Strictly for Now by Carrie Elks

CHAPTERTEN

MACKENZIE

“I’m not crying because I’m upset, I’m crying because I’m mad.” It’s mostly true. I’m also mortified and disbelieving but the overwhelming emotion is dry.

“Okay,” he says, looking at me carefully. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt which is plastered to his chest. His hair is damp from perspiration. He balances his hockey stick against the board and gives me his full attention.

“Why are men such assholes?” I ask him, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. It comes back sheared with mascara. Ugh, I must look a distressed state in my messed-up makeup and try-hard dress.

“What did he do to you?” he asks, his voice thick with some kind of emotion I can’t quite fathom.

“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “He didn’t hurt me.” Well other than my feelings. But that’s bad enough. “He just wasn’t who he said he was.”

“Who was he then?”

“An asshole,” I growl and the faintest of smiles pulls at his lips. And I feel this need to unload on the only other person in this building who seems to get me.

We’re like the two grown ups constantly marshalling the kids around. There’s a kinship in that. The loneliness I’ve been feeling pulls at my chest.

“It was a blind date,” I tell him. “Through an app.”

I expect him to tease me but he doesn’t blink an eyelid.

“With a lawyer. Or at least that’s what I thought.” I clear my throat because the embarrassment is starting to wash over me. “I’m doing it for a friend. Her boyfriend designed the app. It’s for… ah… older people.”

“Older people?” His brows knit. “Why are you using it then?”

I want to hug the guy. “Allison, my friend, doesn’t know many people over thirty. So I agreed to beta test it.”

He says nothing, but it feels good to talk. Yes, I could call Rachel but I want to talk to a real live person. I want to get it all out and feel better.

“So I arranged to meet this guy – Andrew Casinger – at the wine bar. Except when I walked in there was only a young guy waiting in there.”

“How young?” He looks interested now.

“I’m not sure. Twenty-five tops.”

Eli lifts a brow.

“So I’m about to leave and this guy – the young one – comes up to me and says my name. So I assume maybe he works for Andrew or something and is there to tell me that he can’t make it.”

“But he didn’t?” Eli guesses.

I shake my head. “He insisted on buying me a drink and then told me he was using the app to find older women who might invest in his business.”

“What kind of business?” Eli asks. I can’t tell if he’s amused or not.

“Another app.” The irony isn’t lost on me. “He’s developing something to do with the medical field. I don’t know, I kind of tuned it out.”

“Why’s he using a dating app to find investors?” Eli runs his hand through his hair, his biceps bulging at the movement.

“Because the dating app is targeted at older women. And apparently they have the kind of money he wants. And he thinks he can charm it out of them.”

“He’s catfishing for money?” Eli’s mouth drops open. “Jesus.”

“And I fell for it.” I feel stupid. Embarrassed. And yeah, a little bit like I’m over the hill. “Hook, line, and sinker.” I put my hand on my face. “I’m such an idiot.”

Gently, Eli pulls my hand away. “No you’re not. You were doing your friend a favor, that’s all.” He’s still holding my hand. “Tell me you made him pay for your drink at least.”

For the first time I laugh. “I didn’t even get that far. I just shouted at him and left.”

“Good.” His eyes are warm. He finally lets go of my hand. “Did you get this guy’s real name?”

I nod. “Ben Dickson. Why?”

“Because I’m going to rip his fucking head off.”

I laugh again. And it feels good. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay, his balls.”

“I’m not sure he has any. Anyway, he’s just some stupid kid.”

“He’s twenty-five. He knows better.”

“Everybody at work told me it gets like this. The older you are, the harder it is to find somebody to date. But I didn’t listen.” I was too busy working. The last time I really dated – when I was thirty-three, before our three years of overworking on a project began – I hadn’t noticed this phenomenon.

Is it something that suddenly happens the day you turn thirty-five? Why did nobody tell me?

“Look, there are assholes everywhere. I bet you met a few of them when you were in your twenties.”

He’s right, I did. The memory of one particular asshole rushes into my mind.

“Were you an asshole back then?” I ask him, really hoping he wasn’t.

“I tried not to be. My exes would probably tell you otherwise.”

I tip my head. “And now? Are you an asshole to women now?”

The corner of his lip quirks. “I still try not to be. But again, you’d need to ask the women I’ve dated.”

“Are there a lot of them?” There’s a weird ringing in my ears. High pitched. Like a siren.

“Women I’ve dated?”

“Yeah.” The need to know tugs at me. Eli’s brows knit and I take a moment to enjoy looking at him.

Because Eli Salinger is a handsome man. Dark hair, dark eyes, a lightly bearded jawline you could crack eggs on. And that’s when I realize that of course there are a lot of women he’s dated.

He must fight them off.

“A few. I haven’t dated since I left Boston, though.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t wanted to.”

“I know a superb dating app you could try.”

He laughs and there’s that frisson of excitement again. I feel it curl around me like a chiffon blanket. Soft. Teasing.

Enticing.

“I’m more of a long term kind of guy,” he says softly.

My heart is hammering against my chest. “So you don’t usually go around dropping to your knees in front of women then?” I keep my voice light. Teasing.

Because I’m afraid. There is a weird vibe between us. My heart is hammering against my chest.

I want this man and it’s not right.

“No. Just with you.”

I want you to do it again. That thought hangs in the air like a flashing neon sign between us. Can he read it? Does he know what I’m thinking?

His eyes turn even darker. I think he does.

“You look beautiful in that dress, Mackenzie.”

His words feel like seduction. Praise has always been my weakness. I didn’t get enough as a child. Textbook Freud.

Doesn’t stop my skin from tingling though.

“I wish I hadn’t worn it,” I tell him. Because I do. I’m embarrassed that I made the effort for a guy who only saw me as a dollar sign.

“I’m glad you did.”

My heart is galloping now. Like a racehorse desperate to win. “He offered to have sex with me.” There’s the last confession. I didn’t tell him that before. It was just too mortifying. “When I said I’d dressed up for him he said we could have sex if I wanted.”

“If you wanted…” Eli repeats my words. He looks like he’s about to explode.

“I guess in return for… payment.”

“Don’t go there, Mackenzie,” Eli says. “This is on him, not you. It’s not a reflection of who you are, or of your attractiveness. Because you’re fucking beautiful.”

His words are like honey, making every part of me feel soft. Sugary.

Is this why I came here? For Eli to make me feel better? To make me feel wanted? Honestly, I’m not sure. I could have driven home. I could have gone to another bar and drowned my sorrows.

Instead, I drove right here and looked for him everywhere until I found him on the ice.

Hitting the puck into the goal like he was on a mission. Not wearing a helmet or padding. Just this man and his body, perfectly aligned with the hockey stick he was holding.

“The other night. When you were between my thighs, when you breathed me in,” I say, my voice husky. “I liked it.”