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I’d rather stay in his arms.
CHAPTER 20
Mac
Why have I been denying myself this? Not just sex, but the feeling of Trina in my arms, in my bed. As I pull on my discarded clothes, I’m finding it hard to remember why, exactly, I haven’t given Trina everything I have to give. All the years I spent convinced that I was meant to be alone—what was I thinking? What could be better than this?
Trina shakes out her cardigan and pulls it on, moving in front of my mirror to adjust her clothes and hair. I walk up behind her and slide my hands over her hips, placing a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. “You look perfect.”
“I look like I just had sex,” she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
I grin. “Isn’t that what I just said?” I’d like to see her like this—undone, freshly fucked—every day of my life.
After a few last adjustments and some makeup touch-ups from whatever supplies she keeps in her purse, Trina turns to me and nods. “Ready.”
“You sure you don’t want round two?” I arch my brows and glance at the rumpled bed.
“You’re bad,” she chides, a smile tugging the corners of her lips.
I kiss the tip of Trina’s nose and lead her back out to the studio. After sweeping up the shards of broken pottery from the ground, Trina and I make short work of packing up the rest of the order for Four Cups and loading it into the back of my truck. We ride back to town in silence.
When we pull up to the café, Fiona, Simone, Jen, and Candice are all there. I guess their busy schedules cleared up once Trina and I left. I grin at the thought as Fiona walks out to help us with the boxes, throwing a few curious glances at Trina. Once inside, I help the ladies unpack.
“These pieces are gorgeous, Mac,” Candice says, turning one of the new mugs around in her hands. “Good idea, Fiona.” She smiles at the other woman. “They fit Four Cups perfectly.”
“I appreciate your business,” I tell them with a smile. “I should have the second lot to you by the end of October, and the third by the end of the year.”
The truth is, the extra money is welcome. The amount of custom pottery they’ve ordered has been worth well past the five-figure mark, which means I’ll be able to do some work on my bike and maybe buy the new pottery wheel I’ve had my eye on. Not to mention a few things for my classroom over the course of the school year.
So much of my pottery sits on shelves in my studio. It’s nice to know that these pieces will be put to good use. As I help the ladies bring the boxes of pottery to the kitchen to wash, I catch Trina’s gaze lingering on me. A flush sweeps over her cheeks as she gives me a sweet smile.
In that moment, with midday sun gilding Trina’s hair, I think I might forget about my convictions about being alone. This is where I’m meant to be. With her.
I understand how my father could move on, how he could be happy. I understand that even after the hell he went through when my mother left, he could look for love again. He could open himself to that kind of hurt. Because isn’t it worth the risk, if someone like Trina is the reward?
When I walk back out to my truck and Trina follows, we stand next to the vehicle, unaware of what’s going on around. That always seems to happen when I’m around her; nothing else seems to matter as much as memorizing the way she moves, the way the light catches every angle of her face, the way her clothes hug her figure and her eyes search mine.
“So,” she says, flicking her eyes up to mine.
“So,” I repeat.
“If I keep standing out here with you, I’ll never hear the end of it.” She throws a glance at the café, and I follow her gaze.
All four of the owners shamelessly grin at us. Simone waves.
Laughing, I turn back to Trina. “I think that ship has sailed.”
She bites her lip. “What’s the plan?”
I comb my fingers through my hair. “Well…”
The words are on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her that for the first time in my life, the thought of inviting her into my life doesn’t terrify me. Well, that’s not exactly true. It does terrify me, but not enough to make me turn my back on her.
Trina is the first woman I’ve ever met that makes me see a future that isn’t lonely. Professing my feelings to this woman feels like an inevitability. The words push against my lips, and all I want to do is tell her that meeting her was an epiphany. How fucking crazy will I sound if I tell her that right now? We barely know each other.
I’m Ted from How I Met Your Mother. I need to slow the hell down.
But before I can even attempt to untangle my thoughts, someone walks up to us. “Mac,” Belinda says, crossing her arms as she comes to a stop. Ice water sluices through my veins as I look at the woman with thunder on her brow.
