American Bad Boy(60)

He doesn’t say a word; his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“There’s seriously no way. Are you nuts?” I hiss nervously looking around.

“Lauren, calm down. That’s not why I got him to stop the ride,” he slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small box. Before I can process any of it, he flips the velvet lid open and pulls out a diamond ring.

“Oh, Mack!”

“Lauren, listen, I had big plans to bring you up here and tell you how you’re more gorgeous than this sunset,” he nods toward the deepening shades of pink and purple painted across the sky surrounding us. “And how those first stars you see coming out right now are nothing compared to the twinkle in your eyes. Don’t get me wrong. That’s true. But, really, I just want us to have memories of a lifetime worth of sunsets blurring together. I want you to take my name, to be my wife, to give me children. Well, more children. I want you. Forever.”

“Oh, of course. Yes. Yes!” My voice wavers and I feel like I’m in a dream. Mack pulls the ring out of the box and grabs my hand, sliding the sparkling diamond down my finger.

“You’re mine. Forever,” he murmurs happily.

“Forever,” I agree, resting my head on his shoulder I hold my hand up to the sky and admire my ring against the fading sunset. I want to take a mental photograph of this moment and remember it forever as the day that my life began again.





33





Lauren





2014




The elevator doors pop open on our floor and Mack scoops me up off the ground, cradling me in his arms.

“What are you doing?” I squeal, kicking my legs in the air lightly. I love how easily Mack can sweep me off my feet. Literally.

“I’m gonna carry the bride across the thresh hold,” there’s no mistaking the intention written all over his face. If I was a wounded gazelle, I’d be nervous to see an animal look down on me like this. But what Mack doesn’t know yet is that I’m no gazelle. I’m a lion.

“We’re not married yet,” I fake a protest. Honestly, I hope he doesn’t put me back on my feet. I love being in his arms.

Mack stops in front of our room door and effortlessly adjusts me in his hold as he fishes the card for the door out of his pocket.

Sch-wick. Beep! The door swings open for us. Mack walks through and kicks it shut with his prosthetic leg.

He’s come a long way, even in the short time span he spent at Spalding. His movements are so graceful now, he’s mastered the nuances of balancing on one leg, or carrying women to bed. I bet he’ll be ready to ride his motorcycle again soon. The idea floods me with a new wave of desire. The idea of his sitting on his bike, with a leather jacket and his tattoos peeping out from under the collar.

Why are we still wearing clothes right now?

“It might not be our wedding night yet,” Mack walks me to the end of the bed and tosses me onto it, “but, I’m gonna fuck you like we’re on our honeymoon.”

“Isn’t that what you did on the weekend?” My eyes travel greedily over him as he unbuttons his shirt. He slides it down over his shoulders and one by one his tattoos make an appearance. Each a symbol for a moment in his life I wasn’t there for. As much as I love his ink, it hurts to see the marks of time we never had together permanently etched into his skin.

“The weekend was a nice test drive,” he drops his shirt to the floor behind him, “but now I’m gonna ride ya like I stole ya.” His blue eyes glint under the low light and my heart whooshes in my ears.

“Stand up here,” Mack reaches forward and tugs my hand so I can get my feet under me on the bouncy bed. “I’ve got a good view from here,” he smirks up at me.

“Of what?” I look down at him and steady myself on the bed.

“Of you stripping for me, sweetheart.” He lets go of my hand and turns around, grabbing the little chair at the desk across the room. Dragging it to the end of the bed, he takes a seat and looks up at me expectantly.

I’ve never stripped for anyone before. Joel was a good man, but he was not very exciting in bed. I feel a little silly, but the fire in Mack’s eyes helps me find my courage. “I don’t have any music,” I say tossing out my best excuse.

“Well, let me fix that for you then.” Mack stands and turns on the tv to the music station. Nicki Minaj appears on the screen in hot pink spandex while Sir Mix-A-Lot’s voice gives me some inspiration. “My anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hun.”

Mack sits back down in his seat, “Perfect song for you.” He smiles up at me.

Ok. I got this.

I swivel my hips and fall straight back onto my big butt, and I cannot lie … it’s embarrassing. I look past the laugh that Mack’s trying to suppress over his shoulder at the tv. On the screen, Nicki is on all fours, making Drake re-evaluate his life as she shakes her ass.