He suddenly bent his head back in laughter. “You don’t do humans? Are you a simian or something?” He looked me up and down, and it gave me the chills. “I don’t notice any fur on you.”
“I don’t do well with new people and new situations,” I clarified. “Moving in here was hard enough and then to get off on the wrong foot…”
“So you did get off on it last night?”
“I didn’t mean get off that way.” Looking up at the light fixture, I whispered to myself, “Kill me now.”
“Again…I’m just joking! Jesus Christ, you’re breaking out in these weird blotches on your neck and chest.”
Why was he looking at my chest?
“They’re hives. I get them when I’m nervous.”
“You might want to consider calming the fuck down. Stress isn’t good for your health.”
Neither are smoking hot, shirtless men whose boxers play hide and seek from the top of their pants.
Mack crouched down and began to silently pick up the shattered pieces of glass from the broken carafe. I watched his ab muscles flex as he moved. He then grabbed a dustpan and brush from under the sink. I just stood there observing all of this like an idiot.
“Thank you for doing that. You didn’t have to.”
“Well, I did if I didn’t want to get shards of glass stuck in my foot later.”
“I know. But I could’ve done it.”
He ignored me and just kept cleaning it all up. He didn’t stop until each and every shard was gone.
After he put everything away, he stood up and said, “Let’s have a do-over, one that doesn’t involve you grabbing my cock or suffering a nervous breakdown.” He stuck out his hand. “Mackenzie Morrison. But call me Mack.”
I accepted his handshake. Another chill shot down my back at the contact. My mind may have been terrified of interacting with him, but my body was experiencing an unwelcome arousal from the mere touch of his firm hand, which unfortunately reminded me of something else that was firm and warm. I cringed at the thought of last night.
“Francesca O’Hara.”
“Why don’t you do humans well, Francesca?”
“I’ve always suffered from a little social anxiety.”
His brow lifted as if to challenge me. “A little?”
“A lot. It’s just something that’s in my nature.”
“We’re not born scared. Something must have made you this way.”
“Nothing that I can pinpoint.”
“Are you an only child?”
“Yes.”
“That couldn’t have helped. Siblings would’ve knocked you into shape, wouldn’t have let you get away with that shit. Checks and balances.”
“Do you have one…a sibling?”
“One sister…Michaela.”
“Michaela and Mackenzie? That has a nice ring to it.”
“Or it’s annoying, depending on how you look at it. I tend to side with the latter. My parents are pretty vain people. My father is Michael—thus Michaela—and my mother’s maiden name is Mackenzie.”
“I see. What does Mackenzie mean?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Like what’s the significance behind the name?”
“I told you. It was my mother’s last name.”
“No. Every name has a meaning. You can look it up. What you find is scarily accurate sometimes.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit.” He took out his phone. “But let’s look up yours.”
“Mystical is one,” I said. “For Francesca.”
He nodded. “Yup. It says mystical here. But it also says—get this—eccentric and solitary.” He laughed. “ Holy crap. That’s pretty funny. I barely know you, but that does seem to fit you.” Looking back at the screen he added, “It also says imaginative and philosophical.”
“Yes. I think that’s right. Look up yours.”
After he typed in his name, he squinted in confusion. “Mackenzie means comely. What the fuck does that mean?”
I could feel my face heat up. “Comely means…”
“What?”
“Pleasant to look at. But it’s typically associated with a woman.”
Grinning, he asked, “Am I comely?” He must have noticed my face growing redder and redder. “Jesus. You don’t have to answer that.”
I wiped the sweat off my forehead. “What else does it say?”
“It says, another meaning is ‘son of a fair man.’ I’ve been called a son of a something before, but never that.” He put his phone down. “So, Miss Solitary, have you ever lived with roommates before?”
“No. This is my first time. I was living alone in a studio apartment off of Beacon Street in Brookline, near Coolidge Corner. It was in the basement of some guy’s house.”
He grimaced. “Sounds creepy.”
“It was a little bit creepy, but no one ever bothered me.”
“What happened? How did you end up here?”
“The place was foreclosed, and they had to kick me out. Moses happened to mention that you guys lost a roommate. So, that’s how this came about. It’s not really my first choice to have roommates. I prefer to live alone.”
“You don’t say,” he said sarcastically. “You feel like you’re allergic to other people or something?”
“I guess.”
He sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and kicked his feet up on another. “Well, I’m allergic to bullshit. There’s no such thing as this allergy you think you have. You’re just shy, maybe a little insecure. It’s as simple as that. There’s only one cure for that shit and that’s to say ‘fuck it all’ and stop caring about what other people think. Give zero fucks. Have no fucks left to give. Fuck it all until there’s nothing left to fuck.” He stopped himself, lifting his index finger and chuckled. “That last part didn’t sound right.”
