No Strings Attached (19 page)

She trusted Dune. “I’ll give it some serious thought,” she promised.

He nodded, seemed satisfied. “What about the bazaar?” he asked her next.

“What about it?” Was he asking her out? She was too inexperienced to be certain.

“It could be fun if you can handle the crowd.”

“I made it through the Sneaker Ball.”

“That you did.”

He pushed to his feet and pulled her up beside him. He continued to hold her hand. People now crowded the ice cream parlor. Dune was tall, popular, and had a way of clearing a path. She followed close behind him.

Once outside, they walked down the boardwalk. It was the dinner hour and tourists sought hot dogs, pizza, nachos, and popcorn from the vendors. They’d take their food back to the beach and have a picnic.

Her eyes widened as they passed Three Shirts. She glanced in the storefront window and swore she saw Mac and Jenna off to the side, standing close and butting heads.

“Something wrong?” Dune asked when she slowed.

“Everything’s fine.” She suddenly had an advantage for her second win. She kept that secret to herself.

She cast a fleeting look over her shoulder. Mac and Jen were definitely arguing. She poked him in the chest and he grabbed her wrist. They scowled at each other.

Passion, Sophie thought, smiling to herself. Maybe they’d kiss and make up after their argument.

Sophie hoped Jen wouldn’t bite Mac’s lip tonight.

Eight

“Y
ou’re not welcome in my store,” Jen said as she poked Mac James in the chest. “I planned never to see you after the Sneaker Ball.” She drew back, ready to jab him again.

He grabbed her wrist before she could push him further. “Feeling’s mutual,” he said gruffly. “You weren’t a great date.”

“You should never have asked me out.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

They stood near the front door. It was close to the dinner hour and the evening crowd began to stroll past the windows. Jen turned off the lights, discouraging customers. Their shadows now played along the far wall, wavering with tension.

“Shop’s closed,” she said. “I have a date.”

“Hopefully he’ll show. You’re such a prize.”

Two T-shirts caught her eye on the circular rack. She flipped them at him, one at a time.
Have a Nice Day Somewhere Else
was quickly followed by
I Press Charges.

He pressed his palm to his forehead. “I’ve got a headache. Don’t shove those hangers so loudly.”

Jenna slammed a couple together out of spite.

He gritted his teeth. Shrugging off the hood on his jacket, he removed his sunglasses. He widened his stance, as if seeking balance. His hair was mussed and he hadn’t shaved. His eyes were red and darkly circled as if he’d drunk too much, then lain in bed unable to sleep. The cut on his lip was raw. She hadn’t realized she’d bitten him so hard. He looked awful.

A third shirt caught her eye. The slogan fit him perfectly. She held up
Night of the Living Dead.
“You look like a zombie,” she told him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and admitted, “I feel like one. I blame it all on Zane.”

“The man forced a beer in your hand?”

“Damn straight.”

Silence stood between them until she said, “Sorry about your mouth.” She tried to sound sympathetic, but failed. “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

“You wouldn’t shut up,” he growled. “It was a kiss or duct tape.”

“Tape would’ve been preferable.”

“Next time—”

“No ‘next time,’ Mac,” she said firmly.

“Here I was going to ask you on a date.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed in his face. The idea was absurd. He had to be joking. “We don’t like each other.”

“That’s true,” he agreed.

She cleared her throat, then said, “I owe you an apology. One I should’ve made before the Sneaker Ball. My friend Bree Bennett corrected my misconception of your time together.”

He rested one arm on a circular rack, turning his back on the afternoon sun. “It was only two dates. We never even exchanged last names. On our second night, we went to a movie and had sex. She climaxed, we cuddled. She told me she loved me. She made mention of a church wedding—”

“And you split.” Jen knew the story. “You hopped out of her apartment while pulling up your pants.”

“I couldn’t get out fast enough,” he admitted. “I lost my lucky boxers and one Converse in my escape.”

“That’s what happens when you run.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked.

“I see your side,” she allowed. “Bree’s since found someone and is very happy.”

“Good to hear.” Mac looked relieved. “What about you, Jen? Are you seeing anyone since me?”

“Since
you
?” Again she laughed. “We were never a couple, crazy man. The Sneaker Ball was just last weekend.”

