Page 32 of Hold Still

I may have gotten lost in the moment, but I remind myself that no woman can be trusted. Including McKenna. “Thanks,babes.” I emphasize the nickname for my sake. Reaching for her again, I’m sure pounding into her body for a quick release will make all those other crazy feelings disappear. Love, ha.

I can see the excitement drain into something like disappointment at the use of the nickname. She steps back and opens her purse, taking out a car key. “I’d better be going. You have to start preparing for your performance, and I have things to do.”

“Sure.” I clear my throat. “Want to come to the show again tonight?”

She shakes her head. “No, but thanks. I’ve seen everything I need to see.”

Because she’s a woman, I tell myself. She only sees you as a meal ticket. I write the songs, she does the graphics so the Project and her company—more importantly, she—get recognition. Remember this, buddy.

At the front door, I say, “I had a really good time today. The dune buggies were fun.”

“I did, too. Knock ‘em dead out there tonight. And make sure you use a clean towel.” With those parting words, she walks out of my rental.

Oh, I’ll use a clean towel alright. Tonight, I’m throwing my towel at some willing chick and cleansing my system of McKenna for good.

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