by R. C. Martin
“Oh. Um, well…church, when I’m not mad at God, then homework, mostly.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Then he asks, “Why are you mad at God?”
I inhale deeply, looking out the window as I exhale slowly, my head suddenly buzzing with thoughts of Sheamus. “It’s a long story.”
When silence settles upon us once again, it takes me a second to realize that I’m on the verge of killing our conversation. Before the moment is gone, I inquire, “What about you? What’s a guy like you usually do on Sundays?”
“Family dinner.”
I knit my eyebrows in confusion and wonder aloud, “Dinner? Aren’t we…” As my sentence trails off into nothing, my eyes grow wide in panic as I twist to look at him. “Like now?”
He laughs, shaking his head as he says, “No, babe, not now. Family dinner is more like a late lunch.”
“Oh, okay.” Puffing out a sigh of relief, I lean back in my seat and ask, “Do you have a big family?”
“My actual family? Nah. It’s just Pete and my parents. But family dinner isn’t like that. It’s with the Generation Ink crew. We meet up at Harvey’s place and Grace cooks. We’ve been doing it forever. Grace gets pretty pissy when people skip out, so we try not to. It’s cool, though. I don’t think any of us would have it any other way.”
I think back to last Wednesday, when Brooke and I were at the shop, remembering Harvey. There’s something about imagining muscle man hosting a family gathering every week that is so incredibly cool.
“That’s really awesome, actually.”
“Yeah. They’re good people.” Changing the subject, he asks, “How was your head this morning?”
I can’t help but smile as I announce, “Fine, thanks to you, I’m sure. I did what you said, and I barely had a headache when I woke up.”
“That a girl,” he says with a grin as he comes to a stop.
It isn’t until he turns off the Bronco that I realize we’ve arrived at our destination. Looking out the windshield, I see that we’re parked right in front of JoJo’s pizza, a restaurant in the heart of Old Town Fort Collins.
“You like pizza, right? Because if you don’t, you’re shit out of luck, Mack, and we’ll have to end this right now. I don’t do alien life forms.”
I giggle as I assure him, “I’m human. I promise.”
“Thank fuck. I’d hate to have to stop kissing you.” With a wink, he opens the driver’s side door before hopping out. My heart in my throat, I sit frozen as I watch him round the front of his vehicle. He pauses for a second, looking in at me before he makes his way to my side of the car. As he opens my door, he asks, “Trying to make a gentleman out of me or what?”
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—I mean, that’s not what I meant.” I murmur, snapping out of my giddy stupor and scrambling out of the seat.
“Babe,” he chuckles. He stops me, sliding an arm around the side of my waist, and I look up at him, wondering if I’ll ever be able to be in his presence without embarrassing myself in some way. I then wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He only shakes his head before leaning down to give me a quick kiss as he slams my door shut. When he pulls away, he takes my hand and then proceeds to lead me inside and out of the cold.
Yeah, I think to myself as we come to a stop in front of the hostess stand. I’d hate for him to have to stop kissing me, too.
The Sunday night crowd is light, and we’re seated right away. Coder doesn’t even open the menu. I start to open mine, pausing when he asks if I wouldn’t mind him ordering for the both of us. I don’t, so I set my menu aside, too. Before either of us can say another word, a cute, little, pixie cut blonde comes up to our table, smiling wildly.
“Hey, Coder. What’s up?” She looks my way, popping her hip out as she grabs it with her hand, and Coder doesn’t even get a chance to respond before she asks, “Who’s this?”
My eyes dart between the two of them, suddenly feeling self-conscious. They’re awfully familiar with each other, and I can’t tell if I should read into it or not. She’s very pretty, and she looks to be closer to Coder’s age. I could see why he’d be interested in her. And, of course, you’d have to be blind not to be totally taken by Coder. All of that combined with the way she’s assessing me right now, and I can’t help but to feel very stupid.
