Chapter 37: Nice Guys Start Smoking Again

Adam

Mac has her back to me, but at my whispered words, her eyes meet mine in the full-length mirror. She blushes furiously, but she takes no step away from the blond, blue-eyed, wanna-be movie star that has his hands above hers on her naked breasts—both of them assessing and adjusting her cleavage.

Sawyer, the Lawson's PA, sees me too-and slides his hands off Mac's body. Both of his arms are covered in tats, even the underside of his forearms, which he raises in front of him, like a criminal surrendering under threat of force. Saywer used to be in a motorcycle club in his teens; he knows when to flex and when he's busted.

"Professional hazard, man," he says with a shrug. "I was just—"

"I know what you are doing," I snap, striding into the closet, tossing Mac a robe, and picking up the fashion tape from the bench beside them. "Taping her up for some outfit she wants to wear. I got it. You can go." I don't even try to make my words sound civil.

When Sawyer cuts his eyes to Mac for confirmation, that's when I lose my cool a little. "Get the fuck out before I lay you out, Sawyer."

"Hey man, I do what I'm paid to do," he grumbles, but he's sidling around me. When he shuts the door, Mac is glaring at me.

"Adam, that was rude. You would never talk to Riley like that." Mac throws down the robe and crosses her arms across her bare chest. She is still blushing, but her eyes have shifted from hazel to green.

Oh, you're angry? Whatever Shortcake. I'm fucking livid.

"Riley would have more sense than to cop a feel while he was doing his job," I snap back, squeezing the roll of tape, deforming it.

"It wasn't like that. Sawyer helps me with tricky outfits. Tamara doesn't work twenty-four seven, you know. You shouldn't be angry with him." Mac's voice is very controlled but her eyes are firing.

"Fuck Sawyer. I'm not angry with Sawyer," I growl, picking up the robe and throwing it around her shoulders. "Why don't you cover up and then you can explain what possible fucking reason you could have for this."

She steps back from me. "For what?"

" For leaving without any word, making me crazy. I thought either you changed your mind about moving in or worse. That you were having another flashback and left panicked. Then I find you naked with another man's hands all over you?" She's not actually naked, she's wearing booty shorts and fishnets, but she's most certainly topless. I pick up the scrap of a neon green top from the bench, putting the outfit in context.

"What the fuck? You just decided to go clubbing? You didn't have the courtesy to let me know? Was I supposed to figure out where you were from your Instagram or something? Jesus Christ!" I yell, striding out of the closet and slamming the door behind me.

I'm out the slider that leads to the pool, pacing around it, when she slips out into the night, fastening her robe around her. She watches me pace silently, until I stop on the other side of the pool. Subtle lights bloom in the landscaping, allowing us to see one another, but the pool shimmers like black oil between us.

"Well!?!?! WHAT. THE. FUCK. MAC!?!?!" I yell at her, flinging my arms open wide. The sound of my voice cutting the night surprises even me. It's dark and deep with rage.

She stalks around the pool like a lionness, her killer face on. "I want to punch you in the throat right now for yelling at me like that," she says coolly. "But I can see you didn't get my note."

"Note!?! What note?"

"The one I left on my pillow. The one that said I was hoping we could go out tonight and celebrate us," she says quietly. "The one that said Sawyer picked me up to get ready and that I would be back in an hour."

I close my eyes. Some of the anger drains away. Not as much as should drain away, though. I can't help it. She scared me. And then there's fucking Sawyer.

"No, I didn't see the note." The words are forced, barely controlled.

"So you just assumed I flipped out," she says bitterly. "That's fucking great, Adam—to know your go-to is to think the worst about me."

"I tried to call you over and over. I sent texts. I checked with Leed—"

"Yeah, I know. He texted Sawyer about fifteen minutes ago."

"So you knew I was looking for you, and you didn't call me!?!" The anger boils up again.

"I was going to call you as soon as I got dressed!" she yells back. "Jesus, Adam—you are not my damn keeper! Do I have to report every move I make to you? Is that what you think?"

"No! I don't think that! I think you had a fucking tumultuous day! When I woke up and you were gone, I was worried! That's all! I think you should have woken me and let me know what you were thinking, instead of sneaking off like that! And it sure as fuck doesn't help, finding you naked with Sawyer!"

"What's that supposed to mean? " she screeches.

"I think you know exactly why what you did pisses me off."

She looks away. She doesn't even deny it. Instead, she comes out like the killer she is.

"Goddammit, Adam! You don't own me, or my body! I'll do what I fucking please. Don't act like an asshole!"

She stomps around the pool and slams the slider shut behind her. I follow.

She's locked me out.

"Fucking hell!" I bang on the glass. She ignores me and leaves her bedroom. In a minute I see her in the living area. She disappears into the foyer and returns. She stands in front of the living room window, glaring at me with her phone to her ear.

Unfuckingbelievable. She's calling me.

"Shortcake," I growl. "Open the goddamn door."

"No," she spits. "Go home. Get dressed. Get your head straight. I won't apologize for not waking you. I won't apologize for having a past. Come back in an hour with a driver and a better fucking attitude. Or don't. Either way, I'm going to Luna."

She hangs up on me, stalks back to her bedroom, slinks over to the glass and stands in front of me with an evil stoicism. She flips me off as she flips a switch on her wall and the glass in her room goes opaque.

