Page 15 of The Art of Dying

For the second night in a row, I walked Mack home in silence. Part of me wished she lived a little farther away just so I had more time.

We went through the gate and stopped at her back door. My mind flipped through possible topics, just to be near her a little longer. “I hear you’ve been to the gun range.”

“No secrets in this town,” she said with a grin.

“Wanna go with me? We can grab a bite to eat before at the Dixie Dog, or somewhere else fancy.”

She threw her head back and laughed out loud, holding her stomach. She bent forward, then stood up to face me. “Oh, the Dixie Dog. I don’t know if I have anything nice enough to wear.”

“Last time I was there a girl had on Winnie the Pooh pajama pants. You got anything like that?”

She laughed again. “I’ll look. Maybe I can stop by Wal-Mart on the way home from work.”

“So, it’s a date?”

Her expression changed, and I immediately regretted my choice of words.

“I… uh… let me think about it. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

I nodded once. “Understood. We can go as friends.” I felt a lump growing in my throat as I frantically tried to think of something to say to fix it. “No pressure. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’ve been through a lot, and you just met me. That was really fucking stupid, actually. I didn’t mean adatedate, it’s just a phrase, you know, like… I dunno, it just came out.”

She was just staring at me, and I couldn’t decipher what was going on in that head of hers.

“Mack, I won’t say it ag—”

Her hands touched each side of my face and then her lips were on mine. After the initial shock, I put my hands on her hips and pulled her closer, my stomach knotting when her lips parted to allow my tongue to slip inside. She hummed, so quiet I questioned if I’d heard it. Her delicate fingers slid into the back of my hair, and I pressed my fingers into her side.

In the next moment, she pushed me away.

“Holy fuck,” I said, unable to come up with anything else.

She covered her eyes with her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m… you were struggling, and I just thought… I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said, letting her hand fall. “I’m,” she sighed, “dumb. Good night. Maybe I’ll… maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand and waving once with the other.

The door closed, the lock clicked, and I turned on my heels, wondering what the hell had just happened.

I walked home slowly, hoping at any moment I’d hear her call my name. It wasn’t until I put my hand on the lever of the screen door that I realized my night with her was over. My stomach sank, and that instantly pissed me off. She’d kissed me because I was so fucking awkward, not because she wanted me, and my stupid ass couldn’t stop thinking about her. I’d known her for less than a week.What the hell is wrong with me?I’d been with plenty of beautiful women, sassy as fuck, confident… but there was something about Mack that made me feel like no matter how much time I spent with her, it would never be enough. Now that she’d kissed me like that? That feeling was impossible to ignore.

It took a shower, two long neck bottles, and endless pacing in the parlor for me to finally think past the childish frustration my bruised ego was radiating. Mack had been through a lot, of course she was hesitant. She didn’t know me all that well, and hell, the first impression I made was to put my fist into someone’s face. She’d helped me out with the bikers when they came to my home looking for trouble. She’d just kissed me. She kept coming around.Shehasto care a little. She has to.

I put on my favorite Bruins T-shirt, a hoodie, and jeans, slipped on my Chucks, then stared at my front door. Pushing my luck was risky. But if I didn’t push it a little, Mack might see it as indifference, and that was one risk I couldn’t take. Fuck, just that one kiss, that one tiny taste of her was enough to make me want to see it through.

The wood floor creaked under my shoes when I took a step toward my front door. I paused, trying to talk myself out of what I was about to do. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the undeniable urge to see her, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to find out for myself.

chapter four.

Mack

Letting Mason walk away after nine months was easy. Leaving Kitsch standing in my backyard alone after tasting his lips was one of the hardest things I’d forced myself to do. Difficult, but not impossible. It was necessary. I needed time, I needed space, and I needed to focus on what I genuinely wanted.

Kitsch.

I shook my head to push the thought from my head. The back door clicked as I locked it, and I headed straight for the shower to wash off the last hour of sweat I’d worked up while I experienced one of the best nights of my life. Within half an hour, I was in an oversized t-shirt, standing in my quiet, dark bedroom alone. The shoulders of my shirt were wet from my freshly washed hair, so my pillowcase would get soaked, too, but all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and pout.

I fell onto my back and punched at the pillow behind my head, then sighed. 5:30 a.m. was going to come fast. I waited to fall asleep, trying to study the cracks in the popcorn ceiling, unable to stop thinking about how good it felt being in Kitsch’s arms on the dance floor, how much I laughed, or our kiss. His body was stiff at first, but once the surprise wore off, he melted. The way he held me was hard to explain, both gentle and strong, urgent and patient. The way he kissed me was the same, his lips both warm and soft against mine, his tongue experienced and purposeful, his fingers digging into my skin. The desire was impossible to ignore, and yet somehow I did it.

I was pretty proud of myself. Ignoring my own standards is how I ended up with Mason.

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