Page 25 of Take What Hurts

They shouldered their way through the bulk of the crowd, and Mackenzie’s heart skipped a beat every time Elliott checked in with her over her shoulder, a small smile pulling at her lips each time. Mackenzie would squeeze her hand and smile through the explosion of butterflies in her stomach, and they would continue on. Finally, they broke through the bulk of the crowd heading the opposite direction toward the food stalls and found themselves in front of an eclectic mix of clothing vendors.

Mackenzie glanced sideways at Elliott, whose eyes had landed on one of the sports vendors and had blown wide in wonder. “Wow,” she murmured, just loud enough to carry.

Mackenzie chuckled and wondered at what point Elliott would begin foaming at the mouth. “A sports fan?”

Elliott smirked at her. “Obviously. You?”

Mackenzie chuckled, and she couldn’t help herself: She gave Elliott’s hand another squeeze. “I’m more of a ‘go, sports team’ kind of gal.”

Elliott jerked back, clutching at an invisible string of pearls in offense. “How dare you.”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes, a snort escaping her as she motioned to the stall that was so captivating to Elliott. “This stall is set up every weekend.” She peered at Elliott. “Have you been to Fremont Market before?” Another squeeze of Elliott’s hand, and Mackenzie’s heart rammed in her chest.

Elliott turned toward Mackenzie in earnest and glanced down at their still-intertwined fingers. Mackenzie watched the lobes of Elliott’s ears glow red, and with a final squeeze, she disconnected their hands. Elliott puffed out a laugh. “Actually, no. Markets aren’t really my thing, but there was no basketball game today. I was at a loose end, and so…”

Mackenzie’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you’ve lived in Seattle so long and you’ve never been to the market.”

Elliott smirked. “You’ll hate this, then⁠—”

Mackenzie held up a hand. “Don’t, I can’t⁠—”

“I’ve never been on the Great Wheel as an adult either.”

Mackenzie laughed and covered her face with her hands. “You’re unbelievable.” She groaned and let her hands drop to her thighs with a slap. “Lucky I’m here to witness the popping of your cherry, then, huh?” Realizing how that sounded, all the blood in Mackenzie’s body jettisoned into her cheeks. “Oh—that’s. Um⁠—”

Elliott laughed, arms folding over her chest, ears glowing brighter, and Mackenzie sighed.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant your first time… here. At the market.” She huffed out a breath and squeezed her eyes closed and heard the way Elliott snickered quietly. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. And lucky you’re here, because, despite my extensive experience in other areas, I am not experienced here.” A pause, and Elliott narrowed her eyes. “And I am very good at taking instruction.” Mackenzie watched the way Elliott’s eyes went a shade darker, her voice half an octave lower.

Mackenzie fought the urge to fan herself and closed her eyes against the image her brain had concocted, featuring Elliott underneath Mackenzie, in a bed—Mackenzie’s bed—taking Mackenzie’s instruction⁠—

Stop.

She swallowed hard. Her throat had run drier than the fucking Sahara, and it didn’t appear that there was enough saliva in her body to address the situation. She’d completely lost control of that resolution now. Elliott held Mackenzie’s gaze, and when Mackenzie couldn’t take it anymore and started to squirm, she dragged her eyes away from Elliott’s face and the hint of a teasing smile and to the lines of stalls filled with all manner of clothing.

“Okay,” she croaked. Clearing her throat, and ignoring the way Elliott’s smile broadened, she nodded at the sports vendor Elliott was so enamored with. “So, when Frankie and I want to avoid buying way too many things we don’t need, we play a game where we buy something we think the other would like.” She chewed the side of her cheek, realizing far too late that Elliott was very cool and Mackenzie was very not cool and that the silly games she played with Frankie were equally uncool and unlikely to resonate with someone who did things like teaching skiing and playing basketball for fun. Ready as she’d ever be to face being mocked by someone who was a colleague and a person who she didn’t want to think of her as a total loser, Mackenzie lifted her eyes back to Elliott’s, surprised to find that they were alive with a challenge. Cautiously, she continued. “What do you think about that?”

Elliott’s smile managed to broaden into dimpled, face-cracking gloriousness that Mackenzie hadn’t seen before today but that she wanted to elicit again and again so she could photograph it and set it as her fucking lock screen. “Fuck yeah, let’s do it. Meet you back here in, what—” She dropped her eyes to her watch. “Like, twenty minutes?”