“You have a date tonight,” he said easily. “Make your move.”

“
My
move?” she raised.

Mac pushed off the T-shirt rack. “A man needs to know you want him.”

“That goes for a woman, too.”

Their conversation lagged. Mac stared at her, his blue eyes dark and searching. Jenna couldn’t look away. She felt captured by his gaze. She was unexpectedly drawn to a man she’d sworn to avoid for the rest of her life. She found it so scary she shivered.

Recovering, she jingled her keys. “You need to leave so I can dress the mannequins.”

He glanced at the gray cloth dummies. “No need for modesty. They’re already naked.”

She could have forced him out the door, but a part of her held back. She didn’t want him as a permanent fixture in her life, but a few minutes more wouldn’t kill her.

She gave in. “I’ll put you to work if you stay.”

“Roy and Joy.” He named the mannies. “I want the girl.”

“Not surprising.”

“I’m good at taking clothes off a woman, but I’ve never dressed one.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Joy won’t scream at me if I screw up.”

“No, but I will.”

His brow creased. “That’s something to look forward to. Your shriek could break bricks.”

She ignored him. “Go all out with the summer attire. I want head-to-toe: sunglasses, shirt, shorts, jewelry, flip-flops.”

“Flip-flops?” he objected. “Joy has no feet.”

“Place a pair at the base of the stand for effect.”

She then crossed to men’s board shorts and selected a pair in sage green. “I want colorful and hip,” she told him. “The outfits need to complement each other. Follow my lead.”

He hesitated and looked a little lost. It took him a moment to get started. He decided on turquoise short-shorts for Joy. Typical Mac.

“Joy’s bendy.” He curved the mannequin’s left leg over his hip.

The man was an idiot. “Are you dressing her or humping her?”

“I’m simply pointing out her flexibility.” He soon had Joy doing the splits.

“Is she more flexible than your blow-up dolls?” she asked.

“Real funny, Jen.” Mac slapped Roy on the back, leaving a handprint. “He’s definitely not as firm as your battery-operated boyfriends.”

“How would you—” she stopped short.

His grin was slow, sinful, and knowing. “Two sex toys.” He spoke as if he’d rifled through her panty drawer. “The Jack Rabbit and plastic phallic.”

She gaped. The man was a vibrator psychic. “You’re wrong,” she lied.

Mac leaned toward her mannequin, whispered something to Roy, then pretended to listen. “Roy Boy says I’m right.”

Jen flicked Mac on the forehead. “Not funny.”

“Buzz-buzz.”

She turned her back on him and started dressing Roy. The board shorts were too big for him. She sought a handful of paper clips to make the necessary tucks and adjustments.

Beside her, Mac straightened Joy’s legs. He then tugged on her short-shorts. No judge of sizes, he’d chosen large. The shorts slid from her hips and down her legs. He caught them before they hit the floor. “She’s too damn skinny.”

“I’ll deal with her shorts,” said Jen. “Go pick out their shirts.”

He scanned the shirts, slow to make a decision. Mac was always confident, oftentimes arrogant, yet at that moment, he seemed unsure of himself.

“The Beach Heat Collection for Roy,” she suggested. “Let’s go with the indigo shirt with the green palm trees.”

Six of the short-sleeved button-downs had palms. Mac selected sunset orange. The shirt was the wrong color. “Indigo blue,” she repeated.

His gaze narrowed and his lips pinched as he fingered through the shirts. He brought back black.

She shook her head. “Black’s too dark. I’d prefer a summer hue.”

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. He went back to the rack and returned with three shirts. “Take your pick,” he held them up for her approval.

She selected the one in the middle. “Indigo.” She fanned the shirt beneath his nose. “The pale green leaves make for a great contrast.”

He exhaled. “I see that now.”

“You need a top for Joy,” she said as she got Roy into his shirt. “I’ll paper clip her shorts in place, while you find something summery to go with turquoise.”

His brow furrowed and sun lines fanned the corners of his eyes. He ran one hand through his hair and mussed it further. He looked pained.

He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and walked slowly toward the women’s shirts. He stood and stared for an inordinate length of time.

Jen had dressed Roy and secured Joy’s short-shorts and now waited for Mac. “A belly shirt would work,” she called to him. He’d bought one for Kami a few days ago.

