Speaking of Love (Perfect Kisses) (8 page)

Chapter Nine

Mac was waiting in the hotel lobby, her suitcase handle in one hand, her heavy coat in the other. After two days of talking nothing but budgets, student-to-teacher ratio, and continuing education, Mac was extremely ready to relax and blow off some steam.

About twenty minutes later, Mac spotted Rick in the lobby, weaving through all the other guests with late checkouts. If he hadn’t been waving at her, she might not have recognized him.

“Hey,” he said, walking over. “Are you ready?”

She was tilting her head. “You look good.”

Rick glanced down at his clothes. “I do?”

She pointed at his faded Levi’s. “I’ve never seen you in jeans.” She moved her finger up. “And what is
that
?”

“It’s called a sweatshirt, Mac. I was late getting started this morning and just grabbed something.”

“Yes, but…” She was going to say she was a little amazed that he actually owned a sweatshirt, but that was probably obvious. Mac always said that well-fitting jeans on a butt of a well-proportioned man was affirmation of a higher being. Mac took a quick peek as Rick turned around to grab her bag.

And let us pray…

After reining in her thoughts, Mac followed Rick toward the hotel exit, Rick holding the door open for her. Mac, spotting the shiny red Porsche in the first parking spot, rolled her eyes, and headed toward it.

“Where are you going?” Rick asked from behind.

“To your ride,” she said, pointing at the glossy sports car.

“Mine is over there.”

Mac stared at the location where he was pointing. “
That
?”

“What?” Rick asked as he pulled open the passenger side of an old, beater truck. It was two-toned and probably used to be orange or maybe red, but the rust color kind of blended everything together. He moved the seat forward and slid her bag behind the front seat. “What?” he repeated, probably noticing that Mac hadn’t moved.

“Where did you get this thing?”

“It was my first car,” he said, holding the door open wider. “I’ve had it since I was sixteen.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t new even then. But it has four-wheel drive. We’ll need that in this weather.” He stepped toward her. “Are you getting in?”

Mac stepped on the running board and climbed inside, sliding across the long bench seat. Rick closed the door and Mac watched him walk around the hood.

“Buckle up,” he said, once inside. “Sorry I don’t have a booster seat for you.”

“Har-har. I know, I’m very small. Old joke.”

Rick chuckled and turned the key. The truck roared to life.

Mac reached behind her for the seat belt. When she pulled on it, it didn’t move. “I think it’s stuck.”

“I haven’t had a passenger in a while,” Rick said. He scooted over the seat, then leaned across her and yanked on the belt, rocking slightly against her. She stopped breathing for a moment, feeling a little warm.

“Here you go,” he said.

“Thanks.” Mac allowed him to wrap the belt across her lap then clip it in at her left hip. He appeared to be lingering there for a while. “I think ya got it,” she said.

Rick grinned. “Just making sure you’re safe.” He sat back. “We have a two-hour drive. You pick the music.” He pointed to a small black zipper case.

“CDs,” Mac said. “How quaint.”

“They’re from my college years, so no judging. There’s also a cooler in the back.” Rick gestured behind him to the bed of the truck, half-covered in snow. “Provisions, so we don’t have to stop.”

“Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper?”

“What do you think?” Rick asked, deadpan, as he drove out of the parking lot.

“Thank you,” Mac said, pulling out a disc. “Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

Rick stopped at a red light. “Indeed.”

“And George Michael? What exactly were you like in college?” Mac realized she didn’t know much about his life before they met.

“Diverse,” Rick answered. “I have no memory of purchasing a George Michael CD, though. It must have been a girlfriend’s that I inherited.”

Mac set the CDs on her lap. “You had a girlfriend who listened to George Michael?”

He shrugged. “Apparently. Wait.” He turned to look at her. “I’ve seen your iPod, Mackenzie Simms.
You
have George Michael.” He pointed at her. “And Wham.”

“I was a very troubled youth. George helped.” She leaned back and sighed reminiscently. “And anyway, there’s still no better song for house cleaning than ‘I Want Your Sex.’”

“Really?” Rick turned to her again, one eyebrow lifted. “Next time you come over to my house, I’ll play it for you.” The way he was smiling made Mac’s heart hiccup. “My floors could use a good deep clean.”

Mac punched his bicep. “When did you get such a mouth?”

“Ouch.” Rick rubbed his arm. “When I started hanging around you.”

…

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They had been on the road for an hour and Rick was already losing his voice.

