by Kyra Fox
It’s frightening how my entire being is responding to him so strongly, not just my body, but my heart and soul as well. After just three weeks, Mac has already taken up residence in every corner of my being, but he still has so many walls around him that I’m scared I’ll never manage to tear any of them down. I’m not sure he could ever give me his everything like I’m giving him.
It saddens me that this wonderful man can’t accept the kind of love he deserves.
I stare at Mac as he smiles to himself while shoveling food into his mouth. As if sensing my gaze, he turns to me, and his smile widens. He reaches out and runs the back of his hand against my cheek with so much intimacy in his touch that it melts all the bad thoughts away.
Smiling back, I start eating, my eyes rolling back in my head from the bursts of flavor in my mouth.
And I tell myself that for now, what he’s giving me is more than enough.
It has to be.
Chapter Twelve
ZOE
“SOS girl talk now!” I text in our girlfriend group the second Mac is out the door for his mystery Saturday errand.
It takes a sum of three minutes before all three of us are logged onto the video chat—Phoebe looking impeccable with her curly dark hair bouncing around her noble face and Trista looking like she just rolled out of bed with her honey-colored hair in a giant cloud and her eyes barely open. In her defense while it’s around 1 pm in Boston and New York, it’s only 10 am in LA and Trista has never been a morning person.
“What up?” Trista asks groggily as she takes a sip from her coffee.
“I think I love him,” I blurt out before I lose the nerve to say the words out loud.
“Well, yeah.” Trista yawns. “You woke me up on a Saturday morning to tell me something I could have told you weeks ago?”
“We’ve only been dating three weeks!” I shriek and clap my hands over my mouth, surprised at how panicky I sound.
“No, she’s right, Zo.” Phoebe’s smile seems more like she’s trying to calm me than anything else as if I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “I think you fell for him the first night you slept with him.”
“I...” I’m about to protest, but instead, I just sink in my chair. “I did, didn’t I?”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure it was a mutual reaction.” Phoebe’s smile widens.
“I don’t know about then, but after last night I’m pretty sure he feels the same way.” I feel the flush creep up as the memories of the previous night play out in my head. “It was so perfect it was practically surreal.”
“You want to share?” It surprises me that Trista would ask rather than demand as we usually share everything. Maybe she senses how private the moment was.
“No, I don’t think it’s something you can really share.” I bite my lip. “Should I tell him?”
“No!” Trista’s the one who jumps, though I was half expecting it to be Phoebe with that clear-cut tone. “He isn’t ready to hear it, Zo. If you say it too soon, it will scare him away. Doesn’t matter that he feels the same if he isn’t ready to deal with his emotions and accept them.”
I can’t help but wonder if Trista’s projecting herself onto Mac, and the look Phoebe shares with me reads the same thought exactly.
“Tris is right, though, Sweetie.” Phoebe sighs in resignation, probably more for her brother’s benefit than mine. “Just like he came to you to pick up the relationship after the booty call, he has to be the one to say it first because that’s the only way you can be sure he’s ready to hear it back.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I concede with a sigh. “He’s so guarded about his childhood. Every time I try to talk to him about it, he shuts me out. I guess if I tell him how I feel too soon, it will freak him out.”
“He’ll get there, Zo, give him time,” Phoebe encourages me.
“He won’t even tell me where he goes every Saturday. He says he just needs to take care of stuff.” I lean back and chew my lip. “He has so many secrets.”
“He’s a good guy, Zo, and if he really loves you—he’ll tell you everything, in his own time.” Trista leans her cheek on her palm and examines me through the screen. “And he does love you.”
“I know.” I smile at the girls. “I’ll just drive you guys crazy until then.”
“That’s what best friends are for.”
MAC
I was reluctant to leave Zoe today.
Not that I otherwise like leaving Zoe in the middle of our weekend, but I never felt quite so compelled to stay.
It didn’t help that we couldn’t stop touching each other. The entire way back from the woods, my hand was on Zoe’s knee or thigh, her hand in my hair or on my arm. I barely managed to contain my need for her to let her brush her teeth and the second she was done we crashed together, making love right there on the sink.
Zoe’s like a drug I just can’t have enough of.
You’d think going at it on the sink, in the shower, on the bedroom floor—which is when I found her box of toys and had bet her that if I guessed her favorite one she’d have to show me how she used it on herself, which I guessed right—would have me fulfilled at this point of the day.
Sexually speaking, I’ve had my fix and then some.
Only, it wasn’t until after that last round when Zoe curled up against me under the covers and murmured something about going to the beach on a hot summer night, even though it’s well into fall by now, before falling asleep with a satisfied smile. All I wanted was to stay there with her, pull her soft body against me, and feel her warm breath on my chest.
Instead, I’m running late to my weekly lunch with my mom.
I glance at the bags in my hands as I climb the stairs to the fourth floor. Usually, I’d cook something and bring it over, but I preferred to spend as much time with Zoe as I could, so I opted for take-out from my mom’s favorite Thai place.
