Five Wishes

Chapter 7

"I'm not running away," I say, affronted. Who does he think he is, saying I'm running away? Sure, I'm running away, but how dare he think I'm running away? "Why would I run away from you? You don't scare me. Do you think you scare me? Big bad Mack Ryan, scaring little Marion MacAlister? I don't think so."

I punctuate my words by poking him in the chest. It's hard as a rock. It's like a super chest. The manliest of manly chests. I've never actually seen him without a shirt. Could his naked chest be as good as I think it is?

"Mack, let Marion run away just for today," Raine says. "Just for five hours or so."

"I'm not running away. I have a job," I say.

"Congratulations," he says, giving me the s*x stare again. "But you can start tomorrow. Today, we have unfinished business." He steps forward, getting deep into my personal space. Heat and testosterone are bouncing off him like a trampoline at an amusement park. My heart starts to pound. I drop Raine's hand.

"Oh, my," I breathe.

"This is so good," Raine says, looking from Mack to me and back again. She steps around Mack and goes right out the door without looking back or saying another word.

"Traitor!" I yell after her. She's abandoned me without having the decency to look back even once.

I take two steps backward, out of Mack's reach. "Hey," I say, stomping my foot. "Why'd you do that? I need that job."

"The job will be there tomorrow. Raine loves you. She'll hold the job a few hours for you."

He makes up the space between us and takes my hand. I pull it back, as if I'm burned.

"Don't you think this is weird?" I ask.

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No." His voice is impossibly deep. He's looking down at me from up high. Tall. Strong. I step back until I crash into a chair, toppling it over.

"Nervous?" he asks.

"Terrified."

He nods. A man in overalls enters the diner, and waves at Mack. "I just wanted you to know that Joe is on his way to San Fernando to get a part. Then, we should finish up the work on the elevator. It should be right as rain tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" I ask. How will I get to my apartment?

"That's fine," Mack tells the man. "We're going to be gone until then, anyway."

"We are?" I ask.

"Yep. We're going fishing, remember?"

"I don't remember that."

"Remember the fishing rod that you broke? Remember the tackle box? Those signify fishing."

"They signify that you're fishing, not me. I don't do boats. I don't do fish."

Mack yanks my hand, making my body slam against his. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "Today you do. Today you do it all."

I almost swallow my tongue.

"What do you mean I broke your fishing rod?" I croak.

*

Mack parks his SUV in front of the 7-Eleven. "Are we getting Slurpees?" I ask. "If I knew that Slurpees were part of fishing, I would have been an avid fisherman my whole life."

"I wasn't planning on getting a Slurpee. But if you want one, it's my treat."

"Oh, you know I want one."

Mack owns an all-electric SUV. It's fancy, with lots of doodads and widgets. It's very different from Mack's normal style of worn jeans and undershirts. I wonder if there's more than meets the eye in regards to Mack Ryan. We've been sort of friends for two years, but maybe I don't know a thing about him.

We get out of the car, and Mack locks it with a beep. "I didn't know you were a fan of Slurpees," I say.

"I'm not. Not since I was nine years old. I've graduated to more robust drinks."

We walk into Esperanza's only 7-Eleven. I haven't been in here for months. When I was a kid, my friends and I used to hang out here every day after school. So I've got the layout memorized. Slurpees and sodas to the right. Condoms to the left, directly in front of the cashier, because everybody tries to steal them. Beer, beer, and more beer straight ahead in the refrigerated section.

I head straight for the Slurpee machines. "Blue raspberry isn't working today, Steve?" I call out to the cashier.

"Nah, been out for two days. But the Cherry Explosion is just as good," he calls back.

I have my doubts that the Cherry Explosion is anywhere near as good as blue raspberry. Just drinking something blue makes me happy. There's no blue in the Cherry Explosion. Oh, well. I mix the Cherry Explosion with the Coke flavor in the biggest cup they have. Since Mack is paying, I go for the candy straw and slip it through the top. Yum.

