Seven

McKenzie

I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life by agreeing to go anywhere else with West. As we search for his keys in the waning light, I sneak glances at him. He’s using his phone’s flashlight app, his brows drawn together as he looks for a black key fob.

“Got it,” he says, throwing them in the air and catching them in one hand.

Before I can say anything, he grabs me, his hand cupping the back of my neck and kisses me. “Still want to go?”

I nod, even as my head is screaming for me to say no.

“My house or yours?”

“Mine,” I say firmly. It’s safer territory, since I can make him leave when I want.

West gives me a faint smile, as if he knew I’d pick that location. “Want to get some take-out?”

“Pizza’s good.”

“Delivery?”

“Okay.”

He throws me the key fob, and I catch it. It’s silver with the Porsche Insignia at the bottom “You drive and I’ll call.”

I look at the keys, then back at him. “I can’t drive your car.”

“If you can drive a bulldozer, then you can drive a Porsche.”

“Because a bulldozer is exactly like a luxury sports car.”

West opens the driver’s side door and gestures for me to get in. “I trust you with my car.”

I slide inside, and then put my hand over my heart. “Does this mean we’re going steady, Bobby?”

He gives me an odd look, and I want to die. My goofball humor doesn’t make me look tough, and I need to be tough, not a goofball. “I’ll be happy to pin you anytime, Betty.”

“Betty? Seriously?”

“As a heart attack, Meadow.” He winks at me, and I melt into the leather seat. I’ve never had a guy wink at me, not like that.

I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t call me Meadow.” Only my mother called me by my middle name.

“Clover Patch?”

“Don’t think so, Northeast.”

He laughs, one hand on the door and the other on the roof as he leans down. “Damn, girl. I never knew you were like this.”

“That’s because you were too busy laughing at me to be able to laugh with me,” I remind him.

His laughter fades away, the mood broken, as he straightens. “Pepperoni, or all the way?”

“Cheese.” I stare at the dashboard while he closes the door. I hear him get in, make the call, and then silence reigns.

Pressing down on the brake, I search for the ignition, key fob in hand. “How do I start your car, and where’s the key?”

Instead of answering me, West leans over to fasten my seatbelt, disengages the brake, and presses a button. He turns his head, face inches from mine. “Anything else?”

Heat arcs between us, sizzling and potent. He’s so close that all I’d have to do is lean forward only the tiniest bit, and I’d touch him. His air becomes mine as I breathe him in.

I lift my hand, fingers going to his face, tracing his lips like he’s done to me in the past. They part, a silent invitation that I want to answer.

“I want to be with you, McKenzie, but I’m not going to force this. You want me, then I’m your man.” He draws back a little. “Until then, I’ll sit on my side of the car and wait.”

By the time we get back to my house, I’m a mess. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss, our almost kiss, and the way he said, I’m your man.

Do all women have a weakness for bad boys that know just what to say at just the right moment? Or is this confined solely to lonely girls like me?

There’s only one light on in the house, over the kitchen sink. My dad always leaves that on when he goes out for the night. It lets me know that he’ll be home late.

“Where’s your dad?” West says, making himself at home on the couch. He grabs the remote and manages to find the one station broadcasting a soccer game.

“Poker night.” Careful to not sit to close, I join him, leaning to the side to switch on the closest lamp. “Is the game happening right now?”

“Rerun. Greatest plays.” He turns down the volume and shrugs out of his coat, then stretches his arm across the back of the cushions. “The pizza should be here soon.”

I nod, placing my hands in my lap. I have no idea what to do next, what to say next, because this is the first date I’ve ever been on. It’s not that I haven’t been asked out, because I have, but I always say no, because all I ever think is the guy only wants to see what he can get from me, before moving on to the next girl. The better girl. The one who doesn’t have soil under her nails, or calluses on her hands in the summer.

Lawn girl.

There’s a light pressure on my arm. It travels down the length of it, stopping at my hand and covering it. I stare in amazement as West laces his fingers with mine.

I lightly stroke his palm, and his breath hitches. Glancing at him, I find his gaze on me.

“With anyone else, this would be nothing, but with you, holding hands is like getting to third base on a first date.”

