Page 69 of The Games We Play
Tendrils of smoke curled around him—of course, he had a cigarette clenched between his lips.
My chest tightened, a heat creeping up my neck. Just looking at him was like flipping a switch I swore I’d turned off.
Jolie finally looked up and spotted me, her full lips curling into a soft smile, and she nodded, which made her curls bounce. She was effortlessly stunning—rich brown skin, striking green eyes, curves that made every girl just a little jealous. With three bottles in one hand, she tapped Mac on the shoulder to get his attention.
He turned toward her, cigarette still hanging by a thread from his lips. Jolie pointed our way, and then his eyes landed on me.
His smirk was subtle—just a twitch on one side of his mouth—but it shot straight to my core. He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and started walking toward us, hips moving with that easy, unbothered saunter that was my personal brand of kryptonite.
I bit my bottom lip before I could stop myself.
There was a full-on war going on inside me—heart screamingcaution, body ready to toss every damn rule out the window. If he asked me to go upstairs right now, I couldn’t promise I’d say no.
Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d even try to deny it.
“What can I get ya?”
Mac’s voice rumbled low as he leaned forward, both hands braced on the edge of the bar. His gaze moved from Aspen, to Ellie, and finally—hot and heavy—landed on me.
“Three shots of tequila and three sunrises,” I said, breaking the stare as I rummaged through my purse, trying to fish out my wallet.
Mac knocked twice on the wood in acknowledgment, then straightened to his full height.
With the easy grace that always got to me, he grabbed three shot glasses and three short tumblers. The bottle gleamed under the bar lights as he tipped it, the pour spout gliding like second nature. His forearms flexed with every movement, tattoosshifting with muscle as he moved glass to glass, pouring with perfect precision—no measuring, no hesitation. Just muscle memory and charm.
He returned with the drinks a moment later, setting them down in front of us like an offering. I found my card, sliding it toward him, but he only shook his head and flashed that cocky grin.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, plucking the cigarette from his lips to ash it. “I got it covered.”
Then the bastard winked.
“You can’t,” Aspen cut in, tilting her head with a laugh. “Lizzie’s gonna have your head on a stick, parading it up and down Main Street.”
Mac sighed dramatically, folding his tattooed arms across his chest, the sleeves of his black T-shirt bunching around his biceps. “Come on. You know me by now.”
Aspen threw her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying it’s a bold move.”
“Is giving away drinks something you do often?” Ellie asked, sipping slowly from her glass, all cool curiosity while enjoying that free drink.
He shrugged, nonchalant. “Lately, yeah.”
It was typical Mac—pushing buttons just to see if they’d push back. Especially when it came to his sister. Since Lizzie’s return to Faircloud, it had been one battle after another. I hadn’t known Mac before she came back, but I’d heard enough to understand they didn’t exactly play nice.
He’d confided in me that it still stung, the way their dad left the bar to Lizzie after he passed. All the years Mac had invested into the place—his time, sweat, and frustration—felt like they hadn’t meant a damn thing. I’d gently encouraged him to talk to her, to say what he was really feeling, but he always brushed itoff with a wave of his hand and that same old line:“It’ll work itself out.”
Sounded familiar…
He used to talk about his dad late at night, in between sips of his whiskey and my wine. The stories weren’t good ones. And while I didn’t know the man well, the few times I had seen him, he wasn’t hard to remember. Scruffy beard, long hair in a thick braid, and never once sober.
I didn’t have much ground to stand on when it came to family advice. I’d let go of that fantasy a long time ago. These days, I built my own kind of family. People I chose. People who stayed.
Still, sometimes, I missed my mom. Watching Aspen, Theo, even Ellie with their moms—it hit me in quiet moments, a soft ache I rarely let linger. My own mother hadn’t been around in over a year. Usually, she’d breeze through town in the summer just long enough to say she still hadn’t given up on me completely.
Mac and I had that in common, too—our family ties were dressed in different clothes, but the fabric felt the same.
“Pen?”
A hand on my shoulder pulled me out of my thoughts. I blinked up at Aspen, who was now standing beside me.
