Sucker Punched (21 page)

She fists the front of my shirt. Just when I think she’s about to kiss me, she murmurs, “What’s your relationship with your dad like?”

She laughs as soon as I groan. “You’re evil, you know that?”

I’m trying to play it off like I’m not hugely disappointed, telling myself it’s better this way. Much better. I don’t want Macy to end up hating me, which is exactly what would happen if we went down that road.

“And you’re easy. Now answer the question.”

I scrub my hand over my face before lying down and resting my hand behind my head. “It’s okay. I was pissed at him for years ’cause I thought he’d abandoned us, but it turns out he went to rehab. He got clean, finally started to get his shit together, and then my mom died. All the progress he’d made went right down the drain and he started drinking again. Never stopped. Now his liver’s failing and it’s just a matter of time before he’s gone too.”

Macy looks stricken. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what’s worse—thinking for all that time that he’d walked out on us, or knowing that he was getting straight and had his wife ripped away before he could come home.” My throat tightens like it does every time I think about that day, about how a few minor changes could’ve resulted in an entirely different outcome.

What would my dad be like if he’d gotten his happily-ever-after? How different would I be if tragedy hadn’t shaped me into the monumental fuck-up I am?

Macy lies down next to me, resting her head in the crook of my arm. She doesn’t say anything. Just wraps her arm around my middle and squeezes.

That little gesture makes me feel better than any words ever could.

I hold her close, hating the way she’s pressed against my side. It feels too damn good. No girl should feel this perfect in my arms if she has no intention of staying.

I stroke her hair, telling myself not to get too used to this. Macy might let me blur the lines every once in a while, but this feels more dangerous than any of my other antics. Lying in her bed like this fully clothed feels more intimate than climbing into her bathtub buck-naked.

“My dad’s having an affair with his secretary,” she admits quietly.

I frown when she glances up. “How do you know he’s cheating?”

“I saw them come out of the bathroom at our Christmas party last year. They were drunk and. . .
giggly
. He’s an ADA who’s pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. Not some drunk, horny teenager.”

“ADA?” The hell is that?

“Assistant District Attorney.”

Ah. So her dad
is
a lawyer. A big one, it sounds like. Makes sense that Macy’s trying to follow in his footsteps. “You’re gonna be a lawyer too, right? That seems like—what do they call it? Circumstantial evidence?”

“You should’ve seen his face fall when he noticed me standing there. He looked so guilty, so ashamed. I might not have caught them in the act, but I know that lipstick doesn’t smear itself and pants don’t just come unzipped.”

I don’t realize she’s crying until she wipes her cheeks, and I awkwardly rub her arm to try and make her feel better. “Maybe it was a one-time thing? Just a drunken mistake that he feels awful about?”

“He must not have felt too bad. I found a hot pink g-string in his car last week when I borrowed it.”

Okay, that’s a pretty damning piece of evidence. Especially considering that Macy’s cardigan-wearing, pearl-clutching mom doesn’t really seem like the g-string type.

“I haven’t told my mom yet, because how do you tell someone something like that? It’ll break her heart. I keep asking myself, if I were in her position, would I want to know? And I’m honestly not sure. This kind of secret is life-ruining. I don’t know if I can do that to her.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t do it to her. Your dad did. Maybe you should call him out on it. Tell him to knock it off and threaten to tell your mom if he doesn’t.”

She winces. “That’s going to be
such
an awkward conversation. But you’re right, this is his fault. He should be the one to deal with it.” Macy looks up at me. “Whose turn is it?”

“I don’t know. I lost count.”

Her lips curve into a smile that can only be described as breathtaking. She could kill me right now and as long as that smile’s the last thing I see, I’d die a happy man. That’s a scary fuckin’ thought right there. 

“Then it’s mine.” She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows. “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“No.”

Disbelief crosses her face. “Never? Not even in, like, eighth grade?”

“Nope. Middle school girls had too much drama. So did high school girls, but at least they put out.”

Macy rolls her eyes. “You’re so charming. I honestly have no idea why you’re still single.”

“Why are you?”

Laughing, she points to herself. “Why am
I
single?”

“Yeah. You could have any guy you wanted.”

She bites her lip, shaking her head. “I seriously doubt that.”

“I don’t.” I let that sink in before clearing my throat. “So your last boyfriend. You guys broke up because. . .?”

“Because he said he loved me.”

Wait, what? “Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what girls
want
to hear?”

“Yeah, if they love him back.”

I wince. “That’s cold, Duchess.”

“I know.” Macy’s face twists with remorse. “I felt awful about it. He was really sweet and so nice, but I just didn’t feel the same way and I knew I never would. So I broke it off.”

“That poor bastard.” I mean it, too. I sure as hell wouldn’t want Macy to tell me to take a hike. “Did you at least give him breakup sex?”

“
No
.” Macy looks scandalized that I even suggested such a thing.

“Well now I really feel bad for him.” I laugh as she nudges my side with her shoulder.

She presses her lips together, like she’s trying to stop herself from smiling. “He listed the states whenever we had sex, to keep from coming too early. ”

I was wrong before.
Now
I’m laughing.

“And when he finally came, he’d shout out whatever state he was on.” She closes her eyes and grunts, “Idaho!”

I nearly piss myself from laughing so hard.

It takes me a good minute to finally catch my breath. “Did he go in alphabetical order?”

“Yeah.”

“And he only got to Idaho?”

She nods. “Maybe that’s why I never came with him. Idaho is as far as he ever got, but sometimes he didn’t even last till then. There were a few ‘Connecticuts’ and ‘Floridas’ in there.” Settling against me again, she rests her head on my shoulder and draws little patterns on my shirt.