"Fuck!" I yell, barely resisting the urge to throw my phone at the wall she's put between us. I call her back three times. She declines me.

I pace around the pool, muttering and cursing. Sawyer slinks out of the door, sits two cans of domestic beer on the table, offers me a cigarette. When I decline, he lights up and smokes in silence while I glare at him. After a long exhale, he says, "If it helps, she went a different way with her outfit, I guess. She told me I could go. But...Leed told me to go to the club with her, if you're not going."

Sawyer is Leed's part-time PA, and informal security, which works great for him while he's trying to break into acting, but above all that, he and Leed are good friends. Since back in the early days, when we were all first-year-in-LA-wild.

I shotgun a beer. "Need to ask you something, Sawyer."

He grins. He knows what's coming. "Shoot."

"You fucked her?"

He lights another cigarette before answering. "Not as much as I wanted. She shut it down when I went on the payroll. But you know...I might not work for Leed forever...I'm up for a series."

I crack the other beer, drink slowly, assess him coolly. I'm not surprised Mac took him to bed. He's built; he's got the movie-star-something that adds to his looks. He's got the tats and the badassery...I would be jealous, but I know that's not her real type. She would have gone for Trace back at the beginning, if it were. There's something else about Sawyer that's easy to see. He looks a lot like me, just...edgier. I wonder if Mac even realizes that.

I crush the can, toss it into the pool, and don't even give a fuck that Sawyer will have to clean it up. "Yeah, that's what I thought," I say grimly. "I'm going to say this once, and then I'm going to tell her the same goddamn thing, so we are all on the same page: I don't care what the fuck she asks you to do, you put your hands on her again, and somebody is getting their ass beat. I'll do my damnedest to make sure it's you."

He grins. He has new teeth. Leed must be paying him well. "You can try."

Yeah, it's highly possible he's gonna need another set of teeth.

"Tell Mac I'll send a car for her.  I hope you get that series. Hell, I hope you blow up big time. It won't matter. She'll still be with me." I head around the pool.

He laughs. "Good luck locking that shit down. She's fucking crazy, but I guess you been knowin' her longer than me..."

"Yeah," is all I say. I know her better in every way. I lost my shit over Sawyer for a minute but I refuse to let him get to me. If Mac wanted Sawyer, she'd be with him. She wants me. I know that.

But I'm still not cool with her getting naked with him. In front of him. Whatever. Performance changing at a show or a shoot is one thing—having her ex-lover groping her while she preens in her closet is something else entirely. That's some shit we've got to get straight.

How do I make her see my point of view? I don't think I own her body, but I do consider her body and her beauty a treasure—one that I wish she would safe-guard for me in the same way I only want to share mine with her. Yeah, we've got some work to do there.

Back at home. I find the note exactly where I expect to—between my leather headboard and the mattress.

Preacher,

You look gorgeous sleeping. I watched you for a long time, trying to decide what I want more when you wake—to be underneath you again in  our bed—is it our bed now?—or on your arm, showing the world we are in love.

I decided I want both. Let's go out, and then you can bring me home all over again, ok?

Sawyer is giving me a lift to my closet—he needs to water the plants at Leed's anyway. I hope I have something sexy that still fits, because I want to look amazing for our first official date night in LA. Be back in an hour. Can you get us a car?

So excited!

Love You!

Your Shorty

She'd put on lipstick and kissed beneath her closing. I fold the note and put in my nightstand, groaning as I lay back on the bed. Our bed, she says. Bring me home. So excited. Love you.

She wrote me a love note. Then she let her ex-lover put his hands on her without a second thought as to why that's not cool. And she's right, I acted like a Grade A asshole. I don't even know if it was because I was rightfully worried for her, or wrongfully possessive of her? Or rightfully irritated over her permissiveness with a former lover? How would she feel if the situation was reversed?

I don't even know what to feel, except ill-fitting in my own skin. Reactive asshole to the woman I love is not the guy I want to be. I've never seen my father raise his voice at my mother—not one time in my whole life, but there have been times he's been angry with her, I know. And can't help feeling pissed at Mac, even after finding the note. Shit, is it always going to be like this? Her pushing my buttons and me blowing up at her?

Five minutes later, I'm scrounging my kitchen junk drawer, pawing through a few packs of stale cigarettes that people have left there, and lighting up, grateful for that initial rush of calm.

The guilt rushes in right behind. Shit, I can't start smoking again. It's a bad fucking habit. Bad for me, bad for Mac to be around second-hand smoke, bad for the kid in all kinds of ways. I snuff the half-smoked Malboro. I walk inside, and right back out again, firing up another smoke for a couple of more drags of calm, before I snuff it out again with regret.

Jesus. Is my girl always going to have me comin' and goin' like this?

Okay, so...probably not what you saw coming in Mac's closet, huh? Just when Mac and Adam seem on the right track--they get sidelined by a totally new issue! Clearly Mac and Adam have different views on code of conduct in a relationship. What do you think? Is Adam justified in his reaction or  Mac's irreverence for her body/nudity in front of other men something he should just accept as part of her personality? Should Mac have called Adam as soon as she realized he was worried? Did Adam make the situation worse by raging when Mac was trying to remain calm? Was he justified in the way he dealt with Sawyer? What in the WORLD is going to happen at the club? (Bad things happened in EPIC at the club...hmmm.....)

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