Still he deliberated, drawing out his decision. He finally chose one in white with the red slogan
Rub Suntan Lotion on My Back.

“That works fine,” she said as Mac slipped the shirt over Joy’s head. His hand rested on Joy’s boob. “Stop fondling my mannequin,” she said.

“I was straightening a wrinkle.”

Yeah, right.
Jenna glanced at her watch. She had one hour to wrap this up, drive home, and change clothes for her date. She needed to move things along. “I need a floppy cloth hat for Joy and a baseball cap for Roy,” she directed.

She crossed the room and came back with a navy cap scripted with
Three Shirts
on the bill. It made for a great souvenir.

Mac struggled with the floppy hats. “The red-and-white striped one will pull Joy’s outfit together,” she told him.

He grabbed two and raised them high.

She shook her head. He’d ignored her request. Neither hat worked. Hands on her hips, she asked without thinking, “Are you hard of hearing or colorblind? Honestly, Mac—”

The look on his face would stay with her forever. Pain flickered in his eyes, as if exposing a dark secret. He was all raw nerves and vulnerability. She heard him swallow hard and saw his chin drop to his chest. His shoulders slumped.

What had she said to hurt him?
She wished she could reverse time and take it all back. He wasn’t hard of hearing, but distinguishing colors was another matter. She thought back over his visits to her shop. He’d needed her assistance when matching clothes.

The man
was
colorblind.

“Mac, I had no idea.” Her mouth went dry and she found it hard to speak.

A beat of silence before he sucked air, straightened. His expression was hard, angry. His blue eyes were piercing. “Dress your dummies by yourself,” he said. “I’m gone.”

She had to stop him and apologize. She beat him to the door and stood between him and his escape. “Can we talk?”

“I want out.” He punched the door frame hard enough to split the wood and damage his hand.

She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t hurt yourself before the Huntington Beach Classic.”

He shook free of her hold. “I have no fight with the door.”

“What about with me?”

“You bust my balls.”

He rode her last nerve. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Sorry for me, or sorry for what you said?”

“No pity, Mac.”

Still, he appeared self-conscious. “Dune’s aware I mix up colors, but no one else outside my family knows.”

She now knew his secret and made him a promise. “I’d never say a word.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You might in anger.”

“I assure you, I won’t.”

He pressed against her, lightly yet significantly, making her aware of him. She was stuck between the thick wooden door and a very solid man. “Let’s even the playing field,” he suggested. “Tell me a secret. Something that’s juicy and embarrassing. Something I can hold over your head.”

Her life was boring and an open book. She had so little to hide. She worked and went home to her cats. Her boyfriends came and went. She’d never dated anyone seriously. She spent most evenings with a rented movie and a bag of peanut M&Ms. She’d put on five pounds in the last two months. “I’m overweight,” she finally said.

He stepped back and checked her out. “You’re ready for the chubby chasers,” he teased, referring to men who liked their women plump.

What an ass
. She pinched his arm. Hard.

He pulled a face, then rubbed the spot. “Weight isn’t good enough,” he said. “Dig deeper, babe.”

“I put mustard on my french fries.”

“I like mayonnaise.”

“I seldom clean house.”

“I drop-kick my clothes.” He flattened his palms on each side of her head and touched his thumbs to her temples. “You’re talking habits, not secrets.”

She licked her lips. “I forget to pay my bills and beg for extensions.”

“Don’t we all.” He tipped up her chin with his finger and taunted her. “Bring a skeleton out of your closet.”

She wiggled a little and he pinned her, his chest and hip bones forcing her to keep still. She felt the cut of his six-pack and the muscles in his thighs. She closed her eyes and hissed through her teeth. “My vibrators have names.”

He grinned. “Is the Jack Rabbit called Mac?”

She inhaled as his words soaked in. Then the unthinkable happened. His humor made her horny. Her breasts grew heavy and her nipples poked the red nylon of her sports bra. The hot feel of him from her waist down was a turn-on.

She affected him, too. The bulge in his board shorts brushed her belly as he rested his forehead against hers. “I like a woman who calls out her vibrator’s name when she comes.” His voice was deep, low, and irritatingly sexy. “I’m still waiting for a secret so dark and scary that it would stop traffic if I yelled it to the world.”