Mackenzie’s heart thundered with anticipation of the game and something else that ached and hurt and made her sick. Because how had she found this remarkable person who made her feel so much, so quickly? Who saw a challenge in Mackenzie’s stupid game. Who smiled so big and so sweet at her it made Mackenzie’s teeth hurt. Who looked at Mackenzie sometimes like she knew all the unknowable answers to the origins of the universe. How had she found this person? This person. Whom, it was becoming abundantly clear, she desperately wanted in a way she categorically, unequivocally could not have and should not want. She swallowed that feeling as deep as she could get it and nodded. “You’re on.”

Despite the churning that had taken over every part of her body, she barked out a laugh of surprise when Elliott gently shoved her shoulder before breaking into a half run down the row of stalls, blowing right by the sports-vendor stand, her curly head of hair bobbing above some shorter shoppers before disappearing into the fray. Mackenzie tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the gleeful glint Elliott had gotten in her eyes right as she’d run away from her, excited by their game. Smiling to herself, she didn’t think she had to go far to find something Elliott would like, and with that, she wandered to the sports vendor that had brought Elliott to a standstill.

Inside the stall were rows upon rows of old-season sports-team jerseys, hats, scarves; you name it, the stall had it. A vision of Elliott standing in front of the cake fridge at Whole Foods in her purple basketball shorts and Seattle Storm hoodie floated in front of her. Her throat promptly dried out again when she allowed herself to remember the backward cap and the way Elliott’s dark hair had curled out from underneath just so, just right. So effortlessly cool. Just, well—hot, basically. She huffed out a sigh and held back an eye roll, because, honestly, the grip she had on her attraction to Elliott was slipping out of her hands faster than she could claw hand over fist to keep a hold of it.

Which was a problem. The thought consumed her as she wandered the stall, pulling jerseys off the stuffed racks and forcing them back on, none of them right for Elliott. It was a problem, because Mackenzie needed to not let herself be distracted by the literal opposition. Especially not in this case. Because she needed the respect of the lawyer on the other side. It was difficult to negotiate with someone who didn’t respect you, and Mackenzie was acutely aware the closer Elliott got, the higher the probability that she would learn that Mackenzie wasn’t the put-together, confident person she presented herself as at work. And Mackenzie didn’t think she could take the wash of disappointment that she just knew would color Elliott’s eyes differently when she looked at Mackenzie after bearing witness to that.

And she also couldn’t take the ethical turmoil of getting involved with opposing counsel in any way other than collegial friendliness. And her body and her mind wanted a lot fucking more than that. She reminded herself that as long as she didn’t act on it—as long as she kept the want that was threatening to make itself known to the world shoved deep, deep inside, known and verbalized only within the confines of her own head—it was attraction—plain and simple.

Another sigh. Another shake of her head. She checked the time and found she had another ten minutes up her sleeve. Unable to erase the image of Elliott in Whole Foods from behind the lids of her eyes, she wandered over to the ball caps. Instantly overwhelmed by the colors and logos and different fonts, she took a breath and looked for something bottle green. After pulling a few off the shelves and replacing them, she found it. A vintage Seattle Sonics snapback that Google told her was from the ’90s. She lamented the fact that there was no vintage hat for the Storm and had to actively withhold her train of thought—about the injustice of women’s sports, historically, taking a back seat to men’s sports—from gathering speed as she approached the counter to buy the hat.

Wandering back to their meeting spot, the twenty-minute mark ticked by, and another five minutes later, Elliott hadn’t reappeared. A trickle of something slid down Mackenzie’s spine as she clutched the hat in her hands. What if Elliott had actually thought the game was dumb and had left? What if she’d seen too much of the bumbling person that Mackenzie was in her personal time and had cut and run? Then she shook her head, running a thumb over the brim of the hat. She didn’t think Elliott would ghost. Nevertheless, her feet began to wander in the direction Elliott had run off in earlier, and Mackenzie scanned the crowd as she went.

She wandered past a weird clothing stall that seemed to sell scraps of fabric so badly torn there would be more skin on show than fabric and that also offered free septum piercings and low-cost tattoos. Mackenzie shivered at the thought of what a low-cost tattoo might look like and walked on. When she came upon a stall selling band T-shirts, a niggle at the base of her spine made her stop. As she turned and walked into the stall, there was Elliott. The ache in her cheeks that was becoming familiar when Elliott was around returned in earnest as she stood and watched this gorgeous person study two shirts held up in front of her. Brow furrowed and expression mildly pained, she inspected them like a failure to make the correct choice would bring death upon her house.

Butterflies erupting once more, she spoke. “Did one of those shirts threaten to off you if you didn’t pick it?”