I meet Mack at the counter. He's got beef jerky, Doritos, and a bottle of iced tea piled high. "So, what is it today, Mack?" Steve asks him. "Are you picking your own numbers, or are you going for the random pick?"

"I don't know. Let me think a second."

"You play the lottery?" I ask. I don't know why I'm so surprised, but Mack never struck me as the lottery kind of guy. I rarely play the lottery. It's not that I don't think I can win, even though I'm pretty sure I can't win, but most of the time I forget to play. Besides, aren't you more likely to get hit by lightning twice in the same spot than win the lottery?

Winning the lottery sounds fabulous. I could get a new manicure and maybe even a car! Hit by lightning odds or not, I'm hit with a strong desire to play. I must play.

"I want to play," I say. "Please! Please! I want to play, too."

Mack seems to think about it a minute. I guess playing the lottery with someone is kind of like a commitment. I've heard stories of winners suing each other over the winnings. But since lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place, I don't see why Mack would hesitate.

Still, I really want to play the lottery. And I want to play with Mack. I don't know why. Maybe it's a moment of lunacy.

"Please," I say, looking up at him. I can tell the moment he melts or makes a decision. His whole face changes. I really don't know what's going on in his brain, but he comes out on my side.

"Fine. We'll split it. You pick out half of the numbers, and I'll pick the other half. Where's your fifty cents?"

I don't have fifty cents. My purse is in my apartment, and there's not much more than fifty cents in my wallet, in any case. I'm flat broke, and I'm pretty sure Mack is aware of that.

"Can I borrow fifty cents?"

"I don't know. Are you good for it?"

"Probably not, unless I win the lottery and then I can pay you back your fifty cents."

"Okay. Sounds like a deal. What's your first number?" He holds a pen poised over a lottery card, which is covered in little number bubbles.

I think hard, as if I'm taking the SATs or balancing my checkbook. What number to pick? What number to pick?

"Thirteen. My birthdate," I say, finally.

"Lucky number thirteen," he says, filling in the number thirteen bubble. "Okay. April, right?"

"Why? Are you planning on getting me a present?"

"Not if you win the lottery, because then you'll be rich enough to buy your own present," he says, smiling. "I guess if we're going the birthday route, I'll pick number two."

"November, right?"

"Close. May."

"Oh, an Aquarius. I don't think I'm compatible with Aquarius. That explains so much."

Mack nods. "Yes, it would explain so much, if I was an Aquarius, but I'm a Taurus. Next number. Your choice."

"Twenty-four. That's how old my mother was when she had me."

"Twenty-four for the 'aw, sweet' number. If we're going that route, I pick thirty-six," he says, filling in the bubble.

"Your mother was thirty-six when she had you?"

"Nope. If I'm not mistaken, that's a measurement on someone I've taken an interest in." He gestures at my chest with his pen. Thirty-six is my bra size. I cover my chest with my arms.

"I don't want to know how you know that. There's a certain creepy stalker quality to the fact that you know that bit of information."

Mack smiles and does a dancing thing with his eyebrows. Steve snickers behind the counter.

"You mind your own beeswax, Steve," I bark. "And forget that number."

Steve snorts. "Fine. I'm going to clean out the hot dog tray. Let me know when you're ready to pay." He walks over to the hot dogs, singing, "Thirty-six. Thirty-six" over and over.

"Geez," I mutter.

"Your turn," Mack reminds me.

"Fine. One. To mark your measurement," I say, pointing at his crotch.

"One foot? Yep, sounds about right." He's smiling ear to ear and eagerly colors in the number one bubble.

"I meant one inch!" I yell.

"Too late. One foot. So accurate. I wonder how you knew. Anyway, time for the last number. The bonus number. I think the only bonus number could be three."

"Why is three the only possible bonus number?"

Mack leans his hip against the counter. He searches my face for something, and I blush in response.

"Well, when we get hitched, that makes two, and our first child will be the bonus. Three," he says, holding three fingers in the air.