by R. C. Martin
“Hey, how’s it going? Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, I have a few. My next class starts in fifteen minutes. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just haven’t heard from you in a while.” He pauses and then adds, “Talked to mom. She said you were sounding a little down.”
“Oh.” I think back to our conversation on Sunday. She wanted to know how the semester was going so far. I tried my best to sound optimistic, but I guess she heard right through the false positivity.
I told her about Timothy the day after I found out, but I haven’t opened up about Sheamus and my complete and utter frustration about the situation—about everything—and I don’t intend to. The truth is, the doubt I feel seems to be rooted really deep, and it scares me. I don’t want to disappoint my family by changing my mind about what I want to do with my life. They’re all so proud of me—especially dad—and I’m not ready to discuss why I feel the way that I do, or why I’m thinking the things that I’m thinking. I can’t even say for sure that I know how to explain how I feel or what I’m thinking. For now, I plan on keeping my struggles to myself; at least until I can figure out what I want.
“Oh? That’s all I get?” asks Beckham, pulling me from my thoughts. “I think you can do better than that, Kenz. It’s me you’re talking to.”
I sigh, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear as I tell him, “One of my kids died. I’m just…grieving, I guess.”
“I love that about you, you know?”
“Love what?”
“How compassionate you are. How attached you get.”
A small smile graces my lips as I exit the building, heading out into the late morning sun. “Thanks, Beck.”
“I love it, but it also worries me a little. Are you open to a little advice?”
I try not to roll my eyes, knowing his intentions are good, but also knowing that the fact that he’s asking means I probably won’t like what he has to say. “Okay, sure,” I tell him.
“When you’re a doctor, you’re going to lose patients, Kenz. You can’t save them all. Nobody can save them all. If you don’t learn to guard your heart, it’ll hurt like this every time. That’ll kill you, sis.”
Yup. Just like I thought. Not at all what I want to hear right now.
I know his point is valid. My boundaries, when it comes to my emotional connection to the kids, are crap. However, instead of feeling like it’s wrong, or that it’s something I need to work on, I feel like it’s just one more reason why I shouldn’t be a doctor after all.
Before I can think of a response, another call comes through. I pull my phone away from my ear, and my heart leaps when I see that it’s Coder calling. Immediately, I press the device against my ear and say, “Beckham—I have to go.” Remembering what we were talking about, I stop dead in my tracks and grimace before I add, “I’m sorry. I hear you, I do, and I’ll take it into consideration. But there’s this guy, and he’s calling, and I have to go.”
“Wait, what? There’s a guy?”
“I love you! We’ll talk more later.”
“Kenz—”
“I have to go. Bye!” Without bothering to listen for his salutation, I switch the call over, hoping I’m not too late. “Hello?” I answer, almost breathless.
“Hey, Mack.”
The smile that lights up my face is so big I feel like a goofball—but I don’t care.
“Hey.”
“You got class?”
“Uh—yeah,” I mutter, remembering that I was on my way as I continue toward the building that houses my math class.
“You got a lunch break?”
“Yeah,” I reply, still smiling.
“Me too. When are you free?”
“Twelve-thirty. I have a couple free hours after this next class before my last one for the day.”
“I’ve got a twelve o’clock, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour. Come by the shop when you’re done, yeah?”
“Okay,” I agree, my stomach tingling at the thought of getting to see him so soon.
“Good. Bye, babe.”
My insides go squishy as I say goodbye. Then, as I continue to my next class, I wonder how in the world I’ll manage to pay attention for the next hour and a half.
With the assumption that anyone who loves pizza also loves hamburgers, I make a pit-stop on my way to Generation Ink. By the time I pull up to the shop, it’s almost one o’clock. I grab my purse and the brown sack full of food before I hurry inside. The woman at the front desk isn’t Grace. She’s shorter and smaller than me—which I find impressive—and if I had to describe her in one word, it would be delicate—even with her right arm covered in a sleeve of tattoos, and her ears, nose, and lip riddled with piercings. She’s got super long strawberry blonde hair that hangs loose to her waist, and her expertly applied make-up makes her green eyes pop. When she smiles at me in greeting, I can’t help but smile back.
“Hey, welcome to Generation Ink. How can I help you?”
“Actually, I don’t have an appointment. I’m here to see Coder. He told me I could stop by.”
“Ahhhhh,” she hums, her friendly smile turning to a sly one as she gives me a very obvious once over. “You must be who he snuck off to see on Sunday, huh?”
“Oh, um—I didn’t know he snuck off. I’m sorry, I—”
She cuts me off with her sweet sounding laugh as she shakes her head at me, “Don’t apologize. You’re obviously someone special. And you’re cute. I can see why he bailed on us early.”
I blush at her accolades, wondering what makes her think that I’m someone special, all the while allowing my hope to rise as I tuck away her observation.
“God—sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Willow,” she says, extending her arm across the front counter.
“Oh,” I reply, remembering the name and assigning her face to that of the woman who’s engaged to Coder’s brother. I shake her hand as I tell her, “I’m Kenzie.”
