Page 47 of Take What Hurts

“It will be,” Mackenzie murmured darkly as she snatched a set of skates out of Frankie’s hand. Elliott chuckled and followed her to one of the benches beside the freshly maintained rink.

“Uh, no thanks. I’ll just… watch,” Hannah stammered.

Frankie cackled and grabbed Hannah tightly around the elbow. “Absolutely not, girlfriend.” And Frankie was not subtle in running her eyes from Hannah’s head to her sneakered feet, pausing at Hannah’s chest on the way back up. “Come on, I’ll show you how to do it.” Hannah shot Elliott a pleading look over her shoulder as Frankie half dragged her to a bench further down the rink. Elliott waved brightly and sent her on her way.

Despite her clear displeasure at the situation they found themselves in, Mackenzie breathed out a laugh, eyes lingering on the two of them as Hannah smacked Frankie away when she bent to help Hannah with her skates. Mackenzie watched them warily for a beat before she turned to Elliott. “I should tell you so you can warn Hannah. Frankie is bi.”

Elliott shot her a wink. “And Hannah is one hundred percent for the girls.” Another smack of Hannah’s hand against Frankie’s chest, making Frankie laugh. Elliott grimaced. “Maybe not for that girl, though.”

Mackenzie smirked. “Don’t jump to conclusions—Frankie can be very charming. And she’s a bit relentless if there’s even a whiff of compatibility. Maybe we should save Hannah?”

A soft glow ignited in Elliott’s chest as she watched Mackenzie struggling with her skates. “Luckily,” she said, taking pity on her and dropping to her knees to lace the skates for her, “Hannah is a big girl and has dealt with far worse than Frankie.”

“Good, because it looks like she’s going to need all the help she can get.”

Elliott snickered and pulled the laces on Mackenzie’s skate tight around her ankle. Then her eyes lifted, moving slowly up a toned calf and higher to the curve of a knee and strong thighs. Elliott’s mouth went dry, and she swallowed hard. Mackenzie worked out—the treadmill that lived on her covered balcony a repeated feature in the thirst trap photos Mackenzie sent Elliott almost daily. For a moment, Elliott’s mind wandered to how those toned thighs would feel naked, resting over her shoulders… squeezing the sides of her head.

Heart ramming against her ribs and all too aware of the dampness that had settled in her jeans with her desperation to run her hand up that leg and luxuriate in the undulation of toned muscle, she shuffled away. Clearing her throat and shivering with the clamminess that had settled on the skin at the back of her neck, she dragged her eyes back to Mackenzie’s other skate. Covertly, she thought, she sucked in a steadying breath.

“See something you like?”

Elliott raised her eyes to take in Mackenzie’s expression. Despite the smirk that pulled her lips tight, a light flush dusted her cheeks, and Elliott’s stomach gave a swoop that finally trailed off in a tingle.

Mackenzie had been clear that taking the next step in her career was important to her. And Elliott, despite the elephant-sized weight that had settled on her chest—an agonizing torture—couldn’t deny Mackenzie. What naturally flowed from that was the importance of the instruction from Mackenzie’s superior. Meaning that they had agreed to hang out. Get to know each other. Which Elliott could admit was sensible, because despite Seattle’s considerable size, the legal profession was the antithesis—so tight knit that it had been a miracle that she and Mackenzie had never crossed paths before that day in the airport, and naturally, gossip was a currency.

More than once since they’d agreed to abide by the request from Mackenzie’s employer, Elliott considered it was like the universe had deliberately withheld them from each other until the most inconvenient moment.

So Mackenzie staying in line and keeping herself on the Jenkins file was important. And they’d agreed that they couldn’t risk being seen together in public in that way. Mackenzie was certain if her firm learned she’d disobeyed a direct request, she’d lose the file, the shot at the partnership, and possibly her job all in one fell swoop. Basically, she was on thin ice.

And then they’d decided, all in the space of half an afternoon, that the confines of Elliott’s apartment didn’t count.

What followed was every waking free moment spent in each other’s company. Which meant that in the two weeks that had passed since Elliott had recused herself, there had been a lot of teasing, innumerable longing looks, a lot of “heavy petting”—usually on Elliott’s couch, and once on Elliott’s bed, where self-control had come this close to failing them both—and a lot, a lot of make-out sessions that made Elliott’s head spin and her heart ache in the most bittersweet way.

