Chapter 39: Nice Guys Spew Drinks

Adam

Mac bounces up and down in the limo to EMD music. She's got her go-face on like she's ready to go live onstage. She looks fierce and I fucking love her.

She chugs a water and tosses two at me.

"Pre-hydrate, baby."

"Damn, Shorty. Are we hitting the club or a half-marathon?"

"One way or another, we are sweating all night," she whispers, as the limo rolls up to the velvet rope at Denizen.

As she tries to scoot toward the door, I pull her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her tiny waist. "I'm down for an all-nighter, but I'm taking you home in two hours."

"That should be enough time here." Her mouth twists, the way it does when she says one thing but means another. Before I can ask what she means, our security guy Mason opens the door.

We didn't bring John—didn't want him at the hospital with us, but he arranged for a guy to be on call if we needed him. I slide out from underneath her and hop out. There aren't many paps here—they are spread thin on a Thursday night to cover all the LA clubs—but the few that are loitering on the sidewalk snap to and shout Madam!

Mac pulls me over to them, as Mason and the bouncer give them their warning clearance and Mac preens on my arm, while I try to look a little bored, which I figure is a better option than looking like I want to bend her over and fuck her from behind, which is what I really want to do. With her in those boots, I've accepted the fact that my hard-on is a permanent state tonight until I come inside her at least twice. Maybe three times.

She laughs when the paps goad her to show her left hand. "Looking for a ring?" She releases my hand and flashes her bare left hand. "No way." She leans in conspiratorially. "Off the record...the only Madam ring there will ever be is Adam's cock ring, but it's...impressive."

The flashes go wild as I grin and shake my head at her and she leans in to kiss me on the cheek. "Bad girl," I whisper in her ear.

"What'd he say?" one of the paps shouts.

"Too dirty to repeat." She waggles her fingers goodbye as they laugh.

Once inside the club, we melt into the dark anonymity of the floor. The lights are strobing and the sound is lit and the throng moves like one organism. I pull Mac's ass to me and give her the feel of my cock pressing against her as we drop down low together. I'm never much for the choreographed moves—thankfully Soundcrush doesn't do much of that, except for the subtlest stuff in a video—but it's like I told Mac. Club dancing is basically fucking with clothes on. And I like to fuck Mac. So obviously, I like to dance with Mac, too.

She makes it easy for me, my cock automatically follows where her body leads. She reaches behind and grabs my hips; I put my hands on all of her bare skin—shoulders, back, stomach, thighs—feeling it grow slick as we heat up.

Just when her arms come around my neck and her head rolls back and I think she's really giving herself over to the music and the feel of my hands on her, her head snaps up and she reaches down in her boot, pulling her cell phone from it. She must have felt it vibrating. She holds it up to check, and I can easily see the screen over her shoulder.

To my surprise, it's Trace:

Well?

Mac texts back rapidly.

Just got here. Haven't found her yet.

Trace: WTF? She just texted me 10 minutes ago and said she was in VIP.

Mac: Relax. I'm busy grinding Adam. Haven't start my side job spying for you yet.

Trace: I just want you to...check in on her. Make sure she seems comfortable. I trust her. But I don't even know my brother. Not really. So I can't trust him or his friends yet.

Mac: You got it, TG. To be clear...if I find Kat face-fucking your brother...you do want to know, right?

Trace: She won't be. I know she won't be.

Mac: But on the off chance that she is...

Trace: Take video. I'd have to see it to believe it.

Well, that explains some shit. Why Mac made this detour to Denizen instead of Luna. Or maybe it explained why we were clubbing in the first place. For some insane reason, Mac has made a terrible decision to get up in the middle of Trace and Kat's long-distance struggles.

Mac didn't notice when I stopped dancing, but now she twirls in my arms with a guilty sex-kitten look on her face. She leans up and purrs in my ear. "You gonna give me a sermon about why it's wrong to stalk Kat for Trace, Preacher?"

I growl. "No. I'm not a hypocrite."

She pulls back, a look of annoyance on her face. "You fucker. You've stalked me? Really?"

"More times that I can count, Shorty." I say smugly, and pull her off the floor, toward the bar. "But only to make sure you were safe. And I did it myself. I didn't involve a third party, and we weren't together so it wasn't like this. This shit you are about to do in nothin' but trouble brewin'."

Mac's mouth hardens. "I have my reasons. We aren't about to have another fight are we? You aren't going to do something insane, are you? Like forbid me to spy on Kat. Or—" her eyes flare, as her chest heaves suddenly. She takes a step out of my grasp and I see it in her eyes. She's thinking I'm going to haul her naughty ass over my shoulder and stalk out of here with her, like the last time we were in a club.

I consider it. That time ended fucking awesome—with her love confession and sixty-nine in the limo. The imaginative idea that I could go cave-man on her again, and end up with her sweet taste pouring down my throat while she palms my dick wearing that half-million dollar engagement ring flits through my mind.

