“Yeah,” I say slowly, trying to keep up with the thoughts pouring through my head. “I think I do.”
“Good.” He stands and stretches his arms over his head. “I got shit to do. Come by and see me at Crave if you need more professional opinions.”
He cackles to himself as he walks away, leaving me on the bench alone.
I consider everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, the things that have really affected me. Getting to know Mariah, hearing Ollie’s story, seeing Brandon start to turn around—all of those are blessings. But what if my story took a turn the day I had the accident? What if the one thing I considered a stain on my manhood is actually a blessing in disguise?
I plant a kiss on top of the tombstone and let my gaze linger on that date for a long moment. Then I turn and head to my car, my shoes sinking into the ground once more.
Thirty-Two
Mariah
“The three most popular answers are on the board. Name a place you go where you can’t touch anything.”
“Work,” I deadpan, popping the rest of a brownie into my mouth. Flipping off the television before I can hear the answers, I toss the remote onto the couch.
Whitney called earlier to see if I wanted to go to the movies and I told her maybe later. I’m probably going to have to pass altogether. The sun coming up this morning didn’t bring me the relief I’d hoped.
Last night was the worst night yet. I’m sure the fact it coincided with seeing him at the gas station isn’t ironic. Or that Gretchen gave me the best hug at the nursing home when I told her what was going on. Or that I was really bored and loneliness is the biggest bitch I know.
Dressed in sweatpants riddled with holes, ones I can’t make myself throw away because they’re so perfectly soft, and a t-shirt with a logo from Ruma, a restaurant I loved in California, I get off the couch and look for my phone. I find it where I left it last night, sitting on top of a book about finding inner peace. I’ve never read a book that made me so hateful.
Leave nothing unresolved. Accept what is.
It can fuck right off.
I switch to a playlist that aligns with my mood and am ready to hit play on some girl power jams when the doorbells rings.
Working my hair into a makeshift ponytail, which is harder than usual because I haven’t even brushed it today, I pull the door open with one hand without even looking through the peephole. If someone wants to try to kill me on the other side, bring it. Today’s their day.
Or maybe it’s mine.
Lance stands on the stoop, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. A plain black Henley hangs from his frame; his hair is a mussed-up mess.
The look on his face is somber, pained, almost, and as my hand falls to my side, my brain issues orders for it not to reach for him. And don’t invite him inside.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I’m busy,” I lie, bouncing on my toes to the lyrics in my head.
“Doing what?”
“Feeding my fish.”
The corners of his lip quip up. “You have fish?”
“No,” I shrug, narrowing my eyes. “Get the picture?”
“Give me ten minutes.” There’s a smirk hidden in those full, delectable lips and I want to kiss it and smack it at the same time.
Damn him.
“Nope,” I say, pulling the door closer to me so he can’t see inside. I have no idea why I do this. It just feels like the right thing to do.
“Mariah.”
“Will you stop?” I bark, losing my grip on the door. I ignore the way he melts me with his gaze, how my knees wobble as he makes no secret of sliding his eyes down my body and up again. “You’re driving me absolutely insane. Is that what you want? I have never in my entire life met a man as frustrating as you are, Lance Gibson, and it’s so mean for you to show up here and want to talk to me after breaking my heart—”
My words are stolen as his lips crush mine. I’d fall on my ass if his hands weren’t holding my face, cupping my cheeks like he might not ever let them go.
I raise my hand to smack his chest, but my arms fail to take commands. Instead, like the loser I am, I give in and kiss him back.
His lips take control, leading mine in a motion that feels like a lot more than a kiss. Lucky for me I’m still riding the tail-end of my all-nighter and don’t have the clarity to listen to whatever it is he’s trying to convey.