Feels like a double update Monday.
Adam
I don't even fuck with the dudes trying to push up on my woman. I pull 'em back from Mac by their collars and trust Trace and Bodie to deal with them.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK. MACKENNA? LUCKY. SHOT. REALLY?" Every word of mine is calm but absolute.
Mac is sitting on the bar, kicking her leg, her eyes scrunched in little half moons.
Huh, that's weird. That's not her pissed off look. Her pissed off look always comes with bared teeth.
Before I can figure it out, she plants her hands and raises up to stand on the bar.
"What are you gonna do, Adam?" she rains down, hands on her hips. "You think you have some goddamn say here?"
Fuck yes, I have some goddamn say. Three times I've offered you that fucking pill and you won't take it. If you wanna maybe have my baby—if you are choosing that possibility—then you are choosing my fucking my input, Shortcake.
But I can't say any of that in public.
That's alright. I'm more of an actions-speaks-louder-than-words guy anyway.
I pick up one of the shots and pour it on the floor as I stare up at her.
"You possessive fucker," she says quietly, with a strange, almost-smirk on her lips.
No, MacKenna. The fuckers in this scenario are the poor misguided fuckers that bought you shots for no good goddamn reason, cause you sure as hell aren't hoteling any of them, not—I grab the bar napkin with the asshat's name. Max? No, not Max. Fuck Max. I crumble the napkin and throw it over my shoulder.
Mac leans down in my face. I can smell her citrusy-vanilla scent, and see her beautiful tits hanging right in front of me, barely covered by two black patches. "You think you're the boss of me?" she challenges.
I take the next shot—some dickhead names Zeke—and I pour it on the floor right on top of Max's. Fuck Zeke, too. I hear some pissed off laughter to my right and Trace growling—"Don't even fucking try me!" but I don't turn around. These douchebags aren't even worth my time. My boys got this.
I lean up into Mac's face. "Not your boss. Your man," I assure her. "There's a difference. Stop this stupid shit, and let me take your hand and help you down."
She makes a growly little sound of discontent, right against my lips. "Can't do that, Preacher. We're on the job for Marcy," she growls.
"I noticed," I spew back. There's a fucker nearly up in our faces, filming. I give him the side-eye. He looks familiar. Some LA blogger that freelances for a gossip rag.
She stands up and puts her damn platform boot against my chest. The camera flashes are blinding and she gives me a hateful, beautiful look with her glossy lips on full pout. Like she could send me to hell or raise me to heaven. Basically the same thing, when it comes to MacKenna Lawson.
That's the moment I decide. I don't know what kind of game she's playing, and I don't fucking care. All I know is... I'm gonna win.
I ignore the foot still on my chest. I pour three more shots out in quick succession. I don't even bother to look at those shithead's names, as I toss their napkins. "Fuck all your lucky shot fucks!" I yell up at her. They don't matter. She tries to push me away with her foot on my chest, but I'm rock solid—a goddamn mountain of indignation. I grab her ankle—force her foot down on the bar. Her fists clench. She bends down again.
YOU ARE READING
URGENT (Book 2 of the Soundcrush Series)
RomanceMac and Adam are on top of the world--flying high as members of the one of the world's most successful bands- Soundcrush. After crushing on each other since their band got together five years ago, having years of hot nights and awkward mornings aft...
