Page 146 of Rising Heat

He takes a sip.

“I’ve met a lot of people who spend their lives convincing themselves they don’t want something.” He sets his glass back on the bar. “Usually because it’s easier than admitting they do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it beats wanting it and not getting it.”

“And what about you?”

His eyes flick to mine.

“Never mind what I want.” One corner of his mouth threatens a smile. “We’re talking about you.”

I sigh.

“The problem is, even with all of that…” I stare into my glass. “I still felt empty.”

The words come easier after that.

“I think what I want is someone who lets me be exactly who I am and loves me anyway. Someone who cares what I think. What I want. Someone I don’t have to shrink for.”

I finish the bourbon in one swallow.

“And, maybe more than anything…” I laugh quietly. “I want everyone to stop looking at my life like I accidentally wandered into traffic. I made the decision that felt right to me. I just wish they trusted that I know my own heart better than they do.”

Mack doesn’t answer right away.

“People are allowed to disagree with you.”

I look over.

“Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

The certainty in his voice makes me face him fully. He reaches for his glass, tipping it lightly toward mine.

“To not living the life people expect of you.”

I smile before I can stop myself and lift my glass to meet his.

“To not being afraid to want the things you do.”

Our glasses clink softly between us. I don’t know if it’s the bourbon or the rain or the fact that he showed up and got me out of my own head before I could drown in my own thoughts, but for the first time all day it feels like I can breathe again.

The pool table in the back is free by the time we finish the second round. Mack finishes the last of his bourbon, sets the glass on the bar, and jerks his head toward it. I follow without thinking because that’s apparently just how this works now.

“You play?” he asks, already handing me a cue.

“Not well.”

“Good.” He nods toward the triangle. “Rack ’em.”

“Excuse me?”

He looks at me expectantly before I finally realize he’s serious and I begin to rack.

I’m objectively not a good pool player. I am, however, extremely competitive and completely insufferable about it.

I’m also somehow winning by some combination of beginner’s luck and the unreasonable amount of concentration I bring to every shot. I take my time, lower lip caught between my teeth, pretending not to notice Mack on the other side of the table while sinking just enough balls to irritate him in a way I can tell he’ll never admit.