Finding A Way (9 page)

I spend most of my free time fixing up my baby, my 69’ Mustang. I’ve been building her for a while now, and she's going to be a bad ass piece of machinery when I'm done with her. My buddy Trent, who does my ink, helps me out at the shop every now and then which gives me time to work on her, too. While I’m there, he’s at the shop, handling the customers and the projects we have going on.

I break free from my thoughts as we hit the heavy traffic. Some asshole decides not to put his blinker on and cuts in front of me. I step on the brakes hard enough for it to jolt the truck. I blare the horn, yelling viciously at the driver who almost caused a fucking accident. Some people just shouldn’t fucking drive. They make blinkers and tail lights for a damn reason. Hearing a small squeak from the other side of the truck, I turn to find Callie half awake and about to have a panic attack any minute. Her eyes are huge with fear.

“The asshole in front of us cut me off,” I snap. I'm still seething with anger. She keeps taking deep breaths to calm herself. I see a lone tear slip down her cheek as she stares straight ahead, looking out of the windshield into the traffic. I have no idea what to do except comfort her

“You okay, Red?” I ask her.

She tries to form words, but with the way her bottom lips quivers, we both know she can’t. I take one hand off the steering wheel to grab her hand and enclose it in mine, bringing it into my lap. Her hand feels so small inside of mine. It's delicate and beautiful, just like her.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I plead again as softly as I can manage.

She unclips her seat belt, sliding over to the middle of the bench seat, and buckling herself into the middle belt instead. She’s so close, our shoulders bump together. Having her this close is testing my control. I don’t want to scare the girl, but fuck if I don’t want to pull her into my arms and keep her there where I know she'd be safe.

She pulls her hand away from me and for a second I think it’s because she doesn’t want it there. Once again this girl surprises the hell out of me by wrapping both hands around my upper arm which faces her. She rests her head on my shoulder just the way I wanted her to. I pull my arm away from her grasp, putting it around her shoulders, bringing her body closer into mine. Her smell surrounds me, it devours me. She smells like lilacs. It’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever smelled. It’s intoxicating.

“Shhh…it’s okay. You’re fine, I promise. I got ya covered, sweetheart. I would never let anything happen to you.” I soothe her and her breathing evens out a little.

The terrible thing is I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I just met her and I already feel this indescribable need to protect her. To make her smile. To make her happy. To fix whatever part of her is broken. That's a damn first for me.

A comfortable silence filters through the air as we exist together. She doesn’t speak and I don’t either. It isn't needed between us. The only sounds I hear are coming from her iPod still, an acoustic version of Boys Like Girls “Hero/Heroine” playing soft melodies. Having her tucked into the crook of my arm feels way too damn good. I don’t know what it is, but with her, comforting comes easy. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

She breaks the silence first, her voice still full of nerves.

“Sorry. I get anxious in cars when things like that happen. I just freaked out a little. But thank you for calming me down.” Her voice sounds so small, not like her usual bubbly one. I can hear vulnerability laced in it.

“It’s all right, Red. I told you, I got you covered. You’re safe with me.” I repeat hoping she doesn’t take it the wrong way. I mean yeah, she’s beautiful, and it’s clear there’s an attraction between us, but assuming her current situation, I think nothing other than a friendship will stem from this, and I’ll have to be okay with it.
As hard as it may be for me.

Once
I calmed down from the almost accident, I stayed nuzzled into Mac’s arms. He didn't seem to mind either because he never once complained when I didn’t move away from him. I felt safe there and I like feeling safe. It was a nice change. I didn’t move away from him as we made our way through the traffic, onto the exit, and the city comes into view. It was all so different. I’ve never seen something so beautiful before. There were just so many buildings of all sizes and colors. It was breathtaking.

Mac must have noticed how mesmerized I was because he let out a soft chuckle as he spoke.

“You’ll get used to it, but seeing it the first time is pretty awesome.”

I turned toward him as a huge smile stays plastered on my face. "I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I can’t wait to explore.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of cool shit. I’ve been here long enough to see it all twice, but I’ll gladly be your tour guide, or we can pay a tour guide. Whatever you want.”

