“Thanks,” I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. My chest already feels like someone has removed a crushing rock from it. I’m still on my back, and my lungs need work, but I can already breathe just a little easier. “I already do.”
40
Lauren
2014
I’m excited, I’m nervous … I think I might throw up! If Mack Forrester only knew the real effect he had on women.
It’s been two, excruciatingly long months since I watched Mack finally confess that he needed help. Two months that I haven’t been able to look into his eyes. Two months that I haven’t been able to kiss his lips. Two months that I haven’t been able to feel his rock hard cock fucking me.
I mean, a girl has needs too, damn it! Sixty days is a long time to go. Not that I’m counting or anything. Sixty-three and a half. See, I’ve barely even noticed.
That’s not to say that we’ve been out of touch for two months. Instead, we’ve been talking on the phone and texting like a couple of teenagers. I haven’t felt like such a love-struck dope, smiling down at my phone all the time since … well, since Mack and I were in high school. I guess some things never change.
“You look so good, Lauren,” Chelsea reassures me as I squint at myself in the mirror for the billionth time.
“You don’t think I’m wearing too much make-up?” I look at her past my reflection in the mirror.
“No, it’s just the right amount. You’re already a natural beauty, now it’s just in high def,” she smiles.
Mack is taking me out on a date tonight and from my dry mouth and nervous tummy, you’d think I’d never gone on one before in my life. Of course, him refusing to tell me where we’re going or what he’s got planned hasn’t helped at all.
I give myself one last look in the mirror. Oh, who am I kidding, I’ll be back here in five minutes to scrutinize again. Chelsea is right though; my make-up does look good. So does my manicure and my hair, and even though she doesn’t know it, the wax job I got doesn’t look bad either.
Just because she’s my sister doesn’t mean she needs to know every little detail.
I turn and look at her, the sparkle in her big brown eyes makes me wonder who’s more excited? Her or me?
“I hope I’m not overdressed. Or underdressed,” I look down at the black blouse and jeans I finally managed to settle on.
“You’ll be fine! You look fine! Just relax, Lauren. You won’t have any fun if you’re just hyperventilating the whole time. You’re gonna have a great night, ok? And you know you don’t have to worry about Chris, he’s got the world’s best aunt to look after him, so chill, will ya?”
I open my mouth to spill a laundry list of more worries and concerns, but my voice is drowned out.
Vroom-tick-tick-tick!
What the hell was that?
Chelsea, Chris and I all rush over to the living room window and see Mack pop out the kickstand on his motorcycle and tilt it onto the support as he steps off. I’d be scared that he showed up on his bike, if a larger part of me wasn’t aching with desire just from watching him park it.
“Whoa,” Chris gives his approval and my sister and I watch Mack remove his helmet and walk toward the door.
It feels like a scene from a movie. Probably a James Bond movie, because there’s just one teensy, minor detail that Mack didn’t fill me in on. Where ever he’s taking me tonight, he’s taking me there wearing a tuxedo.
I’m painfully underdressed, that much is clear, but I can’t scrape two shits together about it right now. Not when Mack “Captain America” Forrester shows up in some sexy man-lingerie on the back of a Harley.
I rush over to the door and yank it open with all of the patience of a kid opening gifts on Christmas.
“Mack!” I throw my arms around him as soon as he steps through the door. His arms wrap around my waist and he easily lifts me from my feet and swirls me around.
For a moment, my mind flashes back to when we were kids and he talked me into being spun around on the merry-go-round at our park. I remember clearly how I clung onto those bars for dear life as Mack spun me around in nauseating circles until my façade of bravery broke down and I screamed his name in pure terror. In an instant, he thrust himself up onto the spinning cyclone from hell and grabbed onto my arms. “Don’t let go of me,” I cried desperately.
“Never.” It was a one-word sentence, a statement and a promise spun into one.
Mack places me on my tipsy feet and gives me a quick kiss on the tip of my nose.
“Hey Mack!” Chris leaps over to him.