by Emma Hart
“Oh, my God, yes.” Laughing, I wiped my mouth and picked up my coffee. “Look, I know nothing about the guy. I literally spent the night looking pretty and talking about, well, I don’t even know. But it’s not like we were gazing into each other’s eyes over a steak dinner. We had fucking McDonald’s as a post-reunion snack. In his car.”
She burst out laughing. “That’s the most Lauren thing ever. Fancy dinner? Nah. Let’s go to the McD’s drive-thru, order a cheeseburger, and eat in your car. Perfect first date.”
I held up a hand. “Look, if a man can’t take me eating a cheeseburger in his passenger seat, he doesn’t deserve me eating his dick in his bedroom.”
She coughed violently and thumped her fist against her chest. I went to help her, but she motioned for water, so I grabbed a bottle from the fridge and uncapped it before I handed it to her.
She downed several mouthfuls of it before she set it on the countertop and looked at me. “I take the friendly neighborhood bitch thing back. Put that on a mug.”
I grinned, tearing a second croissant in two. “I’ll put that on a flag and fly it from my window if I have to.”
Madi shook her head. “This is why you’re single. The only filter you use is on Instagram.”
“We’re not all proficient in Photoshop,” I shot back. “And I’m single because I want to be, thank you very much.”
She snorted. “Are you telling me that if this Mason guy called you tomorrow and asked you on another date that you’d say no?”
“Absolutely,” I said without missing a beat. “I swear to God, I wouldn’t do it. I cannot imagine a scenario where I would ever, ever, put myself in the line of fire of his ex again. I’d rather eat my own nipples for breakfast.”
“Are you sure?”
“One thousand percent,” I said firmly. “Now, let’s find you a date instead.”
CHAPTER SEVEN – MASON
If there was anything I dreaded more than having dinner with my parents and my mother asking when I’d start dating again, it was my Grandpa Ernie being there and telling me about all the women he was dating.
Mostly because I didn’t need the mental image of my eighty-year-old grandfather getting it on, but partly because my mom side-eyed me every single time.
If my grandpa could get over losing his wife of sixty years and date other women, I could move on from Claudia.
She didn’t seem to understand that I had moved on from her. I just wanted to be single.
It made dinner… interesting.
Which was why I was taking my sweet-ass time driving home from work. With any luck, my mom would be so pissed I was late that she wouldn’t bother talking about my dating life—unless my sister brought it up.
Which she probably would, so I’d bring up hers right back.
Sure, Kirsty was actively dating, but she was picking total assholes.
Begrudgingly, I pulled up outside my apartment block and headed upstairs. I’d just put my key in the lock when the door behind me swung open.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Allerton,” I said politely, pushing my door and turning around.
“Is it?” She sniffed. “There was someone knocking at your door earlier.”
I should have guessed. “I’m really sorry if they disturbed you.”
Another sniff. “You should tell your female callers that they need to call before they stop by and interrupt Maury.”
“I will do just that,” I reassured her. “Do you happen to know who it was?”
“No. Maury had the DNA results.”
“How do you know it was a woman if you didn’t see them?”
“I might have looked through my peephole,” she admitted after a minute. “They had a hood up, but it looked like a woman. I told her that I’d shoot her if she didn’t stop hammering away.”
Tilting my head slightly, I said, “You don’t own a gun.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” She knocked her cane against the floor. “But your floozies don’t know that, do they?”
I gave her a tight smile. It was no use trying to tell her that I didn’t have any “floozies,” as she put it. She’d just argue the toss with me. It’d taken me eighteen months to convince her that Kirsty was my sister.
“Absolutely not. I’ll pass your messages on.”
“Thank you. Don’t you have to get ready for dinner with your family?”
Ah, small towns and nosy neighbors. Who’d live anywhere else?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. I’m actually a little late.”
“Then why are you still standing here talking to me?” She sniffed and turned around. “Kids these days. So disrespectful.”
I took a deep breath and went into my apartment before she’d shut her door. Telling her that I was twenty-eight and not exactly a child wouldn’t work in my favor and just start a whole long rant about not arguing with my elders.
I already had my grandfather to deal with tonight. One pensioner was more than enough for today.
I tossed my phone and keys onto the kitchen island and pulled my shirt over my head on the way to the bathroom. It fell to the floor, but ignored it to pick up later, and instead focused on the shower.