I'd really like to put that ring on her finger, especially now, after our amazingly open and honest make-up talk. Somehow, the idea of taking my pregnant fiancee home to Nashville sits a helluva lot better with me than a skittish Mac insisting we keep Babycakes secret from my family next week.

But then I see Mac's chest heaving and the hardening of her killer face. This is not the right opportunity for that. This is not like last time at the club. Last time she was wanting me to make a scene to throw that media a guy a bone. She was spoiling for a fight to keep him from digging into to us and breaking the Babycakes story.

She's committed to this espionage—whatever this is. I am suddenly irritated with Trace, involving Mac in his paranoia. Mac has enough stress on her, besides getting up in the middle of some shit where she doesn't belong. But I'm not going to fight her on it. I will, however, know why the fuck she's doing this, cause she's putting me in the middle of it. I don't like this one damn bit, but Trace is my boy and Mac is my woman and I'm ride or die.

I hold out my hand to her. "No, I'm not going to fight you. I'm going to buy you a drink while you spy. And while you explains your reasons."

Her smile breaks beautifully. That's the smile I was hoping to see when she looked at the engagement ring I bought her. But no. Not my bad girl. A proposal to commit my life to her, love her forever, doesn't do it for her. Naughty deeds, however, light her up like a fucking sunrise.

We slink around to the VIP section for access. I slip the bouncer a hundred bucks and he confirms that yes...the del Marco kids are here with Little Sister and company. I peel off a few more Benji's and he bumps a couple out of a curtained alcove near the large del Marco party, which is taking up the center area of the VIP lounge. There a dozen people in the del Marco entourage and at least that many bottles on the table. Thankfully the layout is such that Kat and company take no notice of us as we ease into the curtained recess. By the time a server brings us our drinks—bourbon for me, grapefruit juice and club soda for Mac—Mac has is lying back in my lap on the couch, lazily playing with my hair as she spies through a crack in the curtain behind me.

After a few sips of bourbon—I figure I might need it to keep the irritation out of my voice--I put the question to her. "Why are you getting in the middle of this?"

"For two important reasons. Number One—I know that Little Sister is completely in love with Trace. So if we see any signs of some shady shit, it only means that she doesn't even realize she's in a shady situation, and we are NOT telling Trace. We are setting Little Miss Innocent straight before she fucks up for real. And you can rough Street up a little with your righteousness. Put the fear of Preacher in him."

"So this is an intervention, not a stalk?" I ask.

"Precisely."

"And what's the second reason?"

"Hmmmm...did I say two reasons? I meant just the one." Mac sips her juice, as she rakes her fingers through my beard. She nuzzles my neck.

"Oh no," I tell her, twisting my free hand into her hair and pulling her back slightly. "As much I love your mouth on me, I'm not letting you distract. What's the second reason?"

She sighs. She tugs at the sequined choker necklace she's wearing like it suddenly irritates her, or like words are stuck in her throat. She and Leed both do that—mess with their throats when they don't want to say something out loud, or admit something to someone. Something crazy do to with chi and throat chakras and speaking their truth, I heard Mac explain once. I think that blocked chakra shit is in their heads, but it's definitely a Lawson Sib tell. When one of them is messing with their throat, it's never good. It either means they are holding something back, or in Mac's case, it could be nothing to do with her belief that her throat chakra is unbalanced but it could also mean she is struggling with her PTSD. In this case, I think she doesn't want to confess.

"Spill it, Shortcake."

"Moving in with you is the second reason."

Now I'm the one scratching my beard. "Gonna need more."

Mac rolls her eyes. "Adam, it's so obvious. I need Kat and Trace to be rock solid in love so that neither of them mind that I invite Ashlynn to come out to LA to live with Leed and be his surrogate baby-momma so that I can move in with you."

I laugh so hard I slosh bourbon on my jeans, nearly missing pouring it down the back of Mac's booty shorts. "Shit," I chuckle taking, another sip of the sloshing liquor and then using the half empty glass to wipe away the beads of liquid on my pants. "That's a terrible plan, Shorty."

"It's a perfect plan," Mac smiles sweetly .

"Okay first of all, we have no idea if Ash is going to stay clean."

"She is. Her acupuncture has taken away all her pain. Jesus, Adam, have a little faith in her."

I sip in silence. Mac definitely has more faith in Ashlynn than I do, but then again they were much closer. I was always the guy pulling Trace back from the edge of losing it on his strung-out wife. Still, I have to admit, when Ashlynn was sober, she's an extremely sweet and sensible girl.

"How do you know Ash would even want to do that? Come out to LA and help Leed?"

Mac smiles. "Because they are totally hot for each other."

Goddammit, this time I spew my drink all over the place. Mac avoids most of it, because of her cat-like reflexes, sliding to my right as I spray and choke to my left. She pounds my back helpfully.

"What in fucking hell makes you think that?" I finally manage to choke out.

"Okay, I'm getting a little ahead of myself. They don't realize it yet. They think they are friends. But there's something there. You honestly haven't noticed it before?"

