Marie Harte: Working Out

December in Seattle

He’d known it was coming to this. For four long-ass months, he’d been doing his best to handle the situation, and for four months he’d been fooling himself.

Mac Jameson gripped the neck of his beer bottle and glared across the bar at the bane of his existence. He could no longer ignore those big blue eyes, that killer rack, or the platinum blond hair that framed a face that haunted his dreams. She worked for him, but it didn’t stop her from sniping, scowling, or blatantly ignoring him when she didn’t like what he had to say. A smarter man would have taken her signals as uninterested and run the other way.

But not Mac. He thrived on challenge, and Maggie Doran had dare written all over her. Aside from her smart mouth and incredible looks, she had a work ethic he truly respected. To make matters worse, she was far from perfect, which he would have found boring. No woman could look like she did without carrying some massive baggage.

He hadn’t yet figured out how to unload her issues long enough to sleep with her and put himself out of his misery.

A solid clap to his back reminded himself he wasn’t drinking alone.

“So what’s your excuse this time?” his best friend asked as he joined Mac at the bar. “The redhead not hot enough? The brunette who wanted your number too clingy?”

Mac refused to pay attention to the end of the bar where two sexy women continued to glance at him in between high-pitched laughter and cocktails. “I don’t date women who giggle. Christ, I’m thirty-six, too old for games.”

“Since when?” Shane, as usual, ignored the scowl Mac shot him and continued to talk. “The Mac I know has no problem serial dating. What was it you said to me not so long ago? To indulge in the holy trinity and forget my problems? Tits, ass and an orgasm. There you go, buddy. You have two more-than-willing candidates still making eyes at you.” Shane discreetly nodded toward Mac’s new groupies.

“No fault with the trinity. You have me there.” Mac had to smile. His grin faded when he noticed his recent obsession now sandwiched between two guys pointing fingers at one another.

Shane followed Mac’s attention and sighed. “Figures. That woman is trouble.” And Shane would know. Now dating Shelby, Maggie’s best friend, Shane spent more time with Maggie than Mac did—a fact that annoyed the crap out of him, not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot,” Shane continued, “but that stupid vow of celibacy is like a neon sign on her forehead. It’s like Maggie’s secretly calling out to anyone with a dick to help end her plight.”

Mac blinked. “What did you say?”

“Oh, sorry. Plight means problem. As in, she has something troubling her.”

“Dickhead. No, what you said about her vow of celibacy.”

“Oh that. Maggie is off men, or so Shelby told me. I’m sworn to secrecy, so don’t say anything.” Shane shrugged and drank from his beer. “Oh hell. Looks like I’m going to have to help her out. Those guys don’t look like they’re playing.”

Mac wanted to get back to Maggie’s issue about not having sex, but Shane was right. “You stay here in case I need someone to bail me out of jail. I’ll handle those guys.”

Shane stared at him a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Just flex a few times and they’ll scatter like mice.”

Mac shot him a not-so-nice grin.

“And do that. The smile that’s more a grimace. Great intimidation factor, there.”

In a mood to crack some skulls together, Mac muscled through the crowding bar and reached Maggie in time to hear her telling both guys off.

“… if you’d even bothered to ask, you’d know I never drink tequila. And I don’t like grabby men. Period.”

When Maggie grew angry, her voice turned huskier, sexier. It put Mac in mind of satin sheets and naked limbs entangled with his. Unfortunately, her voice seemed to have the same effect on the morons fighting over her. Morons that looked somehow familiar.

The redhead poked the dark-haired guy in the belly. Both appeared of equal weight and height, yet neither had the same mass or musculature as Mac. Of the two, the dark-haired man looked meaner, so Mac kept an eye on him.

Maggie turned to the redhead. “Brent, it’s okay—”

Brent cut her off. “She’s with me, Wilson.”

“Yeah, right.” Wilson made a face. “Why would she want you when she could have me? I can buy and sell you twice over, and you…what? You own a nice little home in Green Lake and bench press twenty more pounds in the gym? Please.”

Brent had patience, because he took a deep breath and let it out without slugging the guy. “Wilson, don’t be such a dick. Maggie and I were talking before you interrupted.”

“Talking? Brent, she was backing away and trying to be polite about it.” Wilson huffed. “Poor thing just doesn’t know how to reject you without hurting your feelings.”

Mac suddenly realized where he’d seen the men before. They were members of Jameson’s Gym—his uncle’s pride and joy, and his current employer. It should have made him reconsider his need to pound both of them into tomorrow. Brent had been a member for a few months and wasn’t a bad guy, but Wilson was new. He also appeared to be a conceited jerk.

Maggie opened her mouth, no doubt to say something snarky. She might be little, but she didn’t tolerate fools well at all. Then she spotted Mac and snapped her mouth closed. The fire in her blue eyes went straight to his gut. Damn, she was pretty, especially when riled.

“Maggie.” He smiled through his teeth.

“Oh hell.” She groaned.

“I’m hanging with Shane.” He nodded back to the bar. “He sent me down here to get you. Said he wants to talk to you.” A good enough excuse to pry her away without stirring too much trouble. Mac might be in the mood for a fight, but he didn’t relish his uncle riding his ass for screwing with paying customers.

Wilson frowned at him, showing no recognition. “Hey, asshole. I’m busy with the lady. Why don’t you go shoot up some more steroids while me and my friend handle this?”

Mac wanted to be a better man and not react to the insult, but the Marine within, even two years retired, refused to back away from a fight. Especially since numnuts didn’t know better than to insult Mac.

“Hell.” Brent sighed. “Hey, Mac. Maggie, it was nice talking to you. I’ll catch you later.” He turned and walked away.

Which left Wilson sneering. “He might be scared of you, but I’m not.”

“Clearly.” Mac glanced at Maggie. “You okay? I mean, I wouldn’t want to come between you and your newest conquest.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to smack himself. For some reason, around this particular woman, he couldn’t hold his tongue. The charm he’d been famous for, that had gotten him laid like nobody’s business, vanished when in her presence.

“You’re as big a jerk as he is.” Maggie thumbed her displeasure at Wilson.

“Excuse me?” Wilson turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you didn’t just call me a jerk—”

Mac didn’t think. The minute the bastard put his hand on Maggie, Mac reacted. He took hold of the offending hand on Maggie’s shoulder and put Wilson into a wristlock in seconds, forcing the man to his knees.

While Wilson howled in pain and the crowd standing around them suddenly drew back, Mac wondered how far to punish him.

“Jameson, it’s okay.” Maggie put a hand on his arm. As usual, the contact seared him. “He wasn’t bothering me. Well, he was, but it’s fine now. I’m sure Wilson just wants to put tonight behind him.”