“Nice to meet you, Kenzie. Coder’s client just left. You can head on back. He’s the second door on the left.”
I thank her and then offer her a small wave as I start to make my way toward the heart of the shop. My nervous excitement makes me overly warm in my coat, and I take a deep breath before peeking my head inside of his room.
His space is a little smaller than Pete’s, but set up similarly. The cabinets, counter, and sink in one corner of the room makes me think of a doctor’s office—only with a lot more character. The cabinets are painted a charcoal gray, and the walls a dark, navy blue. The other two walls are covered in framed image samples or photos of pieces that he’s done in the past. In the center of the room is his client chair. It’s black and empty, a stool on wheels abandoned just beside it. Then, behind the chair, up against the wall, is his desk. He’s sitting with his back to me now, hunched over something that’s got his attention.
Making my way further into the room, I catch a couple more details. There’s a large, rectangle area rug where he sits, the design so hideous that it fits the decor in a really weird and appropriate way. Just beside his desk, in the corner, he’s got a coat rack from which hangs a worn leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet, the hook sticking through the open visor.
“Do you actually have a motorcycle?” I ask, feeling silly for not coming to that conclusion before.
He spins his desk chair around to face me, his eyes looking me over from top to toe before he jerks his chin my way as he inquires, “What’s in the bag?”
“Um,” I mutter, looking down at the sack before meeting his gaze once more, my head trying to keep up with him. “I went to Lazy Suzie’s. I, um, I didn’t know for sure what you might like. I got a double bacon cheeseburger and a black bean burger. I usually eat the black bean burger, but if you don’t want the cheeseburger, I can—”
“You brought me a bacon cheeseburger?” he asks, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. I just thought, after pizza, I owed you one. If you don’t want it�
�”
“I’m human. I promise,” he interrupts with a grin. “I’m also American, and I have a dick—so, yeah—I want it.”
I laugh, feeling relieved by my choice and tickled by his response.
“Did you get fries?”
“Of course. Three orders, because one is never enough, and I wanted to have my bases covered in case you felt the same.”
“Mack?”
“Yeah?”
“Get your ass over here,” he insists.
I blush when I realize I only made it a few steps into the room, and then I do as he says, closing the distance between us. When I’m at arm’s length, he steals the paper bag from my hand, dropping it on his desk before snaking an arm around my waist. He guides me between his legs and then down onto his thigh so that I’m sitting in his lap.
As his mouth closes around mine, my eyes fall closed, and I wonder if this will ever get old. When he licks my bottom lip before pulling it gently between his teeth, I immediately decide that it won’t. Not ever.
“You brought me lunch,” he says, his voice soft and rumbly, his lips still grazing mine.
“Yeah,” I squeak out, my heart racing as I stare into his warm, brown eyes.
“You’re a little more than just all right, Mack.”
I smile, because I can’t help myself, and he grins—his eyes crinkling in that way that I like, turning my insides to mush.
He kisses me again, pulling his lips away from mine slowly before he murmurs, “Thanks, babe.”
“Do you really own a motorcycle?” I ask for the second time, needing to shift the conversation before I do something terribly embarrassing, like bury my fingers in his hair and kiss him until my lips are numb.
“Yeah, babe. I own a bike. Soon as it stops snowing and it’s not freezing as fuck, I’ll put you on the back.”
My breath catches in my throat as my eyes widen; only, instead of feeling nervous about being on the back of a motorcycle—something I’ve never done—I’m filled with excitement. With Coder, I bet it would be amazing.
Tapping the side of my leg, he says, “Grab the stool, Mack. Let’s eat.”
I stand to my feet, setting my purse down on the far corner of his desk—which is a mess of papers, much like his desk at home—and then I shrug my coat off and hang it up on the rack. While I push over his stool, he shuffles some things around, making room for our food, and then he unpacks the sack and dives in.
I pop a fry into my mouth before I start to unwrap my sandwich. When Coder frees a deep, sexy, indulgent groan, I smile as I look over and watch him chew. Catching my eye, he shakes his head at me. Then, with food still in his mouth, he mumbles, “Fuck. I love Suzie. This hits the spot.”
I giggle as I reply, “She’s the best. If the poor college student thing wasn’t totally legit, I might be in danger of eating there every other day.”
“You got a job?” he asks before shoving three fries into his mouth.
“Yeah. I work at the drug store on Walnut and College.”
“Do you like it?”
“Keeps food in the fridge,” I answer with a shrug.
I take a bite of my burger and then look over at him to find him staring at me blankly. I stare right back, waiting for him to say something. Just when I think I can’t wait a second longer, he furrows his brow and says, “Let me get this straight. Your job is lame. You’re pre-med, even though you don’t know if you want to be a doctor. You’re basically a straight A student, so you do homework, what, all the time? You clearly don’t do the party thing often—go ahead and stop me at any time if I’m getting any of this wrong.” When I don’t speak, a smirk starts to form on his lips. “You go to church when you’re not mad at God—which, judging by that stipulation, makes me assume, right now, you’re going through a rough patch—but otherwise, you really don’t get out much. You don’t drink. I mean, shit, Mack—what do you do for fun?”
