Bruiser continued to stare at her like he’d never seen her before. She knew she looked better than usual for work, but not as good as Saturday night. Her clothes did fit better, the highlights his sister put in her hair made the strands glow like bars of gold, and the subtle makeup Kelsie taught her to apply made her eyes bigger and cheekbones higher—or so Kelsie claimed. Yet Bruiser looked at her almost as if he didn’t like what he saw.
“Is something wrong?”
He shook his head as if coming out of a trance, but Mac wasn’t the type of woman who put men into trances, even momentary ones. Her lovesick imagination must be playing games with her.
“So, I was wondering…” He hesitated, as if the words didn’t come easily.
“Yes?” Her heart leapt to conclusions and her head followed.
“I have tickets to the Mariners behind home plate tomorrow night.”
“I’d love to see the Mariners.” She spoke too fast, sounding way too much like a desperate woman. Even if she was one.
Bruiser frowned, the action wrinkling his forehead. Damn if even his forehead wasn’t sexy. “Oh, good. I, uh, I wondered if you’d be interested in a double date.”
“A double date?” Mac frowned and looked down at her sandwich.
“Uh, yes. I’m taking Veronica’s cousin as a favor to her, and you’d be going with Brett.”
Brett? This was about Brett? Not her and Bruiser? Mac swallowed and forced a smile. “I’d love to go with Brett.” Fighting her disappointment, she met those smoky eyes with her own steady gaze.
“You would?” He seemed incredulous.
“Sure, but why doesn’t he ask me himself?”
“Brett’s a little shy around women.”
“That’s a shame. A nice guy like him.” Her heart sank to her toes. She should be excited about the opportunity to date Brett. Her crush on Bruiser had gotten worse, and Brett might be just what she needed to squash her ridiculous fantasy—nice, good-looking guy and all. Any woman would be thrilled to date him.
“So, what do you think?”
“I’m in.” She smiled widely even though it pained her to do so.
A date. Her first in a few years.
Only with the wrong man.
* * * * *
After the game, the two couples went to a trendy waterfront restaurant. Bruiser’s attempts to enjoy the evening crashed and burned in a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris. Holly, his date of the evening, kept yawning and casting glares around the table while rubbing Bruiser’s thigh. Any other time, he’d be sporting a large boner, but tonight he couldn’t get beyond several misaligned thoughts banging in his head.
Mac looked damn good—not fake, model good, but real, genuine female good. Like a woman a man could get dirty with and love every minute. A woman who wouldn’t empty his bank account buying shoes but would actually fight him over who mowed the lawn. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders in golden waves, and he wanted to bury his fingers in that thick mane while he lost himself deep inside her.
Fuck.
She tilted her head in the cutest damn way and smiled at Brett, while his buddy grinned back at her, looking happier than Bruiser had ever seen him. Which made Bruiser feel like an even bigger bastard for coveting Mac and envying Brett.
The happy couple put their heads together, giggling like school kids. Hell, they’d been doing that all night. Bruiser couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their secrecy pissed him off until he couldn’t see beyond the red haze in front of his eyes.
Not being the center of Bruiser’s attention, Holly stuck out her Botoxed lower lip and pouted. Bruiser forced a smile in her direction. She glared back at him. Funny how the woman didn’t look the least bit attractive with a scowl on her face. Pure bitch, even though attitude had never bothered him before. After all, who cared about personality when a woman was hot in and out of bed? Only right now, like an idiot, he was caring.
“Let’s go, Bruiser. I’m bored.” Holly tugged on his arm.
Bruiser didn’t even glance at her. “I’ll call you a cab.” Okay, now he was being an inattentive, rude bastard. Sometimes he didn’t like himself very much. He hated superficial people, yet he was the most superficial person he knew. Or at least he walked the walk.
“Fine.” Now his date slipped into full-assed pout, and there was no reclaiming the evening. She got up in a huff and stomped off. Bruiser trotted after her, full of hollow apologies.
They waited in silence for her cab. He paid the cabbie then leaned in to where she sat in the back seat. “I’ll call you.”
“Don’t bother, you fuckhead. Obviously, you’ve lost your eyesight, but I haven’t. I can’t believe you’d prefer someone like that over me.”
Bruiser opened his mouth to rip her a new one and defend Mac, then shut it. Shit, was it that obvious? He needed to get a grip. “Well then, goodbye.” He watched the cab drive off into the night.
Good riddance.
He really was a shallow asshole.
Head down, Bruiser slipped back into the restaurant. Mac and Brett looked in his direction as if they’d just noticed he’d left, which made him feel even more miserable. He should be happy for Mac and for his buddy, but he wasn’t, not one damn, selfish bit.
“Where’d you go?” Brett looked beyond him. “Where’s Holly?”
“Not feeling well. I got her a cab home.” Bruiser slid into the booth across from them.
“Oh.” Brett and Mac exchanged glances like two co-conspirators.
The silence settled over them, and Bruiser squirmed. He was the odd man out. With a grim smile, he stood. “I guess I’ll be going too.”
They both nodded. No arguments from either one of them.
Bruiser threw a hundred on the table to cover dinner and drinks, nodded at his two friends, and left, skulking out the door like a hound with his tail between his legs.
He jumped in his car