I knew he was bad news—the gorgeous guy in motorcycle boots that girls chase after—I knew, and yet, here I am.
“Hey,” Coder grunts, earning my attention. He furrows his brow just slightly and then shakes his head, as if he can read my mind. My cheeks grow warm as I interpret his subtle message loud and clear.
Crap. I force a smile, willing myself to calm down. What’s happening between us might be too good to be true, but I need to get it together—relax and trust the guy who just picked me up to take me out for pizza.
“Mack, this is Violet. Violet, Mack.”
“Kenzie,” I correct, the smile tugging at my lips now genuine.
He smirks at me as he mutters, “Yeah. That’s what I said.”
“So, wait—it’s Mackenzie?” asks Violet.
My heart grows light when I look at Coder and find him grinning, laughter shining in his eyes. When I look back at Violet, I notice her looking between the two of us the way I was just looking between the two of them. For some reason, that puts me at ease, and I chuckle as I tell her, “It’s just Kenzie.”
“Got it. Well—Kenzie—can I get you a drink?”
She doesn’t bother writing down my order of lemonade, or Coder’s order of beer. Then, before she can turn away from us, Coder tells her what kind of pizza we’ll be having, too. I’m surprised when he asks for a Hawaiian pizza with double the toppings and extra pineapple. I never would have guessed he was a fruity kind of guy.
“Extra pineapple?” I ask as Violet heads for the kitchen.
“Hell, yeah. It comes with spicy pizza sauce, too—Mack, your mind is about to be blown.”
With a grin, I tell him, “Looking forward to it.”
“So, you were doing homework when I picked you up. What’s your major?”
My smile falls and I tug my eyebrows together as I look down into my lap, already wishing that we could talk about something else. It’s a simple question—one that has an easy answer—it’s just that I’m feeling less and less confident in said answer with every passing day.
“I’m pre-med,” I say softly, my voice lacking any and all conviction.
“Wait, did you just say pre-med?” he asks, leaning toward me. I look up, my eyes meeting his as I offer him a nod. “Shit. You must be really smart then.”
I shrug in reply, looking away from him.
He stretches his arm across the table, tapping his fingers decisively in front of me as he demands, “Don’t do that, Mack—I mean it.”
I bring my gaze back over to align with his and ask, “Do what?”
“Pretend like you’re not smart.”
“It’s…it’s not that.” He quirks a dubious eyebrow at me, and I blow out a sigh before I admit, “Okay. You’re right. I’m smart. I mean, I’m not a genius. I still have to study, but I can count the number of B’s I’ve gotten on my report card with one hand.”
“Since you started at CSU?”
“My whole life.”
The corner of his mouth lifts instantly, and I bite the inside of my cheek to fight my own smile as he mutters, “Shit.”
“It doesn’t matter, though,” I say, waving my hands as if waving away his sexy, encouraging smile and all the things that it makes me feel when aimed at me. “I’m not smart enough. The kind of doctor I want to be—I don’t even know if that exists. I don’t even know if I still want to be a doctor at all. Just—yeah. I don’t know. I just—let’s talk about you. What did you study?”
He leans back in his chair, sliding his arm with him across the table. He taps his fingers again before he says, “Nothing. I didn’t go to college. High school was t
orture. I wasn’t about to sit through four more years.”
I stare at him for a moment, waiting for it to hit—the disappointment.
I come from a family of educated people. My mom might not be a doctor, but she went to college. My brother-in-law, my sisters-in-law, they all went to college. The guys I’ve dated before, they had aspirations of going to college. In short, I never really thought I’d be interested in someone the world would deem uneducated, potentially unmotivated, or suffering from a lack of direction.
But as I look at him, as I gaze into his eyes, I don’t feel disappointed. I don’t even feel surprised. It’s all over his face. I can see that he did what was best for him. He doesn’t care what I think. He doesn’t care what anybody thinks. He’s confident in who he is and the choices that have brought him here. That, while certainly different than what I’m used to, is really hot.