And it also meant that Elliott was a tinderbox sitting outside in the sun on a hot summer’s day, ready to fucking ignite at the faintest hint of a spark. Sure, she’d taken care of it herself—and was certain she’d burned out the motor in her expensive vibrator in the process—but that didn’t count when the alternative was Mackenzie. All soft skin and warmth and what Elliott was sure was wet heat. And she was sure, because their make-out sessions usually ended with Mackenzie grinding herself down on Elliott’s thigh, fully clothed, before one of them inevitably located the presence of mind to stop. But through the layers of clothing, Elliott could feel how hot Mackenzie got and occasionally had been left with a damp spot on her leg, which only intensified the own slick wetness inside her own boxers. It turned her clit so hard that it rarely took more than a minute of “taking care of it” for her to find temporary relief, which lasted exactly until the image of Mackenzie riding her thigh, head thrown back, lips parted floated across her vision. And honestly, it was a vicious cycle that Elliott could hardly fucking wait to properly address.

Despite the fact they had agreed—and Elliott understood how important Mackenzie’s career progression was to her—when she was alone and staring at the ceiling, feeling torn open and exposed with the ferociousness of the warm comfort Mackenzie brought, she had no choice but to acknowledge the prickling resentment growing like a weed in the back of her mind. Creeping like a vine into her brain matter and winding itself deeper and deeper until she couldn’t find the root anymore. Because why were they letting a totally inappropriate request dictate this? Them. For an indeterminate period of time.

The dull pain behind Elliott’s eyes that was present when she woke each morning grew and expanded and swelled more every day, the words that accompanied it pressing themselves against the front of her skull, as though if they forced their way through, Elliott would take notice of them. They demanded to know why, with each passing week, Mackenzie abided by the managing partner’s request. Why there wasn’t a revisiting of the discussion. Why it still felt to Elliott, despite Mackenzie’s reassurance, like the request was a convenient excuse for Mackenzie to hold Elliott at arm’s length. Maintain an easy way out.

The swirling, pressurized thoughts actively warred with what she thought she knew to be factual. That Mackenzie wanted her. All of her. Like she’d said. However, the voice that had once been loud and confident had taken on a tinny, faded quality as it fought to keep pace with the growing unease. That old fear that crept like a thief in the night—that the more time Mackenzie spent with Elliott, the more she learned about her, the more Mackenzie would realize how much Elliott was. How often she ruminated on the smallest things. How she could never find her fucking keys. How she asked the most asinine questions because she needed to think out loud. How she stepped over clothes on the floor rather than picking them up on her way past. Because she didn’t see them, not because she was lazy. How she needed a full hour in the evening to simply sit in the quiet so she could get up and do it all again tomorrow.

Mackenzie saying she was perfect was one thing, but witnessing her life—living it—was something else, and whether she would still mean it after experiencing the real Elliott, well, that was another thing entirely.

And then, obviously, Elliott’s thoughts would circle back around and she’d wonder who the fuck could blame Mackenzie for wanting an easy out in their back pocket.

So the fact that Mackenzie seemed all too content to keep their relationship confined to Elliott’s apartment started to make sense to Elliott. Under the circumstances, of course Mackenzie hadn’t been clear on the timeline. Why would she have been? And Elliott—she should have said something. Should have confronted it head on. But, well, every atom in Elliott’s body clawed and scraped to keep close whatever part of Mackenzie was on offer. So she hadn’t pushed.

And so every day, that little voice that knew the facts grew weaker in the fight against time and familiarity.

As Elliott stood from knotting Mackenzie’s skates, the unease that was now less of a niggle and more of a shrill scream rambled through her. Plastering a smile on her face, she pushed down the lingering heaviness that had settled in her stomach and huffed out a shaky laugh. “Shut up. You’re done; let’s go.” And she pulled Mackenzie to her feet, where she promptly began to wobble like a baby giraffe.

After half an hour of sliver-thin close calls for Mackenzie’s tailbone, Elliott had to admit Mackenzie had been right. It was bad.

“Are you this competent at all things, or just this? And skiing? And your job? Ugh, you’re annoying.” Mackenzie panted as she inched her way around the rink, white knuckling the wall on one side and Elliott’s now quite sore hand on the other.

Elliott breathed out a laugh. “I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. Everyone either skied or played hockey. I just did both.” She shrugged. She had to give it to Frankie, though—she couldn’t have picked a better “friend” hangout for two people who were trying to keep their hands to themselves but also not. Elliott’s hand was on Mackenzie’s lower back—for support, of course—and her other hand was wrapped in the pleasant warmth of Mackenzie’s. Crushing grip notwithstanding.

“Yeah, well I must have missed the memo,” Mackenzie muttered darkly, and another laugh huffed out of Elliott’s chest. She caught Mackenzie as she started to wobble.