Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(81)

Impatiently, she demanded, “He asked you what, Jack?”


Jack locked his gaze to hers. “He asked me to be the third player in a threesome with you and him.”


All the blood drained from Macie’s face. “Omigod. Why would he do that?”


“He said you have some fantasy about being with two guys at one time, or two cowboys or some ménage thing. Anyway, he wanted to give you that fantasy, and he asked me here because, well, to be blunt again, he and I have done this type of thing before—granted, it was a couple of years ago. But the bottom line is he asked me because he trusts me. And he trusts me with you. Which says a whole helluva lot to me, about how he feels about you.”


Macie stared at Jack, absolutely dumbfounded.


When she made no effort to speak, Jack said, “So was McKay on crack, or what?


Did you, or did you not, tell him you had a fantasy like that?”


“I joked about it. After he and I met I had this bizarre dream that Freud would’ve had a field day with, and Carter was in it. I didn’t give him particulars, because it would’ve weirded him out. And I was glad I’d spared him the details after I found out about his slight homophobia.”


Jack lifted an eyebrow.


“If I didn’t tell him the gory details, I won’t tell you. So it was probably stupid and childish, but I kept it going like a running gag. I never believed he’d take me serious!”


She gazed into the fire, feeling like an absolute idiot. “After all we’ve done, doesn’t he know I don’t need anyone else, I don’t want anyone else, and I can’t imagine being in bed with someone else when I’m equally crazy about him?”


“No, it appears he doesn’t know.”


Macie looked up and blushed. Crap. She’d forgotten about Jack.


“So why don’t you tell him?”


“Oh I will, just as soon as I kick his sorry butt.”


“That, I’d like to see.”


“I should teach him a lesson. Thank him in the morning for the most spectacular sex of my life, and the awesome threesome we had with you.” She toed a beer can toward the fire. “But I couldn’t do that.”


“Might be good for him.”


“I couldn’t hurt him. Not on purpose.” She sensed Jack’s hesitation and her gaze zoomed to him. “What?”


“Can I give you some advice, Macie?”


“Sure.”


“Carter is a great guy. But his artistic nature sometimes causes him to do stupid things that make sense to him at the time.”


Macie thought of Carter’s over-the-top reaction to her sitting on the back of a mechanical bull. Yeah. That made sense.


“He eventually sees the error of his skewed thinking, but not right away. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you on purpose either…but accidentally?” Jack shook his head. “It’ll happen. More likely than not.”


Even if she didn’t understand what Jack meant, his words were a little disturbing.


She stood. “I should go. Thanks for not hitting on me for real and for being a good friend to Carter.”


“McKay is a lucky man. Make sure you send me an invitation to the wedding.”


“Or an announcement for his funeral.”


Chapter Thirty-three


Carter woke at two in the afternoon with a hellacious hangover.


Shit. What’d happened last night?


He remembered Jack showing up. And drinking. Talking about seeing if Jack was up for a rodeo with Macie. More drinking.


Macie. She’d been here.


What had gone down after that?


Carter lurched up on the couch. Goddamn, that hurt his head. He looked down. At least he was wearing his boxers.


“Jack?”


No answer.


He stood. Ooh. That was worse than laying down. He stumbled past the guest bedroom and froze. The bed hadn’t been slept in.


So where had Jack slept?


With Macie.


Not possible. Jack wouldn’t…


Unless Carter gave him the okay. And he’d bypassed “okay” and gone straight to


“what are you waiting for?” when he asked—no— demanded that Jack f*ck Macie.


Damn.


Carter shuffled to his bedroom. The sheets and the mattress pad were stripped and rolled in a ball. What the hell? Why?


Because they are damp and stained from being well used last night.


His gaze swept the room, searching for condom wrappers, used Kleenex, a bottle of lube.


Nothing. Except Macie’s sweater hung off the dresser and the scent of her skin hung in the air.


He sat on the bed. Hard.


Images flashed in his mind like a movie on fast forward. Jack and Macie kissing.


Deeply. Hungrily. Jack unbuttoning Macie’s shirt, feasting on her dark nipples. Macie arching her neck, moaning, demanding more. Macie shoving Jack’s hand down her pants.


Jack tearing off her shorts, leaving her naked.