“Mac, you are a debate coach,” he said, lowering his visor as he drove toward the sun, “and your firmest argument is that I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Stubborn beyond words, that was Mackenzie Simms, no matter how good she smelled or how soft she was when you were trying to put a seat belt around her in a purely platonic capacity.

“It’s firm,” Mac said, “because it’s true.”

Rick gripped the steering wheel tighter. Why were they talking about Lincoln Park, anyway? It was too much of a hot topic. “Mac, it happens to be part of my profession to fact-check.”

“You don’t think I’ve done my own fact-checking?” She turned her upper body toward him. “Rick, I’ve lived in Franklin my whole life. I actually
know
the city council. I know that Councilwoman Doyle wants the park to go, and that Councilman Rehm owes her a new fence because his dog tore up her side, so he won’t vote against her. And—”

“What?”

“I’m not finished,” Mac snapped. “One of Rehm’s daughters is acting in the school play with Councilwoman DeArmond’s son. I’ve seen sparks between them, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re having Sunday dinners together. Councilman Wallace just moved to town, but he lives in the brand new subdivision overlooking the lake and he’s probably never even been to Lincoln Park, but since he was in the same fraternity as
your
dad…” She stopped to breathe.

“So?” Rick asked.

“So?” Mac repeated. “Do the math. That’s four yes votes right there. One more and the park is gone.”

Rick thought for a moment. She was dead right. He was impressed. Mac really had done her homework. “Oh,” he finally said.

“Yeah.” Mac was nodding. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Rick said, unsure if he should compliment her, or if that would come across as condescending. “Maybe we should change the subject,” he said, deciding to take the easy way out.

“You brought it up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I…” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Fine.” When he turned to look at her, he saw she was smiling.

“I win,” she said in a high, sing-song voice.

Rick burst out laughing.
Stubborn.

He watched out of the corner of his eyes when she started pulling her sweater over her head. When he made a move to give her a hand with it, he noticed she was wearing a tight black V-neck shirt underneath. He couldn’t help staring. It wasn’t easy being hormonally stirred and annoyed at the same time—it took a lot of energy. Rick needed that energy to
not
think about that shirt she was wearing. Or what was underneath.

He wiped his palms on his jeans. Was it getting hot in here?

Speaking of hot, Rick knew something was wrong when he noticed the temperature needle had pushed up past the center line. He should have been monitoring it better, but he and Mac had been so engrossed in conversation that he wasn’t paying attention. Maybe he should’ve brought the truck in for a tune-up before taking it out on the road. He hadn’t driven it in any kind of cold weather terrain since last winter.

“What are you doing?” Mac asked when Rick slowed down.

“I think we’re overheating.”

“We?”

“The
engine
,” Rick quickly corrected, keeping his eyes firmly on the road and not on Mackenzie’s V-neck.

“That’s bad,” Mac said, leaning forward to look out the windshield. It had started to snow.

“It might be nothing,” Rick said. “I think if I pull over and let it cool down for a minute, we’ll be fine.”

Mac sat back. “Do you know anything about cars?”

“Not much.”

“I don’t think just pulling over will do anything to help—
ouch
.”

“Sorry,” Rick said as the passenger-side tires rolled over a large pot hole on the side of the shoulder. Before the truck could steady, it dipped again, deeper this time. Mac squeaked and grabbed her seat belt.

Rick swore and jerked the wheel to the right. It didn’t take a perfect knowledge of the internal combustion engine to know what just happened. But he didn’t want to alarm Mac, so he tried to remain unfazed.

“We have a flat,” Mac said, before Rick could speak. “Don’t we?”

“I think so,” he replied. “Wait here.”

Rick opened the door and stepped out into the snow. Yep. Not only was the front passenger tire flat, but the rim was bent. He rubbed his chin and looked under the truck.
That must have been some pothole
.

“Where’s the spare?” Mac asked, her head poking out the open window.

“Under the bed with the jack. Stay inside, I got it,” he added when she made a move to open her door.

She smiled, looking skeptical. “You know how to change a tire?”

Rick cupped his hands and blew in hot air. “I’m insulted. I’ve changed plenty of tires. It’s just been a while.”

“Didn’t mean to trample on your manly ego.” Mac smiled. “Here.” She passed his coat out the window.

“Thank you.”

“And here.” She was holding out her red scarf. As he zipped up his coat, she added, “Dip your head, Mr. Giant.”

Rick stepped closer to the window and dropped his chin. Mac’s hand brushed the side of his face when she wrapped the scarf around his neck. Despite the cold, Rick felt his body warm up considerably.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping back. When she looked up at him, a single snowflake landed on one of her long eyelashes. Rick stared as she blinked it away. “Um, I better…”

“Need some help?” she asked.