“You never came with him? Like,
ever
?” At the shake of her head, I murmur to myself, “How is that possible?”

I’d bend over backwards to make sure Macy got off. Hell, I could spend all night doing nothing
but
getting Macy off and I’d never complain, not once.

Her shoulder lifts in a lazy shrug. “Foreplay isn’t something either of my boyfriends were very big on. You’re the only guy who’s ever actually made me come.” She glances up at me sheepishly before dropping her eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.” She laughs.

I’d make a joke about being at her disposal whenever she needs me, but I think she knows my door’s always open. 

We lie there for several minutes until her fingers quit drawing circles on my chest and her breathing turns deep and even. I could get used to being Macy’s pillow. . .

My mind starts to wander and eventually I remember something I’d wanted to know. I figure it’s now or never. “Macy?”

“Hmm?” she murmurs sleepily.

“What’s your last name?”

Her breathing remains steady. Just when I think she’s not going to answer me, she says, “Dunham.”

Macy Dunham.

She drapes her leg across mine, getting more comfortable, and I smile to myself, thinking how nice this is. But then my smile fades, because I know it won’t last. There’s a reason I don’t have nice things.

At this point I’m almost curious to see how I’ll drive her away, what my weapon of choice will be. Other than myself, of course.

Blake’s street is a little crowded as it is, but tonight it’s a freaking circus. I can’t even find a single parking spot in front of his house, so I’m forced to park half a block down. Thumping bass echoes from somewhere in the neighborhood, growing louder with each painful step I take down the sidewalk.

I just want to get out of this tiny dress and burn these shoes, but a hot bubble bath and a cold beer will have to do.

Maybe I can talk Blake into giving me a foot rub.

My steps almost falter when I notice a couple guys smoking on Blake’s front porch. I have no idea who they are, but I think I know why they’re here now that I realize the music is coming from inside our house. 

They don’t speak to me as I climb the steps, but I can feel their eyes watching my every move. I blame the damn dress. I pull my jacket closed, concealing my provocative work uniform, and cross the porch. 

When I step inside the house, it’s dark, loud, and hot. Music permeates every cell in my body until I can’t hear my own thoughts, and my heart beats in time with the bass. 

I pull off my jacket and hang it by the front door, then slip off my heels. The cool tile feels amazing under my bare feet as I walk past the dining room, into the living room.

When Blake texted me earlier tonight and asked if I’d be cool with “a few people” coming over, I certainly didn’t expect to come home to a full-blown party. There’s a sea of people in our living room and I don’t see Blake anywhere in it. He might be in the group hanging out in the kitchen, but I don’t feel like walking all the way over there just to see.

Right now, I just want to get out of these clothes.

I start for the stairs when a pair of arms wrap around my stomach, encasing my back against a hard chest. Taken by surprise, I tense up, thinking it’s some drunk guy looking to score.

But then Blake’s voice is in my ear. “Dance with me.” His nose brushes the shell of my ear, hitting all the sensitive spots that make me melt. I smile as his hands grip my hips, slowly swaying me to the beat. His lips brush my neck as he starts singing, “I can’t get her outta my mind. I think about that girl all the time. . .”

It takes me a second to recognize the song since it’s a cover. I should probably be offended that he’s serenading me to a song about a prostitute, but I’m not. Blake can sing pretty much anything to me and I’d love every second of it.

His hand wanders down my thigh and flirts with the hem of my dress, like he’s testing my boundaries. I
should
put a stop to this, but when I don’t, his fingers slip underneath the fabric, stroking my thigh as they inch higher and higher.

Surely he’s not going to try and get to third base in a room full of people, right?

My heart’s thundering as his lips brush my skin again, lingering until it turns into a full-blown kiss. He kisses a path up my jaw, and when he sucks my earlobe into his mouth, I gasp, feeling goosebumps explode across my hot skin. I push away from him, painfully aware how wet my panties are when I turn to face him. 

Blake’s eyes are slightly glazed over. He looks confused as to why I’m not in his arms anymore.

Disappointment washes over me. “You’re drunk.”

“So?” He steps forward, his mouth curving into a cocky grin as he leans down. “You worried about taking advantage of me?”

No. I’m worried that he’s only acting like this because he’s drunk.

Rolling my eyes, I turn around and head up the stairs with Blake following me. That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever.

Once we’re inside my bedroom, he closes the door. It’s quiet enough up here that you don’t have to talk into the person’s ear, but I can still feel the music through the floor.

I pull open a dresser drawer, getting out my pajamas. “What do you want, Blake? I’m tired. I just want to take a bath and go to sleep.”

He comes up behind me and places a kiss on my shoulder. “Can I get in the tub with you?”

“
No
.” We’re not going down that road tonight, not when he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.

Why is he being so touchy-feely all of a sudden? Sure, he was flirtatious before, but he’s never seriously tried anything since we decided to be friends. Tonight it’s like someone flipped the “I want to fuck Macy” switch on him. What gives? Is it just because he’s drunk?

Blake huffs out a frustrated breath. “Fine, then.” Wrapping his arms around me, he sets his chin on my shoulder. “I’ll be your towel when you get out. I’ll lick the water droplets off every inch of your skin.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, I slip out of his arms so he won’t notice the shiver rolling through me. “You have a house full of people downstairs. Why are you up here with me?”

“Because I missed you.” He closes the distance between us again, resting his hands on my hips as his lips assault my neck in the softest, most sinful of kisses. It’s so not fair. “I missed this neck, and those lips, and
this
. . .” His hand trails up and cups my right breast, his thumb circling my already hardened nipple. “God, I think I missed this breast most of all.”