the food is mediocre.”
“Well. Well. Well.”
I blink a few times like I may have something on my face. “What?”
“Something in common.” His eyes widen at me like he just scored some points.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I scowl at him.
“Keep it up, Presley.”
Jesus, the way my name rolls off his tongue. “Keep what up?”
He waves a finger up and down. “The charade.” He leans over, dangerously close to me. “It’s not working.”
“You’re so arrogant.”
“You like it.”
“Do, uhh, not.”
He grins and leans back. “Nice one. You’re better than that.”
“Can we just have lunch? Isn’t that why you brought me here?” He’s so insufferable when he’s right.
“So.” He leans in, elbows on the table, wearing a devilish grin. “What do you do for fun?”
I scrunch up my face. “Fun? What’s that?”
“Allow me to teach you how a date works.”
I scoff, shaking my head, but strangely smiling as I say, “This is not a date.”
“As I was saying, how a date works.” He bulldozes right through my pathetic attempt. “I go to the gym to work out my tension. I like sports and go to as many games as I can, though it’s not always possible if I’m in the middle of a big case.”
I know he said the gym part on purpose. He wants me to imagine him all sweaty, breathing hard, rippling muscles—and it’s working. I need to pull myself together. “Who’s your team?”
“A loaded question, but an improvement on the social protocols of a date.” He jerks his chin at me. “You first.”
“I don’t understand football, though I’ve been to a few Lions games. But baseball? That’s in my blood. I’ll be a Tigers fan until the day I die.”
“I’ll have to teach you about football.” He lifts his iced tea, saluting me. “Die hard Tigers fan, too. That’s two things we have in common.”
Damn it, why does he have to be so charming? And his smile—it’s sexy and disarming simultaneously. I find myself loosening up, relaxing my posture, because why not? This is just lunch. Not everything has to be fraught with importance.
He eyes me curiously. “Greatest Tiger of all time.”
“The Peach. Don’t be insulting.” I eye him for an extra second for even questioning me.
“Not Greenberg or Miggy?”
“Maybe if Hank hadn’t missed three seasons for the military. And Miggy is a beast, but there’s only one Cobb.”
His eyes widen for a second, then a devilish grin spreads across his face. “Okay, you pass the true fan test.”
“It was an insult to be tested in the first place. What? Girls don’t know anything about sports?”
For the first time since I’ve met him, he recoils a little, like I just made him uncomfortable. Good. Words can’t describe how elated I am to see him squirming for once. I think he may have reacted this way internally that first day in court, but it took him by surprise so much he couldn’t emote it externally.
Keep the full-court press on him. “So, football at Michigan State…”
He blinks rapidly, and I can’t help the rush of satisfaction of taking him by surprise. “Yeah.”
“What made you decide not to go pro?”
For the first time since we met, I get the feeling he’s a little lost. Has nobody ever asked that question before? He looks beyond me, like he’s searching for something, or it’s a memory that just filtered to the surface for the first time in years. “Risk evaluation. There are no guarantees.”
“There are no guarantees anywhere in life.”
“Fair point, I didn’t like the odds.”
“Odds?”
He nods. “I think I made the right call. I didn’t know if I was good enough, and now with all the CTE stuff coming out, I’m perfectly fine with my choice. Too many risks.”
“So you don’t take risks?”
“Not like that, and I never really had a love for the game. I loved the competition, that was it. Which is why I chose law school instead. I figured I could take that killer instinct and put it to other uses. I think I’ve done pretty well, all things considered.”
If only he would’ve channeled that energy into playing for the good guys.
Our food comes and we start eating—he was right, this is one of the best salads I’ve ever had and until now I didn’t understand what could make a salad truly spectacular—I find myself opening up more and more.
“I had a cat.”
He starts to choke on the sip of water he just took, and I realize I said it out of nowhere—why is everything laced with innuendo around him? It feels like I just told him my pussy is deceased.
Jesus, you’re killing this date thing, Presley.
It’s not a date!
“Her name was Mittens.”
He does his best to put on a concerned, serious face. “I-I’m sorry for your loss.”
For some reason, I just plow ahead and launch into a billion things about me. I’m doomed. “I don’t like going out. I like my apartment. It would be phenomenal to find some kind of balance between work and a social life.”
He looks right at me like okay, we’re doing this? Then he launches into the conversation as naturally as humanly possible. “Balance is overrated. You can’t have both. You can be the best friend, son, daughter, sister, brother, or the best attorney. There’s no middle ground to be the best at all of them. Mediocre at all of them, or best at one. That’s what I say anyway.”
Yes! I agree!
“Hmm.”
“What’s that mean, hmm?”
“It means I agree, but I don’t want you to think I agree, because it means I think you’re right.”
He laughs. A real, genuine laugh, as he pays the check. When he stands up, he stares down at me. “That was progress.”
“Really?” I eye him skeptically.
He nods. “Absolutely. That’s the first time you’ve been completely honest.”
I stand up, shaking my head. “No, I tell you to your face when you’re acting like a jerk off.”
He shakes his head. “You misunderstand. I didn’t mean the first time you’ve told the truth, I mean the first time you’ve been honest about this thing between us.”