“No, no. I’m fine. Stay there.”

Rick unburied the spare and jack, then bent down on one knee and assessed the situation. It didn’t take long to draw a conclusion. He was back inside the truck a few minutes later.

“Done already?” Mac snickered. “That was fast. I’m very impressed. You’re such a he-man.”

Rick sighed. “This one might be above my pay grade.”

Mac glanced behind her. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Rick cut the engine. “Short of a tow-truck, we’re not going anywhere.”

Mac bent forward, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulder and sliding across the side of her face. When she rotated her body and stretched out a hand to pick something off the floor of the truck, Rick caught a quick glimpse of black lace when her tight V-neck top gaped open.

“I’ll call Triple A,” Mac said, sitting up with her phone in her hand.

“Don’t bother.” He displayed his own phone. “There’s no reception. The snow must be blocking the satellite.”

“Crap,” Mac said, her eyes growing wide. “How far are we from the cabin?”

“Another hour.”

“What do we do?” She looked out the window at the falling snow. “It’s really coming down.”

He slid his seat all the way back and stretched out his legs. “I’ll keep trying to get a signal,” he said. “In the meantime, we wait for someone to drive by.”

“Out there?” She pointed. “Rick, I don’t know about you, but since we made that turn off the interstate, I haven’t seen a single car pass by. Didn’t you tell me this cabin we’re going to is pretty isolated?”

Rick hadn’t considered that. “It’s remote,” he agreed, “but it’s not the Bates Motel. It’s only a little after one o’clock. There will be plenty of cars. We’ll just wait—”

Suddenly, Mac scooted all the way over and leaned toward him, positioning the back of her head between his face and the steering wheel; her left hand was resting on the small space of seat right between his legs.

If Rick shifted one inch either way, their entire relationship would change.

Chapter Ten

“How much gas do we have?” Mac asked, tapping on the plastic covering the gauges.

“Uh, plenty.”

Rick’s voice sounded funny. When she turned to look at him, his face—which was very close to her own, as she balanced between him and the dashboard—looked a little tense.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He blinked and looked past her out the windshield.

When she shifted to return to her seat, her hand grazed the inside of his thigh. Which was embarrassing enough, but, in turn, her locked elbow buckled and she felt herself falling face-first toward his lap.

“Whoa,” Rick said, catching her just in time. “You okay?”

Unable to meet his eyes, Mac pulled herself up and slid back to her side of the truck. “Fine,” she said, mortification flooding her body with adrenalin. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

For accidentally molesting you?
she almost said. But instead she pressed her lips together and tried not to giggle like a nine-year-old, hoping that Rick would be a gentleman and change the subject.

“The forecast last night didn’t say anything about new snowfall,” Rick said, while intently studying the view out the window.

Mac relaxed.

“But the temperature is dropping outside,” he added.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?” she asked, sliding her arms inside her coat.

“Not long, hopefully. There’s a thermos under your seat if you need something hot.”

Mac’s mind drifted for a moment, but then she snapped it back. “I think I could do with a drink,” she said. “And I’m a little hungry, too.”

“We’ve only been on the road an hour.”

“It seems longer than that.”

“Well, I did bring sodas, but not any food.”

“I’ll be okay.” She tilted her chin to look at the ceiling. “I’ll just eat the lint in my pockets, and when they find my shriveled up, starving body, I’ll tell them—”

Rick’s chuckle cut her off. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

While Mac waited, she pulled out her phone and checked for a signal. Still nothing. She sighed and fiddled with the zipper tab of her coat. When she became bored with that, she opened the glove compartment. Inside were a few maps, a tin of Altoids, a large Swiss Army Knife that looked about a hundred years old, and an electric razor with an adapter to plug into the cigarette lighter.

She couldn’t help smiling. Even though this wasn’t Rick’s everyday car, he still wanted to make sure he would always have the chance to be well-groomed. The thought made Mac feel warm inside.

When Rick opened the door a few minutes later, he was holding a soda can in one hand and the other arm was balancing several items.

“Where did you find beef jerky?”

“The expiration date has probably passed,” Rick said, dumping the provisions on the seat between them, then shutting his door. “But I’m sure it contains enough preservatives that you’ll be safe.”

“And a Snickers bar,” Mac said. “A very frozen Snickers bar.”

“Leftover from camping last summer,” Rick explained. “Here.” He reached out and took her hand, laying the brown bar on her palm. He placed his own hand over the top of hers, cupping them together.

