The Day He Kissed Her (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 3)

Mac was quiet for a few moments as he navigated his way back out of the parking lot. They pulled onto the street and cruised along until they hit their first traffic light. He stopped behind a shiny red Corvette and cleared his throat.

“You did good out there. Who taught you to throw a breaking ball like that?”

“My dad.”

Mac glanced at the kid. Liam’s voice was soft, with a bit of a tremble.

“He knows his stuff.”

“Yeah.”

Everything about Liam’s posture screamed “leave me alone,” and not knowing how to break through, Mac remained quiet.

He pulled up to his mother’s house, and he saw Becca on the porch. She leaned against the railing and something about the way she looked, there in the shadows, hit him in the chest.

Liam hadn’t made a move to open the door—he hadn’t reached for his bag either. He stared out the window at his mother, his left fist clenching and unclenching.

“You okay?” Mac asked.

Liam shrugged but didn’t answer.

Becca took a step down from the porch, and Liam reached for his bag.

“Good,” Mac said. He didn’t want to kick the kid out, but he sure as hell didn’t know what to do or say. “I’ll see you Friday night for the first game.”

Liam slung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door. He slid outside, slamming it shut behind him, and started up the driveway, his thin frame hunched forward as he trudged toward the house. He walked past his mother without a word, disappearing inside without a backward glance.

Becca watched her son for a few seconds and then gave Mac a small wave before following Liam inside. Mac waited until the door closed, disturbed by the quiet sadness he’d just witnessed.

It was a quiet sadness he knew too well, but that didn’t make it any better—made it worse actually because he knew that the kid was probably scared, confused, and more than likely angry as hell.

He gave a bit to the gas pedal and five minutes later found a parking spot near the entrance to the Coach House. Most of the slots were full, which kind of surprised him. It was a Monday night after all, and sure it was summer, and things were always busier this time of the year, but it was the Coach House. No offense to the owner, Sal, but the guy hadn’t spent a dime on the place in years.

It was dark, filled with old tables and rickety chairs. The floors were perpetually sticky, there was always an odor of stale beer and greasy fries—but the music was always good and the memories, well, the memories, they were abundant.

Mackenzie strode inside the bar, a grin on his face when he spied Tiny, the big, bald bouncer. The guy wore a leather vest that was two sizes too small, and paired with a massive beer gut that hung about five inches over his belt, he looked about three Big Macs away from a heart attack.

Sweat poured down Tiny’s neck, and Mac winced when Tiny slapped him on the shoulders.

“Draper! Heard you were back in town!”

“You heard right,” Mac answered. “Jake or Cain here yet?”

“Jake walked in a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen Cain.”

Mac nodded and slid through the crowd as he headed for the back, where he knew he’d find Jake. A quick nod here and a slap on the back there, and Mac felt as if everyone he knew was in the place.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

A soft, feminine hand on his forearm brought him up short, and Mac paused as Shelli Gouthro sidled up beside him. The blond looked good. Hell, her pipes were almost as cut as his, and judging from the amount of skin showing above her low slung jeans, he was guessing the rest of her was just as hard and trim.

He used to like that look.

She cocked her head, slick mouth open in a grin, and shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, which thrust her girls damn near up in his face. He couldn’t help it—Mac was a guy, and what guy wouldn’t at least take a peek?

But…nothing. He had nothing going on as he gazed down at what had to be a set of double Ds. They were too large for Shelli’s frame, too round, and he knew from memory that they were as hard as a goddamn basketball.

He thought of Lily and how sweet she’d felt in his hands, how soft and feminine she’d felt in his mouth—the accompanying pull in his groin woke him the hell up.