Page 12 of Take What Hurts

“Or perhaps not.” Frankie tilted her head in thought, lips pouted, before she sat ramrod straight and leaned across the table, shoving Mackenzie’s muffin and latte aside. “Spill, right now. Nothing makes you look like such a fucking sad sack as when you tell a lie; now, tell me what you aren’t telling me.”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes, hand flopping to her knee with a slap. “It’s nothing, really. The matter is fucked up, but the lawyer on the other side is a nice person for a change.” Her cheeks heated, and though she tried to look at Frankie, she found she couldn’t. She couldn’t look at her and see the glint of excitement she knew would be there, because that would make her feel hopeful, and there was no hope here. Anything beyond a collegial familiarity would be entirely unethical and would only get in her way.

But Frankie, perceptive as always, barked out a laugh. “Oh, it’s a she, isn’t it? And she’s nice, and pretty, and you like her, don’t you?”

Mackenzie groaned and, with some badgering, told Frankie about their chance meeting in the airport. Frankie’s grin broadened more with each word out of her mouth. Mackenzie finished with “Yes, she’s lovely, and she’s attractive. And she’s so smart. But none of that matters, because it would be extremely unethical for me to do anything with opposing counsel aside from my job. Besides, I don’t need the distraction.” She avoided Frankie’s gaze.

“Hey.” Frankie’s fingers lightly brushed the back of Mackenzie’s hand. “Look at me, okay?”

Mackenzie did, and had to swallow hard because Frankie stared at her with soft eyes and a small smile.

“I’ll leave it alone if you really want me to, but I think you have to acknowledge that you haven’t said anything like that about another human being since, like”—Frankie paused, face scrunching in thought—“the beginning of Reilly. And yeah, I know you’re all ‘partnership track this’ and ‘partnership track that,’ et cetera, but maybe you could”—she cut herself off with a shrug—“use a distraction?”

Mackenzie tilted her head in acknowledgment, because Frankie was right—she hadn’t said anything like that about anyone for a long time. And the timing of Elliott, that she was on the other side of this case. Even she had to admit, despite not needing the distraction, she was going to get one. “I know. But yeah, you’ll have to let it go.”

Frankie nodded once in confirmation.

Mackenzie frowned, fists clenched tight against her thighs under the table. “It all feels a bit unfair. The first time I’ve actually wanted to get to know someone better since Reilly, and it’s dead on arrival because of work.”

Frankie nodded, face creased in sympathy, and gave Mackenzie’s hand a squeeze.

“Anyway.” Mackenzie huffed, leveling Frankie with a stare. “Tell me about all these orgasms.”

EIGHT

MACKENZIE

Mackenzie squinted in the bright light of the wall of refrigerators at Whole Foods. She detested grocery shopping on a good day, and today took special effort, she thought as she stared vacantly at the thousand different types of milk. Honestly, she still wasn’t sure what the difference was between them. She’d picked a bottle of milk her first year of college, and the same type and brand had been in her refrigerator ever since. She finally located her carton in the vastness of the refrigerator and placed it in her basket.

She loved Frankie. Loved her. But their conversation earlier had left her feeling—well—slightly lonelier than usual. She wandered to the fruit-and-vegetable section, absently adding items to her basket, and wondered how Frankie did it. She had her own shit that she was dealing with, but to Mackenzie, it appeared that she still managed to live. She didn’t drown herself in work. Didn’t hole herself up at home under her softest blanket, hiding in the pages of whatever very gay romance novel was next on her TBR list in an attempt to just—ugh—escape from her own life. No. Frankie was out meeting people. Enjoying life. Mackenzie despaired as a pang of jealousy struck her in the chest.

It wasn’t like Mackenzie didn’t have the opportunity to join Frankie in living a little larger. Frankie offered—albeit less frequently than in previous years and increasingly more as an afterthought—for Mackenzie to join her on her many nights out. Racked with guilt, Mackenzie would decline. As she wandered the aisles, putting her usual staples into the basket, she grimaced, wondering when the day would come that Frankie stopped inviting her. Maybe she should take her up on her offer sometime, but the simple thought of going out to a loud, humid club—even a gay one—and making inane small talk with strangers showing varying degrees of interest in her made her tired. Then there was the almost inevitable decision of whether to go home with that person and engage in an evening of awkward first-time-together groping while they each tried to work out what the other person enjoyed—or didn’t. The pressure of it all made her want to collapse where she stood in the macro-food aisle for a rest.