“What are you…” Mac began, her heart jumping into her throat.

“We’re making heat,” Rick explained.

We sure are
, Mac almost inserted, but she kept her eyes on their hands.

“So you won’t break your teeth when you bite into it,” Rick added.

Mac laughed quietly and then lifted her eyes.

Rick was staring down at their hands. A moment later, he repositioned his fingers to curl them around Mac’s hand. Mac couldn’t breathe, feeling the heat of his skin. When Rick lifted his eyes and looked at her, something in the air crackled.

…

After a moment, Rick drew back his hand and cleared his throat, leaving the candy bar in her hand. “The chocolate was probably melted before it froze, but the molecular structure hasn’t changed.”

“Molecular structure?” Mac repeated. “Are you a physicist in your spare time?” She tore open the wrapper. “What else don’t I know about you?”

Rick looked at her, deciding if he should take a moment to really share with her. “What would you like to know?” he asked.

Mac shrugged. “Anything.”

Rick thought for a moment. “Well, Snickers is my candy bar of choice,” he said. “I ran the New York City Marathon but had to stop halfway through, and in my freshman year of college, I decided to skip my birthday. No one even noticed.”

“You skipped your birthday?” Mac said softly. “I didn’t know that.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Rick reached for the beef jerky.

“We’ll split the Snickers,” he said. “But you can have all of this.”

“Wise decision.”

“You may not know me, Mackenzie Simms,” he said, “but I know you.”

Suddenly, Mac became very still. He hoped she hadn’t read into what he’d said. It was almost a joke, really, how much Rick did
not
know about her.

“So,” Rick continued after taking a bite. “Now that we have some time to kill, how are things at school?”

“Good,” Mac answered. “I’ve got two classes doing impromptu speeches next week. That always terrifies them.” She lifted a grin. “But that also means nothing for them to prep—no homework. They’re all seniors, and I happen to know they have major composition papers due that same week, so I figured I would give them a break.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.”

Mac smiled. “I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to think that every teacher is ganging up on me at the same time.” She shrugged. “Some of the other teachers are totally oblivious to the work load outside of their classes. But I figure, why stress the kids out unnecessarily? They have to do impromptus at some point, why not when they’re the busiest with other work?”

“That makes sense. How do the impromptu speeches work? If there isn’t time for prep, how do they know what to speak on?”

“It’s a very advanced system,” Mac said. “I have a bowl at my desk with scraps of paper in it. Each piece has a topic or scenario written out on it. One at a time, each kid draws a piece then goes out into the hall for sixty seconds. That’s all the time they get. When they come back in the classroom, they have to speak about that scenario for five minutes.”

“Harsh.”

“I know.” Mac leaned back. “And I don’t make it easy on them. The topics I choose…” She paused to grin then toyed with the ends of her hair. “Well, let’s just say they’re not subjects teenagers would normally discuss in public.”

Rick loved being like this with her, when she was relaxed and unguarded. These moments were rare. Rick was learning to cherish them.

“Well, good luck with that next week,” he offered. “And let me know if you need any help thinking up embarrassing stories to relive.”

“Don’t tell Principal Walker,” Mac said, then looked over her shoulder as if checking to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “But I get most of the topics from my own life or close friends.” She cracked open her soda and took a long drink. “It’s easier that way. Why be creative if I don’t have to?”

Rick nodded. “What are some scenarios?” he asked as he rotated his body and leaned against the inside of the door, facing Mac full on. She was like watching a play, front row: she had her audience captivated.

“Getting lost at the fair,” Mac said, counting off on her fingers. “Getting caught sneaking into the movie theater.”

“Not
you
,” Rick said, feigning shock.

Mac scowled and shook her head. “Of course not.”

Rick chuckled and peeled off his coat. “What else?”

“Belching in public.” She held a hand over her mouth, squelching her own carbonated air bubble. “Again,” she quickly added, “
not
me.”

Rick burst out laughing.

“Um, forgetting your passport at the airport,” she added, her voice becoming more hushed. “Death of a favorite pet. Getting dumped on your anniversary at the exact place you first met.”

When her voice died out completely, Rick also fell quiet and just watched her. She was staring down at her lap.

“That last one,” he finally said. “You?”

She rubbed her nose. “Yeah.”

Rick stared at her as she sat, ringing her hands together. He had never seen her so tense. He could practically feel it.

“How long ago?” he asked, instinctively asking for further details. “When you were in high school?”

The harshness of Mac’s angry scoff startled him. “Try three years ago.”