I blush, not sure if he’s complimenting me or insulting me, because he thinks I’m playing hard to get. Not that it should matter to him. We’ve had sex before. Twice. The second time didn’t hurt as much as the first, but he’d left his mark on me, and not just on the underside of my left breast.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispers in my ear, pinning me to the bed with the lower half of his body.

“Tomorrow?”

He leans up and over me, his dark eyes glazed with lust and some emotion that my heart hopes is the match to mine. “I’ll pick you up before school and take you home with me after classes are over.”

“What about—” His St. Benedictine medallion hits my neck, and I hook a finger on the chain, pulling him closer.

“I’ll take care of that.” He kisses me, tongue pushing into my mouth. “From now on, you’re safe from everyone, including me.”

My heart flips in my chest. “You’re drunk,” I giggle.

“And you’re not?”

“Only a little.”

He surges forward and I moan. “That’s it, baby. Let me know how much you love this.”

Only he hadn’t bothered to show up the next day, and I’d been late to school. In calculus, he didn’t even look my way, and though I waited like a lovesick fool by his locker, he brushed past me and headed straight into Charlie Foster’s arms.

West

Just as I think I’m finally making progress, albeit small, with McKenzie, she snatches her hand away. Hurt, confusion, and anger roll over her face, transforming her from trusting to wary.

The doorbell rings, and she’s off like a shot to answer the front door. I follow her, getting out my wallet to pay.

“Hold on. Let me get my purse,” I hear her tell the delivery guy.

I hand him a couple of twenties and tell him to keep the change.

“Thanks,” McKenzie says as she shuts the door.

“You’re welcome.” Great plan, I think, wanting to punch the wall. At home, I thought she’d be more relaxed and in control of her environment, with me playing offense. Only she’s more skittish than ever and I’m unsure how to reach her. “Lead the way to the kitchen. I’m starving.”

She gives me a look, then leaves me standing there.

I’m an idiot.

Following her to the kitchen, I take in her house. It’s nice and cozy inside, nothing fancy, and everything’s functional. There are a lot of pictures of McKenzie when she was little and as she grew older. One I recognize from our senior portraits. I pause to study it, staring at the beautiful girl with sad eyes.

“My dad likes to put up my pictures everywhere,” she says, like she has to apologize for anything.

“I don’t blame him, but I’d put your picture up everywhere in my room for totally different reasons.”

“Oh.”

Then she starts for the kitchen again. It’s right off the living room, and you can see the television from the table in the center. Her dad had to be the one in charge of placement.

She sets the pizza on the table and begins fixing drinks, pulling out plates and napkins. I want to help her, but I’m on shaky ground, and she’s getting quieter by the minute. Pretty soon, I’m sure she’ll have some excuse as to why I should leave and that’ll be all she wrote.

Flipping one of the chairs around, I join her at the table. Immediately, I chow down on the pizza while she does the same.

“I have an uncle.”

She blinks at me, finishes chewing her last bite of pizza, and says, “So do I.”

“Is he in jail?”

“Um, no.”

“Mine is.”

“For what?”

“Gangbanger.”

That gets her attention. “That’s not funny. Just because I made a stupid remark—”

“He killed people, raped women, and sold drugs. It’s why my grandparents sent my dad to school here, to get away from that life. They had friends in Charlotte who made sure he stayed in school and kept his nose clean,” I say, nonchalantly. “Turned out he has a head for math, and a talent for soccer.”

“Like you.”

“Yeah.” I grin, and then turn serious. “But my uncle, he’s still in jail. We visit him in the summer, take him things, and remind ourselves that it could be any of us.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“No one around here knows.” I drink some of the soda she poured for me. “But they probably think it about me.”

“That you’re in the popped-collar gang?”

I throw a discarded piece of crust at her. It lands on her plate, and she laughs. “I’m telling you, because I want you to have this piece of information about me.”

Understanding dawns. This is something she can use against me, something that could hurt me and my family’s reputation.

“My parents never got married,” she says. “My momma said it was an archaic institution that subjugates women.”

That was certainly one way to look at it. “What do you think?”

“That what she thought and what she chose doesn’t mean I have to be like her.”

“What if she came back and wanted to get married?”

“I would have a difficult time believing it was her,” McKenzie says firmly. A warning, I think.

“So you’d write her off? No chance to prove to you that she’s different?”

A small smile curves the corners of her mouth. “I said difficult, not impossible.”

In that instant, I know I haven’t lost her.