Page 60 of Hero Hair
“I don’t say things without knowing for certain I meant them. Especially ones as significant as those. Let’s not label our feelings, though. Don’t call it something. Then it won’t be the same.”
Love. He won’t say it. And I’m so in shock right now, there’s no way I want to hear it anyways. This is what he’s saying without using the word. Isn’t that exactly what Carina told me? This indescribable feeling that’s different for everyone?
“I feel the same way,” I admit.
I’ve regained my composure enough to scoot toward him for a small kiss. Macs crushes me to his chest and kisses every place on my face he can fit his lips.
“You just became everything.”
“I can’tbecomesomething, Macs,” I say into the crook of his neck. “Especiallyeverything.”
He sighs. “Tell that to my heart.”
My own heart leaps out of my chest. There’s no harried panic in his admission, just truth and it puts me at ease and I think this is the happiest I’ve ever felt. I relax against a man, in his bed, for the first time in my life. He falls asleep before I do, and he does call it something, because Macs sleep talks. He tells me he loves me four times before I fall asleep, wondering how many more times he can take my breath away with three simple words.
****
“I do a lot of things well, but cooking isn’t one of them,” Macs exclaims, standing in front of his new range with his hands on his hips.
It’s early. So early the sun hasn’t risen and the coolness of night still warps the air. I’m wearing one of his T-shirts that hits mid-thigh and no panties. We made love this morning. And I finally realized there was definitely a distinction between the two. Fucking is hard and selfish. It’s about orgasms and carnal desires—about slick openings and hard, throbbing cocks that taste like salted caramel. Making love is a completely different animal. It’s slow and thoughtful. Perhaps it’s best described as giving what you think you don’t own, and taking what you don’t think you deserve.
I ask him if he has plain oatmeal, and he looks pleased he does and sets off on his task to not fuck up oats for our breakfast. He tells me, sort of surprised, that oatmeal is his breakfast of choice too.
“I’m going to look around,” I tell his wide, muscular back.
He grunts his approval, and I take my mug of steaming coffee and wander down the hallway on the opposite side of the house. The guest bedrooms are over this way.
“Careful in the back room. I’m building a bookshelf and there’s some equipment in there,” he calls out.
It truly is a marvel what this space looks like now compared to what it did when I first came over. He turned it into a home. I can imagine myself spending time here. My stomach starts spinning, but I don’t let it control me. I open a door and see a large, disassembled bookcase. Books are neatly stacked in piles, lining the bare walls. Some titles I recognize as the classics. The thick tomes that you have to be in just the right mood to tackle, he also has an equal number of non-fiction works. The types of books you read when you want to read, but you also want to learn. I’ve never really understood that practice, but I can appreciate it.
I walk in and head for the back window. It’s long and rectangular. The view is just as stunning as my view at home, yet completely different. The sun is rising and the colors are magnificent. Buildings block my view of sunrise. The pinks create a halo around the burnt oranges and reds. It’s silent still. The time of morning I usually spend by myself, flipping through social media on my phone, huddled over oatmeal before I head in to teach the early class. I swallow at the reminder of change. Not all change is bad, or even that life-altering, I remind myself. Some change happens without disturbing anything else. It’s possible. It has to be.
“Your gourmet oatmeal is ready. I sweetened it with honey and raisins. Figured it was a morning to celebrate,” Macs says, his voice commanding the small room. His bare feet make a firm noise as he approaches from behind. “Some view, huh?”
“I was just making a pros and cons list. This might top my view and I never thought it possible.” Because I never considered any other options. The dark of night is giving way to the dark royal blues of morning, the sky lighting the surrounding area.
Macs pulls me against him, my back against his chest. My head tilts back automatically. “What time do you have to go into work?” he asks, his lips already skirting the edge of my neck. It’s a whisper of a kiss.
Tilting my head to the left so he can continue his assault, I close my eyes and grin. “My thighs are still sticky from sex less than an hour ago, Macs,” I breathe.
There’s no conviction in my statement. He knows it. My appetite for him is probably even larger than his for me. My core clenches a few times at the thought of having him inside me again.
“Let’s go eat and then we can take another shower,” he rasps into my ear.
I make a joke about the zoo, and he holds my hand all the way to the high bar in his kitchen. He goes to switch on the news, but then turns the television off again. He’s not used to having company in the morning. Old habits die hard. I understand completely.
“Should we talk about last night?” I ask, in between bites.
The oatmeal is a little firm. I make a face when I crunch on a bite. He apologizes with a cute grimace.
Macs has a way of masking any emotions he may not want to show. The thing is I now know when he’s doing it, so I’m able to see when he’s trying to hide something. It’s just as telling. He does it now. I clear my throat.
“I’m not sure what to say. Can we let last night speak for itself?” he asks, taking a bite.
I take a sip of coffee. “The thing is I’m going to have to answer to people and I’m not sure what to say and it seems crazy I even have to ask. But assuming makes an ass out of you and me.” Humor. Again.
He shrugs. “Call it what you want.”
