American Bad Boy(76)

There are three ways this could have happened. This country club may have been sporting this décor for ten years. I’ve stepped into a time warp. Or, Mack has spent countless hours recreating every detail of our last night together before both our lives changed forever.

I manage to close my mouth and smile at the most incredible man I’ve ever known. “It’s amazing, Mack!” I lean my head against his arm and look over all the hard work and thought he’s put into making this re-imagined prom.

“This is just a room. You, on the other hand, now that’s what I call amazing,” he guides me to the only table and chairs set up across the room.

Being every bit the prince charming that I wished for ten years ago, he pulls my seat out and helps me tuck into the table. I’ve gotta admit, I’m enjoying the princess treatment. I just hope Mack isn’t such a gentleman later. When I rip that tux off his hard body and fuck his brains out.

Mack takes his seat across from me and reaches for my hand across the table. “I missed you,” his eyes search my face. I’m sure he can read every emotion on my face like words in a book.

“I missed you too. So much. I know it was for the best and that you needed that time to work on everything, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard,” my eyes mist over.

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m here now,” he traces his thumb along my bottom lid and gathers the tears threatening to ruin my makeup.

“It was hard for me too,” his blue eyes stare into mine earnestly. “But, now I know I can give you all of me, not just fragments left over from the war. I’m not saying I’m perfect. I mean, I’m pretty close, obviously,” he teases me.

“You are.” I know he’s kidding around, but I’m not.

Mack smiles. “Thank you. Too bad I didn’t record that. It would’ve been perfect for six months from now when you’re giving me a hard time about leaving the toilet seat up or something.”

The reference doesn’t escape me. My heart soars as I digest his words. He wasn’t us to live together? Before I can respond, a waiter interrupts our chat with a bottle of champagne and two glasses on a tray.

“May I start your evening with a drink?” He offers.

“Yes, thank you,” Mack nods. The man places the glasses between us and then reaches for the bottle.

“You can just leave the bottle with us. We have a lot to celebrate,” Mack grins.

Our server doesn’t argue; he simply places it between us. “Your dinner will be ready shortly,” he informs Mack before disappearing back over my shoulder.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Mack also had our prom for two catered, but I am. Just like the man who just walked across the floor to the set up the turn tables in the back corner shouldn’t surprise me either, but here we are.

Soft music floods the sound system and Mack pours each of us a glass of the bubbly champagne. He lifts his glass in a toast, and I imitate him, eager to hear what he has to say.

“Lauren, you look just as beautiful tonight as you did a decade ago. I was the luckiest man at our prom then, and tonight you’ve made me the luckiest man in the world tonight by being on my arm.”

“Thank you,” I don’t know what else to say, Mack’s never been one for flowery speeches, but I guess he’s just full of surprises tonight.

“No, thank you.” He answers. “I figured that there was no better place to ask for a mulligan than at a golf club, so…”

“A mulligan?” I interrupt. I’m not sure what he’s talking about.

“Yeah, it’s a golf term. It’s for a do over? You’ve never heard that before?” His eyes crinkle at the corners, “look, all you need to know is that besides being incredibly handsome, I’m also very witty,” he laughs.

“And humble, too,” I tease him.

“Yes, humble as fuck,” he grins. There’s my old Mack. “Anyway, to new beginnings,” he raises his glass higher and I raise mine.

The first sip of the champagne is heaven; the tiny bubbles tickle my lips but feel smooth on my tongue.

Mack empties his glass in one long gulp, then takes a deep breath. “Lauren?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you dance with me?”

My ears are ringing with shock. Never in my entire life has Mack danced with me. Never. No matter how much I’ve pleaded, or whined, or threatened him with teenaged angst. He’s never given in.

“Of course,” I barely breathe the words, like they’re caught in my throat.

He stands up and holds his hand out to me, and I steady myself with his strength and follow him to the dance floor. The music suddenly changes to Coldplay.