Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (12 page)

“He just didn’t seem like himself is all,” Wingate finally replies. He bites his lip and drinks more of the wine, nodding again at the football player watching us from across the room.
 

I can tell there’s more to say. My pulse quickens, and I can’t quite pinpoint the reason why. “What? Did he want the more authentic experience of seducing her himself and getting her into bed for a one-night stand?”

Wingate shakes his head. “Naw. Nothing like that. To be honest, Ren, he said he didn’t know why you couldn’t act as his fiancée. Or girlfriend, or whatever your plan is for this. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good goddamn plan. But he seemed to be having second thoughts about it. And I did tell him—to my credit—that he knows goddamn well why you can’t be his stand-in girlfriend.”

I gulp. “Well good. Thanks, Wingate.” I stand there, stiff as a board, not quite knowing what to say. I would have thought that Mack hadn’t been thinking of me for years. After all, his brother made it clear that I wasn’t the woman he wanted anymore. He told me that I needed to go be on my own because Mack wasn’t coming for me, and he had no intention of pursuing our relationship. And when I felt I couldn’t go any lower, his brother Jared had said that Mack didn’t love me and there was no way in hell we were getting married.

How do you go from
that
to wondering why I can’t be his girlfriend? Even if it is six years later… and even if it’s only fake…

Not for the first time, I feel like something isn’t right, that there’s a piece missing from the story I’ve told myself for the past six years.

“You think you should be here? You said you were planning to keep away from this man while you were doing your job, Ren. And as much as I love Macklin, I think that was probably a good decision. And here you are, standing not fifteen feet away from him, your eyes wandering over… Maybe you should take your wine and go relax. I can come over after this whole thing is tied up.” Wingate pats me on the shoulder and goes over to his football friend again, not even looking back over his shoulder to see my reaction.

For the first time in a long time—years, maybe—I’m left wondering what to do. I came here to make sure everything was going well—and it is. But was there another reason, one I’m not acknowledging?

From across the room, Mack’s eyes finally meet mine. Kinley is hanging off of his arm and talking to one of the other players, glass of wine in hand. The wine is disappearing faster than it should, but she keeps her composure all the while she’s talking—just like the hostess she’s meant to be. The photographer’s camera keeps flashing, but once Mack’s gaze has caught mine, he doesn’t look away. I stand there, sipping my own wine until it starts to taste sour in my mouth. Eventually, Kinley’s arm falls away from Mack’s, and I watch as he crosses the room toward me. Time nearly stops, going in slow motion, as he approaches. My heart catches in my throat, stomach dropping to the bottom of my body, nerves on fire. Each bodily reaction gives me shame. It’s not the same sensation as watching a new lover from across the room—instead, I’m watching someone who broke my heart, someone who still maintains control over me for reasons I don’t fully understand. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch me, he stops, putting his hands in his pockets just like he always did when he was nervous. He wears an uncertain smile on his face, and the top button of his immaculately tailored button-down shirt is unbuttoned, showing a hint of his white t-shirt beneath. I can smell him—the scent of his piney cologne, mixed with the smell of his skin, the thing that makes Mack uniquely himself. Heat floods my body, and I step back, nearly bumping into the wine bar with its selection of expensive, bold wines.

“How am I doing? Up to your standards?” He gives me a once over, eyes stopping at my breasts, and I’m suddenly conscious of what I’m wearing, of what I look like in my own skin.
 

Slowly, I nod. “Yes. You’re fine. And Kinley seems great.”
 

“I’m just
fine?
I thought I was good. I’m talking to all these guys and their wives, and I haven’t even touched this wine.”

I gulp and then laugh a little. “That’s not like you, I must admit. I haven’t seen you touch any alcohol since that party.”
 

“I haven’t. I can’t see that look of disappointment on your face again. Not while you’re right here in front of me after all these years.” He leans forward and lifts his hand like he’s going to brush a lock of hair away from my face, but he stops instead and lets his hand drop down by his side.
 

I brush my own hair back, all the while remembering the touch of his hand against my skin.
What would it feel like now?
 

I come to my senses quickly. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Mack. If anyone heard you, they might think you’re stepping out on your girlfriend.”

He laughs. “She’s not the real thing. Not like you were, Ren.”

I put my hand up to stop him. “Stop. Please stop. I think I’d better go.”
 

I turn to leave, but Mack catches my arm with his long, thick fingers. “Let me walk you home if you can’t stand being around me. I know about that clause in your contract—and I know it’s because you don’t want to be around me. But let me assure you, the feeling isn’t mutual, Ren. I wish I could go back in time and—”

“Mack, no. Please, no.” He lets go of my arm, and it’s only then that I realize my skin is burning hot where he touched me. “Don’t talk about—about what happened.”

“Okay, okay. I promise I won’t go talking about any of that stuff in the past. I won’t. But let me walk you back across the property. Could be coyotes out there…” His voice trails off, and I smile.
 

“There aren't any coyotes in Charlotte,” I retort.
 

“Those things are everywhere.” He cranes his neck towards the door and cups one hand to his ear. “If you listen close, you can hear ‘em howling. And it’s almost a quarter of a mile back out there. Bats too. I’m sure some of them are rabid.”
 