“I didn’t take you for such a softie Mac. You seem like a real bad ass until you ride in a moving truck with you for five hours.”

“The only soft spot in my body is for you, Red.”

I let out another small laugh, figuring he is joking, but when his facial expression stays serious I realize he’s being completely serious. He’s telling me the truth. I’m apparently his only soft spot, and being Mac's soft spot makes my head spin with confusion. He seems like a “hit it and quit it” kind of guy. So claiming I'm the spot inside of his heart which could easily be bruised scares the living shit out of me. I never considered this thing between him and me venturing into something more than being friends, or a quick hook up, but I guess things have a way of taking a turn. For now, I decide ignoring it is the best option for both of us. Trying to lighten the mood a little, so we don’t have to have this conversation yet, I turn his serious statement into a little bit of playful, innocent flirting.

“I don’t think you have any soft spots in your body Mac. You look like every part of you is very
firm
.” In my mind, there are images racing through it of what he looks like naked.

I shuffle back across the bench as he turns his head to look at me. I realize the statement was a total mistake. His eyes turn darker from their usual bright green color to something much deeper and desirable. I can see the hunger which fills them; he drinks me in from across the bench seat. My cheeks redden with embarrassment as I turn around to look out at the city again. This will be quite the interesting fresh start.

Mac pulls the moving truck up to my new apartment, an adorable little brownstone townhouse. Sierra’s car is parked out front alongside Evan's truck. I will assume that after our almost accident, they got the jump on us, beating us to the apartment. Grabbing my phone, I tap Sierra's name, calling her to let her know she needs to get out here because I don't have a key yet.

"Here, give me your phone. I'll put my number in so when you're ready to get your ink, you can call me or text or something," Mac suggests as I hang up with Sierra. He takes my phone and I oblige. Once he returns it with his number inside, I send him a text. His phone dings and he fishes it out, giving me a crooked grin when he realizes it's me.

"There, you have mine now too, but don't be text bombing me all hours of the night when you're lonely and your floozy just left. I ain't gonna be a rebound girl," I joke around playfully.

He holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, chuckling at me. "I can't make any promises."

Ten minutes later, Mac and I stand on the sidewalk while he smokes and I wait for Sierra and Evan to get their asses out here. She sounded pretty out of breath on the phone. So, I'm gonna assume they were trying to get it in real quick before I ruin their honeymoon stage.

I finally see the door open and sure enough, two very disheveled looking bodies stumble out of the door wrapped around each other like spider monkeys. As Sierra and Evan steal kisses from one another and laugh at their secret jokes, I can't help but be a little jealous. They look so damn happy. I want that someday. Who am I kidding? I’ve always wanted that. Who doesn’t want somebody to love them?

“Why did it seem like ya had less boxes when we moved them the first time?” Evan whines, carrying the heaviest of the boxes inside. Mac answers for me, which is pretty sweet of him.

“That’s because I carried those boxes the first time, asshole.”

“You did nothing but stand there and look pretty while I loaded up all the boxes! I got the short end of the stick here. I carried them once, and now I’m stuck carrying them again. What do ya even have in here, Callie? Bricks?” He groans loudly as he sets the box down in my new room.

“Shoes,” I answer him.

“Shoes? You have shoes in there and it weighs that fucking much? How many shoes could ya possibly have?”

Mac laughs at Evan’s complaining.

“Yep, and for your information, the box you're carrying isn't just shoes, it's a collection. A collection I have worked very hard to get,” I grumble.

Men will never understand how many pairs of shoes some women need. I mean, we need three types of sneakers at least, multiple styles of boots, many different variations of sandals—flat, low heel, medium heel, wedges, and last, but not least, you have your high heels: stilettos, pumps, peep toes, and closed toes. I personally need them all because let's face it—you can make any outfit look brand new when you wear the proper footwear. The more shoes you have means the less need for clothes.

Sierra rounds the corner carrying my tote bag from the truck. She chimes in by giving Evan a swat on the arm. “Stop complaining or you're not getting any tonight, buddy. You will get nothing. So, leave Callie alone and get the rest of the boxes, errand boy.”