“Are you serious?” I asked. I examined his earnest face carefully, trying to decide if he was messing with me or not. “You’re here to talk him out of getting married?” As prepared as I thought I was for this weekend, this was a problem I hadn’t foreseen. Not in the slightest.
“Not talk him out. Just encourage him when he comes to the realization himself.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “When those survival instincts start to kick in, bleeding hearts like Mason are going to convince him not to listen to his gut, which is the most dangerous thing a man can ignore.”
“And like me,” I said, voice rising. “Because you’re delusional or maybe just stupid if you think that Sam is going to randomly decide that he doesn’t want to marry Beck.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Mac said. “But I still have hope for him. I don’t think he’s too far gone.”
I shook my head in disgust. “I didn’t come over here for you to—”
“Why did you come over here?” he asked, cutting me off. The playful tone he’d entertained before had slipped at the talk of the wedding. “Because you’re certainly not contributing to anything.”
I clenched my jaw and then reached down, took a handful of yellow chips and piled them on a number without bothering to look at it. Mac’s eyes stayed hard, not leaving mine, but his mouth tipped into a smile. I heard the ball bounce and come to a rest.
“Nine red.”
“Oops,” I said flatly.
Mac broke eye contact to glance at the dealer. I followed his gaze and noticed, to my horror, that I’d won. The dealer scraped in the stack of yellow chips and reached into his tray for light blue ones, five of which he passed to Mac.
“How much are those worth?” I demanded.
The slight smile widened. “The yellow are a grand apiece. These blue babies are fifty.”
Mac nodded to the dealer. “Put ‘em on my account. I’m done for now.” Then he turned and walked away from the table without a second glance my way, a smirk cracking his handsome face.
I glowered after him. At fifty grand a chip, I could pay off my student loans and pay my rent for the next five years. Not that I’d ever see a penny of it.
I cursed myself and Mac equally as I stalked after him. Why had I come over there? It had been part animalistic draw and part legitimate desire to patch up our rocky relationship before the week started off on a bad foot.
I was still going to make the attempt, even if Mac insisted on being an ass at every turn.
“Hey,” I called after him, storming in his wake.
He didn’t stop, but I was faster, catching up and grabbing his thick arm to turn him around. “Listen up,” I demanded, finger in his face. “Obviously you’re intent on being a bastard all week, but if we could just get along, for Sam and Beck’s sake, that would be fantastic. I’ll forget about everything I… saw today. And you. Could you just try not to be a dick?”
His face was impassive. Then he mockingly rested his chin on his hand. “Hmmm… Let me think. No.”
“Is that really too much to ask?” I asked. “Can’t you just pull yourself together for four days and pretend to be happy for them? Were you raised in a barn?”
“A slum actually,” he said casually. “And I’m not a liar, which is what you’re asking me to do. Lie. So you’ll excuse me if I decline.”
I called his bluff. “So you’ve told Sam already what you think of his marriage?”
Finally, he hesitated. “He needs to find out for himself,” Mac said. “But I’ll be there for him when he does.”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
Mac’s face hardened. “He will.”
“I don’t think he will.”
“Well then you’re as stupid as the rest of them.”
“You did not just call me—”
“Hey lovebirds!” Kylie’s voice cracked through the casino and Mac and I, practically nose-to-nose at this point, turned to see our friends gathered and waiting.
“Stop fighting,” my friend said with a teasing grin, “and get your asses in gear. I’m ready to eat.”
I felt myself redden at getting caught doing exactly what I didn’t want Beck to see. No more fighting with Mac. No more letting him get me riled up. I joined the group without another word.
But as we were seated and prepared to dig in, a lingering anxiety pounded in my chest at Mac’s words. After months of living and breathing this wedding, I thought I’d prepared myself for everything. I hadn’t counted on a snake in the grass.
He claimed he wasn’t going to do any outright damage to the wedding, but could Mac Walsh really be trusted?
7
Mac
Alice had apparently decided that the best option was to just ignore me. Many women in the past had tried this and they’d all found the same thing: it was much easier said than done. But Alice seemed to be making a valiant effort of it as, for the better part of the evening, she didn’t speak to me at all. Occasionally I noticed her watching me before quickly turning away to join a conversation, but otherwise, radio silence.
That was perfectly fine by me. For the first time since we’d landed in Mexico (and forgetting the brief initial period in that women’s bathroom), I was actually starting to enjoy myself. The restaurant knew what they were doing when it came to steak and I had a thick porterhouse, sizzling in butter with a loaded potato and two glasses of whiskey.
Our group split into conversations and I found myself with Sam to my right and Henry and Mason across from me. Sure, Keegan was down two seats with his girl (typical) and Twain was still missing in action (again, typical), but if I managed to ignore the girls, it almost felt like a night back at the Tempest, eating and drinking and making plans for the evening.
Sam was in a great mood, smiling and laughing. He was throwing back the whiskeys at a pretty steady pace as well, but his eyes were bright and clear. We talked about old memories and plans for the future.
But, of course, eventually one of them had to bring the mood down.
“The name Steve Jordan mean anything to you?” Henry asked, pushing his plate back and relaxing back into the booth.
“Should it?” Mason asked, swirling his glass of bourbon.
“He’s a young guy, twenty-nine or thirty. He’s been a big name in tech for a while now. But his company is going public in a few weeks and do you want to guess what that means?”
I waved him off. “Screw him. We have enough members.”
“There isn’t a cap to how many are allowed in the club,” Mason, the traitor, noted.
“But even if there were,” Henry said with a grin down the table, “now that Sam’s choosing the ladies over the brotherhood, we have a spot to fill.”
“Oh bullshit,” Sam said, laughing. “If I’m out than so is Keegan,” he said nodding down to where our friend sat with his arm around Jules.
My mood threatened to dip. Mason glanced at me, noticed my expression, and changed the subject. “Should we pick up the check?”
I nodded. “I got it,” I said. Before Sam could protest, I added loudly, “I just won three hundred and fifty grand at the wheel. I’ll charge it to my account.”