“I understand what you meant. It’s just easier said than done.”
“Well, you know we can’t live together if you get hives every time I’m around.”
“I’ll get used to you. I know you think I’m a weirdo.”
“Who said that?”
“It’s obvious what you’re thinking.”
“I would be willing to bet you have no clue what I’m actually thinking right now. Want to know the truth?”
“What?”
“It’s refreshing to meet someone not so full of themself. I’m surrounded by people all day long who couldn’t care less what other people think of them. I’m one of those people as well. So, the other extreme…we’re not any better. But your scenario is a fuck of a lot more stressful on a daily basis.”
“You got that right. I’d give anything to not care what people think.”
He squinted his eyes and seemed to be examining my face. “I’ll make a deal with you, Frankie.”
What did he just call me?
“Frankie?”
“Yes. You look nothing like a Francesca. You look like a Frankie to me.”
“What were you going to say?”
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’m an asshole, right?”
“Okay…”
“You’re a scaredy cat—a pussy.”
“I’m a pussy…”
“I’ll rub some of my asshole off on you if you rub some of your pussy off on me.”
My eyes widened. “You’ll rub your asshole on me?”
“Not literally. You’ve had enough of my actual private parts to last a year.”
I smiled, stifling a laugh.
“Oh, shit. Is that a smile?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Okay. Let me clarify. What I mean is...if I catch you acting like a nervous spaz, I’ll call you out on it, remind you that it’s not necessary. If you catch me acting like a dick—kind of like when I yelled at you last night after you accidentally tried to use my penis as a nightstick—you call me out on it. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“Alright. And in the meantime, we jus
t try to co-exist without accidentally touching each other’s genitals, damaging household items, or breaking out into hives.”
“I can’t help the hives. They’re a natural reaction to nerves.”
“But you can help the nerves by learning to not give a shit.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
He chuckled. “I don’t believe you.”
“You can’t just undo years of being a certain way overnight.”
“That’s true, I guess.” He looked into my eyes, and I suddenly became uncomfortable again. “Why the glasses?”
“Because I told you, I’m nearly blind.”
“Yeah, but why don’t you get Lasik surgery?”
“I thought about that, but I’m scared they’ll screw up, and I’ll go blind.”
“Aren’t you already practically blind? I’d say it’s worth the risk. Not that there’s anything wrong with your glasses, but I get the impression you like to hide behind them. Am I right?”
Even though I’d never really thought of that before, there was something to it. I did always feel a sense of comfort with my glasses on. If the eyes were a window into someone’s soul, then glasses were like a mini-shield.
I looked at the clock. “Shit!”
“What?”
“I missed my ten-thirty class. By the time I get there now, it’ll be half over.”
“So, skip class. I do it all the time.”
“I have no choice now.” I sighed. A moment of silence ensued until I attempted to find out more about him. “Moses said you’re a poli-sci major?”
“Yeah. Grad school. It’s the only thing my father would fund.”
“Why?”
“My dad is Michael Morrison, the senator from Virginia. He’s been grooming me for years to follow in his footsteps.”
“Do you plan to?”
“Between you and me? He thinks I am, but the truth is that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I felt like I needed to get away from home for a while, so I took the opportunity he gave me once I got into the Boston College program.” He pulled out a seat and nudged his head for me to sit in it. “What’s your major?”
“Elementary education.”
He raised his brow. “Education?”
“Yes. Why do you say it like that?”
“You’re allergic to people, and you’re studying to go into a field where you’ll be in front of a bunch of snotty-nosed kids all day?”
“Actually, kids don’t scare me.”
“Really? They even scare the fuck out of me.”
“Yeah. I don’t really know why they don’t bother me. I suppose it’s because I perceive them as non-judgmental. They haven’t been tainted by false ideals and expectations yet.”
“That’s a valid point, I guess.”
I looked at the clock again then back at him. “Don’t you have to be somewhere?”
“You trying to get rid of me, so you can go back to being a hermit?” He winked, and I swear, I felt it right between my legs.
“I’m just asking.”
“I do have to head to class in a little while, so I’ll be out of your monkey hair. Any other questions you want to ask me?”
“Why were you walking around naked in the middle of the night anyway? What happened could’ve been avoided if you’d just had some clothes on.”
“I’m allergic to clothes like you’re allergic to people.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Actually, I just sleep better in the buff. You should try it sometime. Just put something on before you get up, because your blind ass could end up roaming the streets buck naked.” He looked down at my chest. “You have a mysterious white substance that looks suspiciously like cum on your shirt, by the way.”
Great.
I looked down. Apparently, I’d eaten the yogurt so fast earlier that I’d spilled some. “It’s yogurt.”
He laughed. “I know. Just trying to get a rise out of you, since you make it so easy. It’s just…it looks very comely.” He snorted.