I consider. "Well, she's definitely he's type, I'll give you that. Blonde, boho—that whole thing. And yeah, maybe I could see a little interest from her end, too. Even when her head was hurting, Leed could always make her smile, ease the tension a little. Even when she was cussin' Trace."

"And she told me that it was Leed who convinced her to go to holistic rehab. She said she owes him her life."

I sip. "She said that? Really?"

"Yes, and...Ash loves babies. Totally loves them. She was a part-time nanny in high school and college. She was going to be a pediatrician, you know—before she got hurt."

Ah. Now I'm getting the picture. "Are you sure this is about Leed? Or do you just want Ash in LA to help when Babycakes comes?"

Mac shrugs. "Well, if my brother and my friend can bring each other a little sunshine, and there's a bonus in it for me...is that so wrong?"

"You are diabolical, Shortcake," I mutter.

"Thanks," she beams. I laugh because it's funny she thinks that's a compliment.

"You really think Trace is going to be cool with having Ash back in LA?"

"I think Trace would be fine with it, as long as Kat is cool. And I think there is nothing worse than siblings at odds, so I'm making it my personal mission to befriend Kat and eventually help her forgive her sister. Which is what I am doing right now."

Mac abandons all pretense now, getting up on her knees and peering through the curtains.

"By spying on her," I laugh.

"No, by saving her from making the classic new-to-La mistakes. Look...she's got a problem already! Motherfucker!"

Shit. I scoot toward Mac, so that I can see through the curtain. I was hoping for Street del Marco to be a good dude, considering that he's Trace half-brother. But if I have to push up on him and give him fair warning to back off Little Sister I will.

To my surprise, I see that Street del Marco is sitting on a couch opposite from Kat, with a girl on his lap, whom he's animatedly talking with, though he is shooting a concerned a look in Kat's direction every now and then—because Kat's sitting with her head bent close to some dude that looks a Viking.

I don't mean rough and disgusting like a real viking, but like those ageless, perfectly chiseled six-foot-five blonde-haired Swedish models-turned-actors that have  parts in every popular Viking series, movie, and documentary.

This particular Viking has two fingertips on Kat's knee, and he's nodding and speaking intensely to her. Then he moves his fingers to her bare shoulder, poking her gently several times, in conjunction with his speech, like he's trying to make a point about something. She blushes, and nods agreement. Having apparently finished his point, he leans back, spreading his arms along the couch and looking disinterestedly around the club as Kat sips her drink and looks at him once or twice with uncertainty.

"Motherfucker! Who is that?" I hiss indignantly. "And why the fuck is Street letting him touch her? And fucking Ben standing right there!" I rise off the couch.

"Slow your roll, cowboy," Mac smirks. "That right there, is a Double Agent."

"A what?"

"A Double Agent. You know...like a Dawes type. You think he wants to be your agent until he flips the shit and asks you to suck his dick before he will got to bat for you at the label, studio, whatever."

I whirl her around. "What the fuck? Dawes harassed you like that?"

"Of course not, Adam. Even If Dawes were going to harass an artist—maybe he's the type, maybe not, jury's out on that one—but if he were to do something like that, he was smart enough to see—I was too talented and Soundcrush is too much of a family to risk it with me. Dawes doesn't want my pussy, he wants to make money off us."

She turns back to Kat and the Viking. "Maybe that's what that guy wants from Kat, too. Or maybe he wants to fuck her physically and metaphorically. Who knows? But you can't go Caveman on a guy like that. He'll play the professional card—whatever he is. And she might take his side, because he's already something to her. You see how he made her blush? That wasn't from coming on to her. That was from something else. Fuck, is he a photographer? A publicist? I don't recognize him."

"Well let's go find out who he is," I say, pulling the curtain aside.

Mac stops me with a hand to my chest. "Wait. I have a better idea," she says as a slightly drunk Street del Marco stumbles past us. "Reconnaissance," she winks and slips out, following him as he leaves the VIP section. I try to follow her but she shakes her head, pushing me back behind the curtain. "You're intimidating, Adam," she looks me up and down. "Let me talk to Street. I'll get the 411."

"If you flirt with him, I'm hauling your ass out of here like in New Orleans," I warn her.

"Fine, fine," she rolls her eyes. "I won't even touch him."

I snort. Like Mac has to touch a guy to make him flash-hard and want to bury himself inside of her. All she has to do is look at them with those killer fuck-me eyes and  that contrastingly sweet smile. "I'm serious, Shorty. Don't torture the kid. He's like nineteen. He's  drunk. He might do something stupid. Then I might do something stupid."

"I won't. I promise." She crosses her heart with a finger, winks and follows Street out of VIP, intentionally letting me see her fingers crossed behind her back.

I snort and follow, a few paces behind.

Who is this guy poking at Kat with his fingers? Is Mac being a good friend or a bad girl?  Is Adam about to start a bar fight?  Spoiler--there's somebody else at the club that changes Mac's plans and might make Adam EVEN MORE inclined to brawl!!! And coming up soon...A Little Sister POV chapter!

If you like the story, please vote/list/comment/follow! Not necessarily in that order! Thanks!