Page 45 of Man Cuffed
The scripts. The scripts that could change my whole life and give me everything I want.
Everything I thought I wanted.
So why can’t I seem to want it enough to fucking rehearse the scenes?
I pick one up again, like a good girl.
I’m rereading the familiar lines when I canfeelMac come in through my apartment. His approach makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Not with fear, though. Excitement. Then he’s standing in front of me. And...
He’s shirtless.
Holy shit.
He’s wearing khaki shorts and nothing else. His feet are bare and he’s holding a six-pack of beer to match the six-pack on his front. My brain freezes, and all I can really take in is how incredibly ripped he is. All those muscles I want to trace with my tongue. His chest isn’t barren. He has just enough pale hair to sift my fingers through. And that V leading down to the bulge of his jeans…
I drain the rest of my drink, but it isn’t cold enough to put out my fire. Then he sits next to me on the glider, smelling amazing. I don’t know what products he uses in the shower, but I just want to bury my nose in his lap.
Focus, Meg!
“So...how was...work?” I finally ask, hoping I don’t squeak like a middle-school girl with backstage passes to Shawn Mendes.
He takes a pull on his beer. Runs his hand through his still damp hair, which looks darker because it’s still wet. “It was a rough day.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Typical Maguire. Usually I don’t mind, but if he doesn’t speak right this minute, I’m going to hop on him and start humping. I need a little conversation here. “That’s it? That’s all I get? How about some details?”
He thinks it over.
“Come on, Copper, you can talk to me you know. I don’t bite.” I pause. “Unless I’m aroused.”
He snorts.
He thinks I’m kidding.
He takes another long drink, sets the bottle down, and then adjusts himself! Oh, what a man! What a delicious hunk of man. “I’m trying to get promoted.” Five words. But he sits back like that should do it.
“And?” I coax. “Maguire, seriously, you are a shit storyteller.”
He snorts again. “I know. Let’s just say I’m a man of action, not words.”
“Oh, I can imagine. But you’re the one who said we can’t date. We can’t fool around. And yet here you sit half naked on my new deck furniture. And there’s alcohol. So you’d better start talking before I think up some other things for us to do.”
He snickers. Then he takes a deep drink from his beer. “Fine, Trouble. You can hear all about my issues, if you’re so keen.”
“Spill.”
He sighs. “I’m trying to get a promotion at work, where I’d be the head of a task force. I’d be helping victims of crime after the perp is arrested, when everyone’s waiting for the trial date. There’s a real opportunity to follow through. Because arresting the criminal isn’t the end, you know? Victims need the tools to get past what happened and lead healthy lives.”
He falls silent again. But that was already more words than I’ve ever heard him speak at once. “You are endlessly fascinating, Copper. Are you going to get this promotion? Why was it a bad day?”
He sighs. “It’s down to me and this assface. Tommy. I’ve got more cred than Tommy. More street time. More arrests. More respect. But you know what Tommy has that I don’t?”
“I can’t imagine,” I say. “A third nipple?”
This wins me a wry smile. “Tommy has the ability to kiss our captain’s ass. I don’t have time for that. I don’t want to talk about the captain’s golf game or his daughter’s 18th birthday in the Bahamas that he’s planning. But that’s Tommy’s game. Chat up the boss, and win the promotion. It’s so insincere, but it seems to be working. I don’t think he gives a rat’s ass about the victims he’d be helping. He just wants a bigger paycheck and a little more respect. I think he’d actually do more harm than good.”
Another lengthy speech from Mac. That’s two in one night! I let his words sink in while he sips his beer.
“So you need some help with ass-kissing.”
