Page 64 of Hold Still

McKenna

I TURN OVERin my bed, a soreness between my thighs.Ozzy. A smile creeps across my face and I start to hum his new song, ‘Take Me.’ I shake my head. Keep things to the “just sex” level, girl, and stop trying to read more into the situation than what’s there. My smile fades and I toss off the blankets.

An hour later, I’m dressed in leggings and a yellow long-sleeve peasant shirt, with both my hair and makeup done.

Before I can leave my bedroom, my cell phone rings and I nearly drop it in anticipation of Ozzy’s wakeup call. My smile dims when I see it’s Felicia from the Project, but I force it back, answering with a jaunty “McKenna James.”

“Hey, McKenna. Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving. I’m checking in with you about where you stand with Ozzy.”

My mind races with all sorts of inappropriate responses. Stifling an inappropriate retort, I reply, “Hi, yes, my holiday was great. I’m making some good progress with Ozzy, to answer your question.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. We had a meeting last night at the Project to get ready for the Big Reveal party on December fourteenth. You remember your graphics are due next week, right? All of the other candidates have already submitted theirs.”

Bully for them. My mind races. Tugging on my sleeves, I say, “I’m working on Ozzy’s stuff now.” My eyes close. I know hers isn’t a question and she expects only one answer. “So, uhm, sure. I’ll make the deadline.”

“Perfect. Just drop by the office with a thumb drive when you’re ready. I can’t wait to see everything you put together.”

“You’re going to love it.” This presentation is, by a yard or a mile or a missile-launch, my best work. All because of Ozzy.

Disconnecting the call, I look at the blank cell screen. I need to push Ozzy to finish up at least one more song—and create the graphics for everything—all in a week. This is going to be insane.

Trudging into the kitchen, I put leftover waffles into the toaster. Luckily, the water in Mom’s shower is running, so she must be feeling herself today.

When my waffles are heated, I plop down into the chair and mechanically start eating. How can I push Ozzy to finish his songs? Creativity can’t be forced, but I need to nudge him somehow.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, he texts me.

Missed you last night. Got something big waiting for you right now.

Especially when he texts me stuff like that. Maybe sex will make his songwriting skills go faster? I don’t pause to consider what I’m writing and respond to him with:

As long as it’s pierced at the end, I’m in.

The front door opens and Elaine pops into the kitchen as I’m cleaning up. “I heard the shower shut off a little while ago. Haven’t spoken with her this morning.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

“You’re so good with her. Thanks.”

She takes out a mug and runs water in it for tea. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. What you’ve done—giving up your condo and moving back in—is a lot. And you’re not a trained caregiver.”

Her words echo those of my therapist. Shouting into Mom’s bedroom that I’m heading out for work, I drive to Ozzy’s. The ride over consists of me trying out different ways to get him writing. From telling him the truth to sexing him up. Maybe both.

At his front door, I press the doorbell and wait. And wait. I press it again and Bans barks from the other side, but the door remains closed.

He must be in the backyard. Hopefully swimming in the buff. I turn and skip down the steps and around the side yard to the gate. Opening it, I stroll into his backyard and check out the pool. Empty. My shoulders droop.

The French doors open and Ozzy strolls through carrying two glasses. After putting them onto the table, a closed-off look crosses his face for a second. Then, all smiles, he opens his arms wide. Discarding his unexpected initial look as my mind playing tricks, I can’t stop myself from walking directly into his invitation.

He kisses me with a thoroughness I’ve never felt before. “I missed you last night.”

“Me, too,” I mumble, stealing more kisses.

He breaks our contact. “How was your meeting?”

A made-up meeting was the white lie I gave him so I could stay home with Mom. Is it the cause for his look? Nah. Get a grip. There’s no need for my worlds to cross. What I need to do is care for Mom and protect her as best I can. No one—especially no man—will ever come between me and my family again. Ozzy’s only a much-deserved stress-reliever. I step back and force a sunny smile.

“Oh, you know, boring.” I run my fingers down his forearm. “Besides, have to keep you on your toes.”

---