We were both laughing now.
As nervous as he was making me, there was a growing part of me that was warming up to this guy. It was an odd contradiction to feel both nervous and comfortable at the same time. I guess the idea of him had been far more intimidating than the actual person.
I got up, opened the refrigerator, and noticed a full carton of eggs. “Whose eggs are these?”
“They belong to Moses. Nothing in there is mine. I never eat here.”
“Why not?”
“For one, I don’t cook.”
“You’re mom always did everything for you?”
“That’s a joke and a half. No. My parents were too busy for family dinners. I don’t think my mother ever cooked one meal. I did have some pretty nice nannies, though.”
“That sucks.”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” he said.
“At least you had both of your parents.”
Mack cocked his head to the side. “You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Someone die?”
I really didn’t want to talk about this.
“No…well…I don’t know. It’s possible. I never knew my father. He abandoned my mother when he found out she was pregnant with me. They were teenagers.”
His expression darkened. “Oh. I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Well, you can’t miss something you’ve never had, right? I don’t know anything else, what it’s like to have a dad.”
“That’s true, I guess.”
Silence filled the air as Mack just continued to look at me. He never broke his stare.
I finally spoke. “Would you eat some eggs if I made some?”
“Hell, yeah. I’m starving.”
“Do you think Moses would mind?”
“Go for it. If he gets mad, I’ll let him touch my abs.”
“So…you know that he’s…”
“Gay. Yeah. Figured that out pretty quickly. It was the way he was watching me take a piss one day. His fucking pupils were dilating, wouldn’t stop staring at my junk.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, my God.”
“I don’t care. He’s good people.”
“He is.” The fact that I was no longer freaking out around Mack wasn’t lost on me. He was actually pretty easy to talk to. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over hard.” He had a smirk on his face when he said it.
“Is there a sexual joke there somewhere?”
“Let me think.” He scratched his chin. “Over hard…kind of like your hand last night.”
“You’re gross.”
“You asked.”
I sighed. “Well, I like mine over easy. I’ll make yours first. Hard eggs for a hard ass.”
“Over easy. I’d call you easy, but I don’t think you are. You’d have to like people to let them near you.” He winked.
When I noticed him scrolling through his phone with a smirk, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking up the meaning of Frankie.”
“What does it say?”
Mack looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh when he said, “She who breaks wind in the night.”
He was totally pulling my chain. He’d heard me pass gas! I wanted to die.
“You heard that?”
“Yes. It’s what woke me up.” He grinned. “It doesn’t matter. We all do it. Maybe not as robustly as you.” He looked down at his phone. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Honest. It says Frankie means honest.”
“What do you make of that?”
“It’s freaky, actually.”
“How so?”
“I think if there was one word I had to pick to describe you based on first impression, it would be that. You’re a little different but you own up to it all. Just like you didn’t even try to pretend that it wasn’t you who cut the cheese. You could’ve pinned it on Moses or denied it. But it’s not in your
nature. What you see is what you get. You’re a lot of things, but ultimately, you’re honest about it all. See…I knew the name Frankie fit you.”
Mack ended up devouring his eggs. That was the first of several morning classes I’d “accidentally” skip in order to have breakfast with him.
And he never referred to me by my real name again.
She was late. Either that, or I was being stood up.
On my second cup of coffee, the caffeine was starting to give me the jitters. I wasn’t nervous so much as energized and determined.
When Frankie finally walked through the door of The Gourmet Bean, my heart started to beat faster as I stood up to greet her.
She unraveled her scarf then settled into the chair across from me. I took a moment to just take her in as I sat back down.
Fuck, she looked beautiful.
Static from the cold outside had caused pieces of her pin-straight, red hair to stick up in the air. Her pudgy little nose was red, too. She was so freaking cute, still Frankie in every way despite everything that had happened. An ache developed in my chest because there was just so much I wanted to say.
“Sorry, I’m late. I got caught up talking to the principal after school.”
“It’s okay. I’ve just been meditating.”
Ruminating. Same thing.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m just going to have coffee. I’ll go up and order.”
I held out my palm. “I insist. Stay here. Take a load off. You’ve had a long day. You still like hazelnut with extra cream?”
“Yes.” Her smile was hesitant. “I’m surprised you remember.”
I remember a lot of things you probably wish I would forget.
“I’ll be right back.”
In line, I would turn around from time to time to sneak peeks at her. Her back was to me, but I could see she was rubbing her palms together nervously. I hated that she was uncomfortable, hated the idea that she might have been dreading this.
When I returned to our table with the coffee, she took it but stayed looking down into the steaming cup. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Look at me, Frankie.”
Her tone was curt. “What do you want to talk about, Mack?”
“I have to explain more about why I’m here…on your turf.”
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