Empty Me Out (The Liquid Series, #1)

Chapter 4

As we pulled into the driveway of the small, brick red, Cape Cod-style house in which I lived with my mom, I noticed her car wasn't there, which jogged my memory. She had made plans to go out after work with her book club friends. And she wasn't due home for several hours. "Did you want to come inside for a bit?" I asked, hoping to prolong the perfect day just a little more.

Mark appeared flattered by the invitation. "Sure. I'd like that."

We walked along the concrete pathway and up the few steps leading to my front door. Ever the gentleman, Mark insisted on carrying my bag of school supplies into the house even though I offered to do it myself. When we reached the door, I opened it and stood off to the side, allowing Mark to enter ahead of me. I watched from behind as he took a quick perusal of my home's interior from the front hall, unwilling to move in any further without my permission. "You have a nice home here," he said sincerely.

"Thanks. I like it...or at least I'd better, since I spend an inordinate amount of time here," I said, half laughing at my own lame remark. "Here, let me take your jacket," I proposed, to which he obliged, offering it to me after setting my bag of books down on a small wooden bench. It was the same leather jacket he was wearing when I found him heaving onto the sidewalk outside the bar that fateful night. As I lifted the jacket up to hang it on the coat rack, I passed it by my nose discreetly, inhaling the scent of leather and Mark, an intoxicating combination that reminded me of a campfire.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as someone who spent a lot of time at home," Mark stated matter-of-factly.

"No? Why is that?" I asked, spinning around to face him for clarification.

"Well, look at you," he said, waving his hand up and down before me as if I were on display. "You're smart and funny and sweet...and beautiful. Surely you have guys fighting for your attention on a regular basis."

I wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of his statement, but his expression told me how serious he really was. It did funny things to me knowing that's the way he viewed me. Shaking my head, I uttered, "No...not really. I don't date much."

"No boyfriend?" he asked, watching me intently.

"No. I mean, yeah...I used to...for a couple of years...but that's over now," I blabbered, not knowing why I felt compelled to divulge details of my dating history. A simple "no" would have been sufficient.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," he said, a smile playing on his lips.

"You don't look very sorry," I chuckled softly.

"No. I guess I'm not." Stepping closer, his demeanor suddenly turned serious.

My heart turned frantic.

Mark continued moving in toward me until we were mere inches apart. My face burned hot and I lost the capacity to breathe. He peered down at me, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made me weak in the knees. The ever-present silky black hair strands that hung over his right eye became too much to bear. Seeming to have a mind of its own, my hand traveled up the side of his face, continuing until it reached his ebony wisps, then moved the pesky strands aside with a gentle sweep of the fingers. As I slowly lowered my hand away from his face, Mark grabbed onto it tightly, pulling it toward him swiftly, causing my body to press up against his. Leaning his head in toward mine, he was now so close, I could feel his warm breath in my face. I stared at his mouth, anticipating his next move. He continued moving in slow motion...getting closer...closer...his lips parting slightly. And then...

Mark's cell phone rang from inside the back pocket of his jeans, making us both jump a mile.

Fuck. My. Life.

"Shit!" Mark yelped, clearly startled and annoyed by the interruption. "I-I guess I should answer that." He pulled out his phone and barked, "What do you want?!" Then snapped, "Tonight? When?" His eyes shifted away from me nervously. "Alright...I'll be there as soon as I can." When he ended the call, I wondered who or what had him so flustered.

"Kelsey, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have to go." Hastily retrieving his jacket from the coat rack, he sure was in a hurry all of a sudden. Brushing by me quickly while reaching for the front door, he stopped himself, whirling back around and bounding over to where I still stood frozen in place—the same spot where the spell of our impending lip-locking episode was broken without warning.

He grabbed my face in his hands, catching me off-guard and I gasped. "When can I see you again?" he asked, his caramel irises searching my hazel orbs.

Barely able to form a coherent thought, I mumbled, "W-whenever you want."

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" he asked, releasing me and retreating backwards.

Struggling to get my breathing under control, I huffed, "Yeah...okay."

And then suddenly, Mark was out the door.

Remaining in the same spot, my feet glued to the floor, I brought my hands up to my cheeks, yearning to relive the feel of his warmth cradling my face. The effect Mark had on me was something I had never before experienced, not even in the two years I'd spent with my ex-boyfriend, whom I cared about deeply.

The feeling both terrified and exhilarated me.

Finally gaining my composure and mobility, I moved from my spot, taking off my black hoodie and hanging it up. Removing my UGGs, I placed them under the bench where my school books sat. As I headed into the kitchen, a stark realization hit me: Mark had never made it any further into the house than the front hall. The ridiculousness of it reduced me to a fit of giggles that nearly brought me to tears.

The following day, I busied myself while eagerly anticipating Mark's phone call. I couldn't wait to see him again—and hopefully get a do-over of our would-be first kiss. Without the interruption.

I spent the morning cleaning and organizing my room—a project long overdue. When the afternoon rolled around, mom and I passed the hours looking at old photo albums together, reminiscing over the many good times we'd spent with my dad. The trip down memory lane was always a bittersweet experience, but we both strongly felt the importance of keeping his memory alive, no matter how much it hurt sometimes.

That evening for dinner, I made us a chicken cacciatore recipe I'd found on the internet. It turned out surprisingly well, but I had a hard time forcing the meal down past the lump forming in my throat.

When night set in, I stayed up reading until eleven o'clock, finally giving in to exhaustion and going to bed. Disappointment hung over me like a dark cloud.

Mark's phone call never came.