“Mom?” There’s loud music coming from the living room, and I feel my heart start to race. “You in here? Sorry, I’m late.”
My shout must have been loud enough because the volume lowers and my mom walks out of the living room at a quick pace, wrapping me in a tight hug.
Sheila Mackenzie is in her mid-forties, tall and slender with raven black hair cascading down her back and bright hazel eyes. By all accounts, she’s a strikingly beautiful woman, and her sons were born in her spitting image, aside from my green eyes which I inherited from my father.
“Hi, my little prince.” She smiles at me warmly. “I was getting bored waiting, so I decided to put on some music.”
“Yeah, okay.” I guess it’s a good enough reason, and the apartment is small, so maybe the music wasn’t as loud as I think. I take a deep, steadying breath. “I didn’t have time to cook today, so I brought some Thai food. Hope you don’t mind.”
“God no, I love Thai!” Then she smiles at me coyly. “Does your lack of time have anything to do with the girl you were with?”
“What are you talking about?” I don’t like sharing my personal life with my mom, not because of anything she’d do or say but because I don’t want those two aspects to mix. And by no means do I want this part of my life to touch Zoe in any way, taint the light she brings to my darkness.
“You smell different. Like fresh flowers.” My mom giggles somewhat manically, and my heart starts racing again. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Eric. You’re a grown man, you should have a girlfriend.”
“Who said anything about a girlfriend?” I pour one of the dishes I brought into a bowl and throw the empty box into the trash, looking deep into the garbage can only to find it empty.
“You’ve never ditched me before for a girl.” She clucks her tongue in mocking disapproval. “She must be someone special.”
“I just lost track of time.” I continue transferring the food into bowls and plates. “I need to use the toilet. Can you finish setting the table?”
“Sure, Prince.” I hear her move around the kitchen, pulli
ng open drawers and cupboards.
Closing the door to the washroom behind me, I go straight for the medicine cabinet. Everything seems in order there as well, maybe I’m just imagining...
Things with Zoe are going so well I’m trying to force something bad into my life just to balance it out; the easiest victim of my inability to accept that I can have a good run being my mom.
I take another deep breath and flush, wash my hands and go back to the kitchen to find my mom sitting at the small table with everything on it set in perfect balance and symmetry, just like the rest of the apartment.
“You really going to keep me in the dark about this girl?” My mom is piling up food on her plate, making sure one dish doesn’t touch the other as she carefully sets the food down in perfect order.
“Um, no,” I relent. “I guess not.”
“Good, tell me everything!” She claps her hands while jumping up and down in her chair.
“Her name is Zoe. I met her at college a couple of weeks ago, and she’s…” I try to find the word, “she’s exceptional.”
“Well, that’s a big word for someone you’ve been seeing for just a couple of weeks.” My mom grins as she forks some lemongrass shrimp stir-fry.
“All that college education must be rubbing off on me.” I grin back, not really wanting to delve deeper into my relationship with Zoe.
“Oh, stop it,” my mom chastises me. “You’re plenty smart, even without college. I don’t understand why you didn’t just go like Philip did; it’s such a waste.”
Her comment makes me cringe a little, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Have you talked to Philip lately?”
Mom nods vigorously. “I wanted him to send me some pictures of the sunny beaches of California, all this cold weather is bringing me down.”
I nod, making a mental note to up the frequency of my visits over the next few months. The prospect of winter has always been rough on Mom.
“Can I ask you a question?” I have a sudden thought at the mention of Philip. “It’s a bit intrusive.”
“Sure, Prince.” My mom takes another helping of basil pork.
“How come you didn’t have any more kids after Philip?” I had always wondered about that. Neither of us was planned, and we had always expected we’d have another sibling at some point.
“I had my tubes tied when Philip was born.” She cocks her head, examining me. “I had an elective C-section. Didn’t you know?”
“No.” I’m surprised at this new information, and I’m staggered that my mom had done something with such foresight and thought, everything considered.
“Well, the two of you were more than enough for me.” She winks. “Maybe even too much.”
“Hardy har.” I roll my eyes, hiding the pain I know is probably in them. She’s poking fun, of course, but even though she truly means no harm, it’s a cruel joke at my expense. “Let’s clean up and watch a movie?”
“Clean up, but then you get back to Zoe.” She kisses me on the cheek. “You’re young and handsome, you shouldn’t be stuck on a Saturday night with your old mother, you should be having a good time with your girlfriend.”
“You’re not old.” I’m clearing the table, surprised how natural it sounds when my mom calls Zoe my girlfriend. “It’s really not a problem, I can stay.”
“No, no, go,” she insists. “Linda from upstairs invited me for tea. I think I’ll take her up on her offer.”
“That’s good, making friends with the neighbors is good.” I feel relief wash over me.
“She’s the block’s gossip, got to stay on her good side.” I laugh and kiss her on the cheek, having dried and placed the last of the dishes.
“I’ll take the trash on the way out.” I bend over and tie the edge of the plastic bag, taking it with me.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Prince Eric.” There’s a glint of something frenzied in her eyes as she says that, but I shake it off. I’m still letting my pessimistic mind control me.