I can’t help chuckling. Even though I should hate this man, there’s no way that I can. Not truly. When he’s standing next to me, it’s simultaneously like no time at all has passed… and like there are decades between us. The rift he created still stands, but there’s so much in me that holds on to the man he once was. Is he still that person?

Maybe I need to stay away from him still because I feel this way. Because there’s something inside of me that wants to forgive him.

I chew on my lower lip and look up at him, cocking my head to one side.

Say no.

“Yes, you can walk me back.” I barely hear the words when they escape my lips, but Mack latches onto my yes and takes my arm gently, leading me back to the door. He turns and nods politely to the partygoers and leads me out of the door, onto the front porch, where we can see the stars rising and filling the sky. There’s a slight breeze on this night, floating over the fields that surround Mack’s house. He leads me off of the porch and down the stone walkway that leads out to the guest house. For once, there aren’t justifications or arguments. There’s only him and me. I shouldn’t be thinking this way, but yet I am.
 

“Renata,” he whispers when we get back to the guest house. “There’s so much I haven’t told you.”

My pulse quickens again. “You said you wouldn’t mention any of that.”
 

“It’s worth mentioning that it wasn’t my intention to leave you. Even if you don’t want to hear it—and I don’t blame you for not wanting to hear a damn word I have to say.” He takes my hands in his, and that jolt of white-hot electricity sears through me again.
 

My throat tightens, tears coming to my eyes. I haven’t grieved in such a long time, and I haven’t cried for this man in ages. I don’t want to now, but the tears fall from my eyes anyway. “Then why—” The words won’t come.

Slowly, hauntingly, he moves his hands up my arms to my shoulders and pulls me into his body as the tears continue to fall from my eyes. He lifts my head and looks at me, that gaze hiding years of dark secrets just below the surface. Is it true, what he says? That he didn’t mean to leave me? Was there more? Things I left undiscovered? Instead of asking him, I stand up on my toes and reach my arms around his neck, skin touching skin, lips tantalizingly close to his. There are so many reasons I should turn around and leave him where he stands. Instead, some magnetic force compels me to stand where I am, beneath the stars and the gentle breeze. Mack leans in and kisses me, his lips gentle and warm against mine, strange and yet somehow intimately familiar. The kiss intensifies, growing hungrier and bolder, warmth and light filling my body as his hands find my waist and pull me in closer, fingers roaming over the silken fabric of my dress. I feel the hem of my skirt rising, fingers finding my thighs, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. His lips are far more skilled than they once were, and deep in the back of my mind, I wonder if his hands and body share the same level of muscle memory, of practice. When the kiss finally ends, I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I gasp as I draw away from him. My hands find his upper arms, fingers exploring his tight, sculpted muscles. My body still feels energized, electric, like it could lift off from this very spot. I haven’t had that feeling since the night before he left, the last night he was mine.
 

“Mack,” I breathe. There’s something special, almost transcendental about saying his name after his lips were just on mine. “Tell me… tell me why.”
 

He brings his hand to the hollow of my neck, fingers caressing me there. “I can’t, sweet pea. Not yet.” He shakes his head sadly. “I know it’s not good enough. I know you need more. It has to do with…”

I back away, gently moving his arms away from my body. In the dim starlight, I can see his eyes watching me, assessing me. There’s a spark inside of me that wants to trust him fully, wants to run into his party and tell that silly little girl to leave. But between us, there’s six years of silence. If what he says is true, there’s six years of deceit as well.

“If you can’t tell me,” I say, my voice gentler perhaps than it should be. “I can’t do this. And maybe that’s why I shouldn’t have come. If I’d known you’d try something like this—”

“Like this? Like this… This is kissing you because I couldn’t keep my mind off of you from the time you got here. From the moment I saw you leaning over me that night, it hit me that I’m not the man I used to be. Really. You make me feel like I can be myself again. Like I can
try
and be more than people think I am.”
 

The emotion roils up inside me like a storm. Is this the thing I wanted to hear, the words I came here to hear? Or is this a distraction—is it the same pain all over again?

“I want to believe you, Mack. But this isn’t the time—there are people leaving this party now. The media already has stills of you and Kinley. We have a deal with her, a contract. I’m not willing to risk
your
career on promises and late night kisses.” Working against the pull of my own body, I step away and turn back to the door of my guest house. “Macklin, go back to your house and see this thing through. If you’re getting cold feet with this plan, we can rethink it
after
tonight.”

“Okay.” He shrugs and stands there watching me. “But at least give it some thought. Give
me
some thought, sweet pea.”
 

I nod and walk into the darkened house, thoughts racing, blood rushing through my veins. There’s no way I should give him a single thought, and yet here I am.

And as I do, I realize that he’s all I’ve ever been thinking about. He’s the only thing.

“Damnable woman,” I mutter under my breath. I’m lifting weights in the team’s gym, getting ready to practice with the other players. And cursing Renata and Wingate for being right when they pointed out that it’s something I haven’t done in a damn long time.
 

Too long.
 

That woman’s always right.
 

Ever since that stupid party, my name has appeared in the papers just about as much as it usually does, but this time, it’s all positive. There are pictures of me and Kinley, who I have to admit is kind of nice. And she photographs well, which is also something I haven’t done in a long time. Not since the kegs and girls wrestling and the “Take Your Top Off” sign that Wingate burned out behind the guest house.