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“Yes.”
I close my eyes at the word, heart still thundering.
Mac hums, then keeps talking. “I’ll get my work done and I’ll pick you up after dinner. That work for you?”
“Um…”
“It doesn’t work for you?”
“It’s just that the kids start school on Monday, so the evening will probably be busy.” I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut. Why didn’t I just call him yesterday? Or earlier today?
“How about right now?”
My eyes snap open. “What?”
“Are you busy right now?”
“Uh…no?”
I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “I’ll be at your place in half an hour. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, and when we hang up, I look down at my yoga pants and the shirt I reserve for cleaning, then hop into panic-fueled action. Turns out when you only have a few minutes to get ready for a date, it only takes a few minutes to get ready for a date.
When my mother sees me emerge from my room in jeans, a black sheer blouse over a black lacy cami, and the quickest makeup I could muster, she arches a brow. “I’m guessing you’re not having a glass of wine with me tonight?”
“No. You don’t mind watching the kids for a few hours?”
“Honey, they’re in bed, and I live here. Of course I don’t mind. I’m guessing this”—she motions to my outfit—“is related to a certain motorcycle man?”
The sound of a Harley approaching answers the question for me.
Mom grins. “Have fun, Trina.”
“I will,” I tell her as I plant a kiss on her cheek, and I already know it’s the truth.
CHAPTER 16
Mac
There’s nothing better than feeling a beautiful woman’s arms around my waist while I ride through hilly, wooded landscapes on a warm summer evening. Trina’s thighs press against mine as we bank around a corner, her chest plastered to my back.
We ride for forty minutes, taking the long way back to my place, a wooded property I bought over a decade ago. I park outside my pottery studio and Trina dismounts, giving me a broad smile as she removes her helmet.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much fun that is.” She combs her fingers through her hair and shakes it out as I get off and put our helmets away.
“You’ve got the bug.” I grin as I intertwine my fingers with hers to lead her to the studio. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I have to be touching her whenever I’m nearby. It’s like there’s a magnetic pull between us, and I can’t resist holding her hand, touching her back, curling my arm around her shoulders. I just want to be close.
This growing need to be near her should scare me. Under normal circumstances, it would. But with Trina, it feels too easy to be around her to question it.
Rolling open the big, corrugated iron door, I smile at Trina’s sharp intake of breath.
“Mac,” she breathes as she steps into the space.
I flick on the warm yellow lights and steal a glance at her. It’s the first time I’ve had anyone in here, apart from my brother and my father. Definitely the first time a woman has stepped inside the space. My studio is usually my sanctuary. It’s where I come to be alone, to create. But when Trina called me earlier and asked to see me, I knew I wanted to show it to her.
She walks up to the wall of shelving, where pottery projects are displayed from floor to ceiling. She touches a glazed plate that has a seam of gold paint running through the center before standing in front of a tall, fluted vase, shaking her head. “You’re really talented, Mac.”
Heat rises over my cheeks. I rub the back of my neck and turn away, reaching for one of the bags of clay I bought earlier today. “You want to make something with me?”