“So, have you always wanted to be a tattoo artist?”
“No, actually. For a while, I guess I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I’m good with cars, so I worked as a mechanic for a little while. It didn’t take long for me to come to the conclusion that it was more of a hobby than an ideal career. It was Pete who turned me on to the idea of working at the shop. He’d been there for a while, business was good, and I was hanging around enough that I started picking up a few things.
“When I began my apprenticeship, I was going to be a piercer. Then—I don’t know…” He looks down at the table, a small smile playing at his lips as he continues. “I picked up a pencil one day. Started doodling. Harvey got a peek at my shit and convinced me that it wasn’t shit. I mean, I’ve got my strengths and weaknesses. Trevor’s the best we’ve got, but I earn my keep.”
“You love it, don’t you?”
He keeps his chin down but brings his eyes up as he tells me, “Every fuckin’ day.”
His words are filled with so much assurance and passion; it makes me jealous.
“I wish I felt that way,” I whisper, my confession falling from my lips without a second thought. I seal my eyes closed tight, shaking my head at myself. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m not after his sympathy, and I don’t want him to think I’m begging for it.
Before I can speak a word to cover up my statement, he says, “You don’t have to have all the answers now, Mack. Shit—if I had to have all the answers at nineteen fucking years old, I’d be dead.”
I open my eyes and find his trained on me; only, instead of feeling embarrassed, I feel heard, which fills me with relief. Nevertheless, wishing to keep the conversation off of me, I fold my forearms in front of me on the table, leaning forward as I ask, “Do you have pictures of some of your stuff?”
“Of course.”
“Can I see?”
“Now?”
I nod, offering him a bright smile. He smiles back before reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ve got more at the shop,” he informs me, showing me the first image. It’s good, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out my finger and swiping it across the screen to see the next one. “You’ll have to come by to look at my portfolio.”
“I’d like that,” I tell him, looking away from the screen so I can see his face.
He winks at me, my heart rate picking up speed as he says, “Good.”
Coder was right about the pizza. It’s awesome. I eat until I’m stuffed, and then we sit and talk until my food has settled. Our conversation jumps from one topic to the next, and as time slips away from us, so do my nerves. It’s not long before the only person in the room is him, and the only words I hear are his, and he tells me stories and makes me laugh, feeding the more that I crave.
I learn that his dad is the one who taught him everything he knows about cars. The Bronco he drives was a project they worked on together his freshman and sophomore year of high school; they finished it just in time for him to get his license. I’m also told that Pete doesn’t know half as much about cars. I can see the pride in Coder’s eyes when he tells me Pete’s always calling him first when he or Willow are having car trouble.
I learn that Willow works at the shop, too, and that’s how she and Pete met. Apparently, their wedding is in May, and everyone is really excited about it. I like watching him as he chats with me about his work family, which—I’m getting the impression—is actually so much more than that. They’re close, all of them, and I find myself hoping that I get to meet the ones I haven’t had the chance to meet yet.
At one point during our meal, a song by Mountains & Men comes on the radio, and Violet—who was in the middle of refilling my lemonade—squeals with excitement before running to the sound system to turn it up. That’s when I learn that not only is she dating the keyboard player from one of the hottest new bands around, but Coder knows Sage McCoy. If he wasn’t cool before that moment—and he was, he so totally was—then the star status of his known acquaintances definitely catapults him into the slot of the coolest person I know.
It’s just after nine when we’re kicked out of the pizza spot, and Coder takes my hand as he walks me to the Bronco. We ride in a comfortable sort of satisfied silence back to my apartment. The whole time, all I can think about is how perfect tonight was. For the second night in a row, the unexpected has resulted in the amazing. Before we even get out of the car, I’m already feeling anxious about when I’ll get to see him again.
I don’t wait for him to open my door, instead hopping out into the bitter chill, meeting him halfway. Without a word, he takes my hand and then starts leading me toward the stairs that will take us to my front door.