“I do plenty of things that are fun,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Name a few.”
“I go shopping with Brooke sometimes. And my friend Owen, he plays soccer, so I’ve been to a few of his games.”
“All right—that’s fun for them,” he starts to say before taking another big bite of his burger. He chews a few times and then he asks, “What do you do for you?”
I open my mouth to supply a quick retort, and then snap it shut—appalled that I don’t have an answer off the top of my head. I suppose I never really thought about it, but he’s right. I’ve somehow become that person who does what everybody else wants to do. When I’m not doing that, I’m so consumed with school and work and the kids—
I gasp, sitting up straighter as I announce, “I read to kids. Every Saturday, I spend all day reading to kids. That’s what I do for me.”
“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. Do you volunteer at a library or something?”
“Oh. No. I, uh, I volunteer at the children’s hospital. In the cancer ward.”
He stops chewing, staring at me as if in awe. “Shit,” he mumbles around his food. He then finishes his bite and swallows before he asks, “Timothy?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my gaze dropping into my lap.
We sit in silence for a moment before he insists, “Eyes up, Mack.” When I obey, he grabs hold of the bottom of my stool, pulling me closer until my knee bumps against his. “I think it’s pretty cool that you do that. I’m sure it sucks like hell to be a kid that’s sick as shit and confined to a hospital. I bet it means a lot to them.”
“I like to think so.”
Another beat of silence passes by, and we just stare at each other, our food temporarily forgotten. Then he smiles and says, “You need to get out more.”
“Yeah,” I say, choking out a humorless laugh. “I’m starting to think you’re right.”
“I can help with that.”
I watch as he reaches for another finger-full of fries, consuming them happily, all the while wondering how I ended up here. Not so much here, as in this room—but here, in this room, making plans with a gorgeous guy I met at a party.
“Why are you so nice to me?”
The words tumble from my mouth on accident, and I blush when he looks at me. I try to think of a way to cover up my stupid question, but then I realize that I actually really want to know. It doesn’t make sense that a guy like him would want to spend time with me, or kiss me all the time, or put me on the back of his bike. We barely know each other, and yet, he seems to think that he likes me—which is exhilarating and wonderful but terrifying at the same time. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m just as afraid as I am hopeful of where this is going. Sure, it’s only been a few days, but I’m really starting to like him. I like being around him—like, a lot.
“Don’t do that,” he mutters.
“Do—do what?” I ask timidly.
“Pretend like you’re not worth getting to know.”
“What? No, it’s not that, it’s just—”
“Every time you open your mouth, I want more,” he interrupts, his gaze locked intently on my lips. “More words. More laughter. More tongue. A lot more tongue. Every time you open your mouth, Mack. You all right with that?”
I roll my lips between my teeth, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine as I nod emphatically, my heart now lodged in my throat.
“Good.”
When we’re finished eating, he cleans up our trash while I get up and look around the room. Even though the pictures that are hung are not of him, I feel like I’m getting to know him just by looking at his work. He shows me his portfolio, and I can actually see his growth as an artist, my eyes finding his strengths. His best commission pieces are intricate tribal designs, but he’s good at a lot of other stuff, too.
It’s a little after two when his next appointment shows up. With my last class of the day not until three-thirty, he insists that I stick around until I have to get back to campus. It doesn’t take much more than a quick kiss to convince me, and I sit at his desk�
��my legs folded under me, my textbook in my lap, and my gaze frequently drawn toward Coder as he works on a leg piece. I don’t get much reading done, but I make the effort until it’s time for me to go.
As I pack up my things and slide on my coat, Coder stops what he’s doing and looks over at me. “Heading out?”
“Yeah. Don’t want to be late.”
He sets his tattoo gun down, holding his gloved hands up like a surgeon, and pushes his stool away from his client, wheeling himself over to me.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says, looking up at me slightly.
I bite my lip, thinking about yesterday and how I didn’t hear from him. The last thing I want is to sound needy, but I’m learning that soon is very vague. So, plucking up the courage, I ask, “What does soon mean?”
With a smirk, he replies, “I’ll let you know.” I purse my lips together, and his smirk turns into a smile as he wheels himself closer, so that his legs are on either side of mine. “What?”
I peek over at his client, the guy on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his gaze turned toward us. I feel my cheeks start to warm as I look back at Coder and whisper, “You don’t seem big on texting.”
His smile slips and he shakes his head once as he tells me, “I have my moments; but no, not a huge fan.”
“That’s sort of…strange,” I reply, still whispering.
“Yeah, well, you never know what the other person is doing when the text comes through. People get distracted—wrong place, wrong time—just not really my thing, okay?”
His answer surprises me and fills my head with questions. It’s obvious there’s a story there, but I know now’s not the time to ask. Instead, I keep my mouth shut, offering him only a nod.
“You gotta go. You’ll be late. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” I say, readjusting the strap of my purse over my shoulder before I start to back away from him.
I don’t get far before his knees clamp around my legs, holding me captive. “Mouth, Mack.”
“What?” I ask, tilting my head to the side as I knit my eyebrows together in question.
