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Eight inches. I laid the incremented metal line over the wood and drew my mark with the thick pencil. With a start I dropped the pencil at the sound of the doorbell which chimed a brass like Pomp and Circumstance at a Spring graduation ceremony. Damn. I couldn’t help my heart rate as Tina’s footfalls met my ears followed by the squeak of the weather seal releasing from the front door. It was going to go down. My eyes shot over to her still damp panties I'd placed on the tailgate.I told myself I would just sit in my place for a second and sip the beer Tina had sent me down. But I heard muffled voices then silence. Maybe she wasn't sure if I knew what was happening or if I would try to barge in. I picked up my saw, squeezed the trigger and let the buzz of it be the signal that she had the thumbs up from me.Yes, her boyfriend is busy in the garage, she would tell Rick. He’s not going to interfere. Luckily, several cuts of wood at difficult angles centered my thinking and probably would. Misha found Tracy uncomplicated and refreshing, straightforward and fun, but she wasn’t Suzanne. As he lay there, the woman in his arms sleeping, the afternoon sun lighting up the small bedroom in her apartment, he thought about Suzanne and Tracy, comparing them, wondering why he still missed the woman who had broke his heart, why he still yearned for that someone who had caused him so much heartbreak and worry, even whilst he lay with this lovely person in his arms. Was he a masochist for loving Suzanne with all the madness that went along with her? Did it mean he was as addicted to her, as she was to the drink and drugs that she used to numb her insecurity and problems in her life? Or was it just that he was a fool for not moving on, of letting go, that the part of his personality that was competitive would not allow him to admit he had lost, even in love. He felt Tracy start to wake, her body slightly stretching, her legs moving out from between where they had been laying trapped.
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