It’s possible the shit storm won’t hit. That there won’t be a sudden turn for the worse. It’s entirely possible everything will be okay, I tell myself, willing myself to believe it as much as I possibly can.
Chapter Thirteen
ZOE
I’m sitting in a Parisian café with Rosalind Franklin, discussing the advancement in DNA research since her death in 1958, when my phone starts ringing, except the ringtone is a strange one I don’t recognize.
“Not again.” I sigh.
“You should answer that,” Rosalind observes.
“It’s too early.” I grimace and take a bite from a vanilla macaroon.
“Just wake up and answer the phone.” Rosalind sounds cross, and I pout. It’s my damn dream; I shouldn’t be getting scolded by a woman who’s been dead for over sixty years.
“Fine,” I grumble.
My dream starts to fade away as my eyes fight to open. What the hell is that weird ringtone? And why is my phone on the wrong bedside table?
I finally get a hold of the offending gadget and fumble a bit until I manage to answer.
“Hello?” I grunt into the receiver.
“Um… hi,” a confused and vaguely familiar voice answers. “Is Eric there?”
“He’s at work.” Why would someone call my phone looking for Mac? “But I’m sure he’ll answer if you call him on his phone.”
I stress out those last three words as I burrow back under the blanket, fully prepared to hang up and go back to my riveting conversation about RNA strands with Rosalind.
“Um… Zoe?” There’s a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, a very familiar chuckle, so I let out an unintelligible mumble rather than hang up. “This is Eric’s phone.”
I scrunch my nose and open my eyes again, looking at the phone in my hand before bringing it back to my ear.
“Perfect.” I resign myself to the fact that I’m never getting back to sleep and stretch before sitting up with a sigh. “He must have forgotten it when he left for work this morning.”
“Sounds like you two are getting nice and cozy.” That’s said with an air of delighted amusement.
“Who is this again?” I’m starting to lose my patience with the douche who woke me and is now getting all up in my personal life.
“Philip.” It takes a second before the name clicks.
“Oh!” I’m fully awake now. “Hi.”
He chuckles again, so eerily close to Mac’s laugh that I may have believed it was Mac.
“Hi again. Sorry for waking you up. At 11 am. On a Monday.” He’s making fun of me, but there’s such warmth to his voice, I realize, that I couldn’t be upset even if I wanted to.
“We were talking about you this weekend.” I swing my feet over the side of the bed.
“Did Eric tell you I’m the charming one? It’s only fair that you know.”
I laugh. “We were actually talking about coming down to see you sometime soon.” There’s silence from the other side of the line.
“I’d like that,” Philip finally answers after half a minute passes. He sounds sad and a bit lost, but then seems to regain his happy-go-lucky composer. “Though I have to warn you, I’m not only the charming one, I’m also the handsome one, so if you come down here, you might realize you chose the wrong Mackenzie brother.”
“Nah, I like my men grumpy.” That earns me a hearty burst of laughter. “And at legal drinking age. You see, dear Philip, it would never work between us. Doomed to failure from the very start. It’s tragic, really.” Philip is still laughing, and I’m once again surprised by how much he sounds like Mac.
“I can see why he likes you.”
I feel a blush creep up my neck. “Thank you.”
“Tell him I called.” I can hear Philip’s grin through the phone. “Nice talking to you, Zoe.”
“Likewise, Philip.” I hang up and stretch my legs before standing up. A delicious pain spreads through my thighs, reminding me of the weekend activities
Mac and I had engaged in.
Foregoing a condom had more upsides than I imagined, shower sex being my favorite thus far. And if we had a problem keeping our hands off each other before, what was happening now was no less than an addiction to each other’s bodies.
I’m surprised Mac had managed to drag himself to work so early this morning given how little sleep we had during the weekend.
Mornings like this make me thankful I’ve climbed high enough up the academic ranks to make my own schedule. Citing Monday as my late beginning day, I’ve reserved the late afternoon slot in the lab so I could sleep in after whatever weekend antics I was up to. Today I had a rude awakening and now have six hours to burn.
Come to think about it, Mac had left for work around 6 am, which means he’s been without his phone for almost five hours. He must be going crazy, the poor thing.
An idea occurs to me, and a smile creeps to my lips.
I put a fresh pot of coffee on and hit the shower, getting primped and pouring myself coffee into a to-go mug.
I take one last look at myself in the body mirror hanging by the door and smile.
Best idea ever.
MAC
“You’re grinning again.” Lenny raises a bushy gray eyebrow at me.
“Is there a workplace rule against it?” I reply dryly, though I can’t quite get my mouth to cooperate and return to its normal form.
“No, just usually you’re serious as hell. Your display of emotions typically ranges between annoyed to grumpy.” Lenny doesn’t sugarcoat, I’ll give him that. “Happy is a new one for you.”
“I’ll try to keep the ‘happy’ down,” I air-quote and roll my eyes. Turning back to the stack of papers in front of me, I try to figure out how to continue, or where to start, or end. Anything really.