“Thank you for the pizza. This was really fun,” I tell him, wishing to be honest.
“Yeah. You’re kind of all right, Mack.”
I bump my shoulder against his arm, smiling as I murmur, “You, too.”
He lets go of my hand when I start digging for my keys, and my stomach fills with nervous butterflies when I find them. I clutch them in my hand and turn to face Coder, not entirely sure what happens next. It’s not until he starts to lean in for a kiss that I remember that Brooke must be inside. Suddenly afraid that she might somehow hear us and come out and find us, I press my hands against Coder’s chest, and reluctantly shake my head at him.
With a frown, he asks, “Care to explain?”
I open my mouth to speak and then close it as I look beside me at the door. I don’t know what to tell him. I want him to kiss me, I do—so badly—but I’m not ready to tell Brooke about us. Right now, whatever we are, it feels like ours, and I want to keep it that way.
“Hey. Eyes up, Mack,” he insists, sliding his arms around my waist.
I do as he says, my gaze locking with his. Then the words just start tumbling out of my mouth.
“It’s Brooke. She’s inside. And she doesn’t know that—well, I didn’t really tell her about last night, so this—right here—it would come as a shock, and I don’t know if it would be a good shock, and—”
“Babe,” he interrupts, pulling me against him tighter.
He doesn’t say anything more; he just looks at me, as if willing me to make more sense.
“She wants you,” I blurt out. “She wants you, too, and I just—I know her. I know how competitive she can be and—”
“Babe…”
He speaks not another word before his lips are pressed against mine, one of his hands reaching up to hold the back of my neck and keep me close. The pressure of his fingers feels insistent, but it isn’t necessary. The instant his tongue makes contact with mine, I’m done for. I lose myself in his kiss, pushing myself up on my tiptoes as I circle my arms around his neck. This time, I moan, in love with the way the heat of his mouth seems to set my whole body on fire. I don’t think about Brooke, or homework, or the cold that surrounds us—I can’t. Right now, there’s only room in my brain for him.
When he finally pulls away, I’m dizzy and breathless.
The smile he bestows upon me doesn’t help a single bit.
“I’ll s
ee you soon,” he mutters before pressing a quick kiss to my lips.
“You will?” I squeak out, feeling hopelessly hopeful.
He shakes his head at me, as if I’m being ridiculous, and then kisses me one last time prior to letting me go. I watch as he makes his way back toward the stairs, a blush creeping into my cheeks when he looks at me once more.
“Night, Mack,” he says softly, descending out of sight.
I still feel the pressure of his lips against mine as I unlock the door and let myself in. I’m surprised when I find the place shrouded in darkness, the only bit of light shining dimly from the kitchen above the stove—proof that Brooke is home. It’s still early, but as I gather up my discarded homework from earlier, I remember that she had a really late night of work followed by another shift today. She must have been exhausted.
Hugging my books to my chest, I quietly make my way to my room, grateful that I don’t have to explain my whereabouts. At least not tonight. Instead, I replay the evening over and over as I ready myself for bed. By the time I tuck myself between my sheets, I’m fairly certain that the smile on my face won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.
I’m zipping my coat up when I feel my phone start ringing from inside of my pocket. Following the crowd of students exiting the classroom, I anxiously dig it out, hoping that it’s Coder. I haven’t heard from him since Sunday, and I don’t know what that means. Sure, it’s only been a day, but he hasn’t even sent so much as a text. And, yes, I’ve got opposable thumbs and could just as easily send him a message, but he said he’d see me soon. I don’t want to push him. Whatever we’re doing, it’s new, and new means fragile, and I don’t want to break it by being annoying. So, I’ve been waiting.
When I see that it’s my brother calling, I can’t deny that I’m a little disappointed. But only a little. I haven’t talked to him since we’ve both been back in school, and it’s a pleasant surprise to be hearing from him now.
“Hey, Beck,” I answer, slowing my pace down the hallway.