She’d done the casual-sex thing—or tried, anyway—several months after Reilly left her. But it didn’t matter who she was with, or how many times they saw each other; she couldn’t enjoy it. She couldn’t wrap her brain around how to just fuck another person that she didn’t know or connect with on a level greater than the baser animalistic one that allowed others to simply revel in the touch of a warm body. She’d never been able to do it. Even when she’d first met Reilly.

Upon Reilly learning this, she had pursued Mackenzie with almost relentless enthusiasm. She’d taken her on lavish dates, bought her nice things—and Mackenzie, ever eager to please, had relented after a few weeks. Reilly had enjoyed herself. Mackenzie had tried to lose herself in the feel of Reilly’s skin, her touch. But she didn’t start to actually enjoy it until months into their relationship.

Wandering in the general direction of the registers, Mackenzie found herself waylaid by the impressive selection of cakes that simply called to her whenever she mustered the effort to visit the grocery store. Taste buds exploding in anticipation, she reached for the solitary small vanilla-cream sponge. As she did, her hand came into contact with warm, smooth skin. Startling, she pulled her hand back. “Oh, sor—Elliott?”

Mackenzie would not mention the text message. Would not talk to Elliott about work. Not when her stomach swooped so pleasantly at the mere sight of her—clearly the latent effect of the instant attraction that had hit her like a truck when they’d first met at Sea-Tac. She supposed it also could have been a product of the backward baseball cap Elliott wore now, her crop of slightly sweaty hair curling out from underneath. Remembering her resolution, and with a Herculean effort, she quelled her leaping heart and slid a smile onto her face. Elliott’s hand jerked away from Mackenzie’s like it had been burned by her touch. It buried itself in the pocket of her purple basketball shorts, which Elliott had paired with Nike slides and white socks that finished at her toned calves. A worn Seattle Storm hoodie finished the ensemble. It looked soft from hundreds of washes, and warm. Mackenzie wanted to wrap herself in it and never take it off. Ugh, god—the resolution was not going well.

“Mackenzie. Hi.” Mackenzie watched Elliott’s eyes dart to the cake fridge and back to her. “Uh. Sorry. You take it.” She motioned at the cake. “I’ll take this one.” She picked up one of many Black Forest cakes and held it in both hands. “I like this one better, anyway. I only went for the vanilla-cream because it looked so lonely sitting there by itself.” Her cheeks heated, and she rubbed a hand over the back of her head, dislodging her cap. She readjusted it and breathed out a laugh.

Elliott was rambling, and the pull of attraction tugged at Mackenzie again. She picked up the cake. “Are you sure?” She narrowed her eyes. “Because I don’t think you do like Black Forest.”

“Why? What’s not to like with all that cherry flavor.”

Mackenzie held the vanilla-cream out. “Please, take it. Besides”—she hitched her brows high on her forehead—“you look like you’ve actually done something in the way of exercise today. I have… not.” She waved her hand down over her flannel and favorite Blink-182 tee to her coziest leave-the-house joggers—a blight on society according to Frankie, who never left the house in anything other than something effortlessly chic, if not mildly eccentric.

Elliott chuckled, gave the Black Forest a grimace, and replaced it on its shelf. Reluctantly, she took the vanilla-cream from Mackenzie, and as she glanced down at her outfit, her blush deepened. “Oh—right. Yeah. There was a holiday weekend pickup game thing down at the Y.” She ticked a thumb over her shoulder, presumably in the direction of the downtown Seattle YMCA. She shrugged. “I play a game or two most weekends, and sometimes I like to give myself a little treat after. You know”—she furrowed her brows—“calorie replacement.” Elliott’s eyes dropped to Mackenzie’s T-shirt, and Mackenzie resisted the urge to adjust it around her abdomen. “I didn’t take you for a Blink-182 fan.”

A laugh loosened the tightness in Mackenzie’s chest. She was so accustomed to the tightness just being there, she rarely noticed it anymore until something caused it to shift or change. “Recovering emo kid right here.” Mackenzie raised her hand, before dropping it to the handle on her basket.

Elliott nodded and, eyes crinkling, smiled. “Same. Take Off Your Pants and Jacket was the first album I bought with my own money.”

Mackenzie laughed. “Mine was something by Avril Lavigne.”

“Hardcore,” Elliott deadpanned.