No hooking up.
This is the oath I took in solidarity with my best friend after a particularly heinous breakup left him shattered.
No problem, right?
Because lately, I've begun developing big, messy feelings for our best female friend who we both swore was off-limits since we were sixteen years old.
I shouldn't notice the way her hair turns golden when it catches the light, I shouldn't make it a goal to see her dimples when she laughs, I shouldn't find her knowledge on current affairs so sexy.
I'm pretty sure she's oblivious, which is a good thing, I try to convince myself.
Until one night after too many cocktails when we fall into bed together.
I'm left with an awkward morning-after, and one of the hardest choices I've ever had to make.
Confess how I feel, and potentially lose both of my best friends in the process, or bury my feelings and watch her move on?
How can something so wrong feel so right?
I was that girl.
You know, the highly intoxicated chick celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her two best friends—who are happily married. And the more I drank, the more I wanted to do something reckless to celebrate.
By reckless, I mean the sexy and alluring man dressed in a business suit standing near the bar. You know his type—tall, dark, handsome. I was sure he was out of my league, but I’d had just enough alcohol that things like that no longer seemed to matter. I’m not fat, mind you, but you can tell I like french fries, so there’s that.
He took me home, and I enjoyed the hottest birthday sex of my life. Well, until it came to a screeching and rather unwelcome halt.
There’s nothing quite like being interrupted mid-ride with a little voice asking, “What are you doing to my daddy?”
Just kill me now . . . or so I thought.
Come to find out, the man I rode like a bull at the rodeo is my new landlord.
They called him Mack Daddy. No, seriously, his name was Mack. Short for Mackenzie. Thus, the nickname. Perfect, right?
So was he: perfect. The perfect physical male specimen.
At the private school where I taught, Mack Morrison was the only man around in a sea of women.
Everyone wanted a piece of the hot, single father of the sweet little boy.
I became a woman I didn’t recognize, someone riddled with jealousy, because they didn’t know that—to me—he was much more.
They didn’t know about our past.
He’d chosen my school for his son on purpose, because Mack and I, we had unfinished business.
As my friend, Lorelai, so eloquently put it: “Unfinished business between two people who are clearly attracted to each other is like an eternal case of blue balls.” And I was suffering in pain from my case.
I was still intensely attracted to Mack. I tried to resist him, immersing myself further into a relationship with someone else just to protect my heart.
Not to mention, getting involved with a parent was strictly against school rules. But seeing Mack day in and day out was breaking me down.
And soon I might be breaking all the rules.
Author's note – Told in alternating points of view, Mack Daddy is a full-length standalone novel.
She says she needs some help ... in the bedroom.
Come again? No, really come again.
Sweet, nerdy, lovable Keaton.
She's my best friend and has been for years. Sure she likes numbers and math, and thinks doing other people's taxes is fun. And I like ... none of that stuff. She's obsessed with her cat and reads novels I'll never understand, and yet we just click. There's no one I'd rather share breakfast burritos with or binge watch hours of Netflix. She's my person. And so when she takes off her glasses and asks me to help her improve her skills in the bedroom, I barely have to think about it.
Of course I'll help her. There's no one better for the job.
I've been there for her through everything, why should this be any different?
But what happens when she's ready to take her new-found confidence and move on?