His cell rang, and he grabbed for it, half expecting it to be Mac or Brett. Maybe they’d gotten in a fight, and Mac needed a ride home. He jabbed the Answer button with his thumb, ignoring the caller ID. “Yeah?”
“Well, if it isn’t my absentee son.”
Bruiser cringed. “Uh, hi, Mom.”
“Oh, so you do remember that you have a mother.”
“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t quite know what else to say. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“With the sweet little blonde we prettied up a few weeks ago?” His mother sounded hopeful—way too hopeful. Depending on his next words, she’d be picking out silverware patterns, a china set, and knitting pink and purple baby booties—if she had a clue how to knit.
“No, she’s, uh, seeing someone else.” Or she would be after tonight, thanks to him. The thought of Mac naked and sweaty in bed with Brett tied his stomach in bigger knots than his first play on Monday Night Football as a rookie.
“What’d you do to screw it up this time, Bruce?”
“I didn’t do anything. We’re just friends, that’s all.”
“Humph. It’s time you settled down with some nice girl like her, not all these plastic bitches you date.” His mother’s disappointment came through loud and clear, but he couldn’t make her happy any more than he had his father. Well, at least not for long, though she’d certainly loved it when he’d bought her and Shanna that beauty salon, setting them up across Puget Sound from Seattle. Unfortunately, an hour’s ferry ride hadn’t been far enough away. At least they didn’t insist on attending his games.
“I’m never settling down again, not ever. I don’t need marriage, and I sure as hell don’t want kids.”
“You’re being stubborn just to piss off an old woman.”
“You’re hardly old. And I’m not doing it to piss you off. But you haven’t exactly given me a reason to see marriage in a good light.” Even so, he’d given marriage a shot, and his ex-wife had fucked him over big-time, proving marriage was nothing but bullshit.
“Well.” She huffed. He pictured her crossing her arms over her ample chest and glaring at the phone. “I hardly think that’s necessary. What’s happened to you, Bruce? Fame has gone to your head.”
“Yeah, Mom, it sure has.” His fame and obsession with earning money was what kept her and Shanna in hair dye and fingernail polish and allowed them to work only three days a week.
“I want you to come to dinner on Sunday.”
“I can’t, I have to—” He hesitated, searching for an excuse.
His mother jumped on his hesitation before he could get another word in. “Two o’clock sharp. And I’ve invited Mackenzie, too, so you might as well offer her a ride like a gentleman.”
“But, Mom.”
No one was on the other end to hear his protests.
Chapter 9—Rocking the Ferry
Once Bruiser left, Mac and Brett’s easy banter became stilted. With chaperones present, she’d talked with Brett like a co-conspirator, a brother-in-arms. Once alone, her tongue climbed to the roof of her mouth and refused to come down. Her brain sputtered to a stop, and their fun night ground to a screeching halt. Nothing like the night she’d been with Bruiser.
Finally, the two of them left the restaurant.
Brett drove Mac home and got out of the car and walked her to her door. Mac tried to see the place through his eyes, with its wisteria arbor over the picket-fence gate, cute little red shutters, and a welcoming porch with hanging baskets of healthy, happy flowers, courtesy of her green thumb.
“I love your place. It’s really homey.” He smiled nervously, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Thank you.” She managed a half smile.
Brett stared at her. His intent expression telegraphed his desire to take this relationship to the next level. Turning her back on Brett, Mac fumbled with the key in the lock. Finally, she managed to unlock the door and push it open. Brett’s hands gently gripped her shoulders, and he turned her around to face him. His pale blue eyes shone with hope and uncertainty, and her heart went out to him.
“I had a good time tonight.” He smiled at her, a nice-guy smile, not a naughty-boy smile like Bruiser’s.
“So did I.” She did have a good time, sorta, but not in the way Brett intended. She liked Brett. Once he came out of his shell, he had a quick, wry humor and sharp intellect, which she found fun but not exactly exciting.
He tilted his head, lowering it toward her face. His gaze settled on her lips. Mac backed up across the threshold. “I’m really tired, Brett.”
His face fell, the corners of his mouth tipped down, and his arms dropped to his sides. She was the worst kind of bitch for rejecting his kiss, but she’d be a bigger bitch if she led him on. The chemistry just wasn’t there.
Why was the heart so fickle? Well, maybe not the heart; it might actually be lower than that. Whatever it was, though her head insisted Brett would be an excellent catch, her body wasn’t in the game. In fact, it’d gone back to the locker room and was taking a cold shower.
“Okay, well, good night then.” He shuffled backward a few steps.
“Brett, you’re a great guy.”
“Would you like to do something again?” He perked up slightly.
“Uh, sure.” Now why the hell did she say yes when she didn’t see this going anywhere? Because she was a sucker for a sad smile, and Brett had the saddest smile she’d ever seen.
“Great. I’ll call you.”
“Sounds good.” Mac shut the door and leaned against it, hating herself for wanting Bruiser and giving Brett false hope. She rubbed her hands over her face, weary and tired yet wide awake.
She wanted a life. A normal life. Mac never stood up for herself and her