I washed the dirt and dust from the building site away from my body and got back out. I really didn’t have long to get changed, so I gave my hair a quick rub with the towel and got dressed, leaving it still damp as I headed back out the door.
Hopefully, no “floozies” would come knocking at my door when I was out.
***
I pulled up behind Kirsty’s car in my parents’ driveway. I was already regretting coming here, but not quite as much as I did when the front door swung open before I’d even gotten out of my truck.
“Mason Jackson!” My mother snapped. “You’re late.”
I took a deep breath and got out. “Hello to you, too, Mom.”
“Hello,” she replied. “You’re still late.”
“Sorry. I was late finishing work. You didn’t wait, did you?”
“Everyone except your grandfather.” She accepted my kiss on the cheek and moved aside so I could get in. “You know what he’s like.”
I did. The man would eat his own fingers if you didn’t feed him. A bit like a hungry toddler.
In fact, old people had a lot in common with toddlers—at least in my experience. They needed help visiting the bathroom, got grumpy when they were hungry, and said your name repeatedly until you answered.
Or maybe that was just Grandpa Ernie.
Who was currently slurping spaghetti while wearing a napkin as a bib.
Yep. He was an overgrown toddler.
“What’s up, Grandpa?” I asked, joining everyone at the table. “Hey, Dad, Kirsty.”
“Hey, son. How was work?” Dad asked, looking up from the paper he was reading. “Still down at the old Hawkins place?”
I nodded, reaching for some bread as Mom put a steaming plate of spaghetti in front of me. “We’re putting the roof on the new barn now. We should be done with it by next week.”
“How’s Sam?”
“As ornery as ever,” Kirsty replied before I could. “I was out there yesterday to interview him about the market to see if he’d be bringing some of his produce, and he told me to have my people call his people.”
I eyed her. “You’re the junior reporter. You are the newspaper’s people.”
She stuck her tongue out at me, earning herself a quick slap around the back of the head from Mom.
“Let’s say grace.” Mom clasped her hands together, forcing all of us—except Grandpa—to do the same. “Lord, we thank you for this food you blessedly provided us, and I hope that you send a nice young lady the way of my son. Amen.”
Yeah, and hopefully she was Australian.
“I don’t think he’s listening, Nadia,” Grandpa Ernie said, pausing to slurp on a long piece of spaghetti. “You’ve been praying to the man upstairs for a girlfriend for Mason every day for three months, and he’s still single.”
“That’s by choice, Grandpa. Not even God can override free will,” I said. “Much to Mom’s displeasure.”
“He has a point, honey,” Dad said, grabbing a piece of garlic bread from the plate in the middle of the table. “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. You could put Mason in the middle of a speed dating circuit, and he’d still not find anyone he wanted to date.”
“You’re saying it like I’m taking up the vow of a priest.” I grabbed my own bit of garlic bread and split it in two. “I don’t know how many times we have to have this conversation.”
“Until you meet someone, darling,” Mom said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“I’m not the only single one here, you know. Kirsty’s single.”
“Yes, but she’s three years younger than you.”
“Give the kid a break, Nadia,” Grandpa Ernie said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and reaching for his whiskey. “He’s only twenty-eight. Men don’t have alarm clocks in their genitals like you women.”
I spat out my water, and my sister did the same.
Mom looked wide-eyed at him. “Dad! That’s inappropriate for the dinner table!”
He cackled. He’d said it deliberately because he knew it would rile her, and that was mission accomplished.
“Actually,” Kirsty said. “I do have some news on the dating front.”
I raised my eyebrow at her. “You’re dating someone? Do I need to send him my condolences?”
Mom shot me a glare before turning to her. “You’re dating?”
“No.” Kirsty snorted. “But Mason is. He’s just not telling you.”
I froze as four pairs of eyes all landed on me. What the fuck was she playing—
Oh, no.
She was not going to bring up Lauren, was she?
I met her eyes. They glinted. She was. She fucking was.
“Kirsty, shut up,” I said, teeth gritted.
“You’re dating?” Mom’s head jerked between the two of us until she made even me feel dizzy. “Who is she? Is it serious? How long has this been going on?”
“Nadia, calm down,” Dad said. “If he doesn’t want to share, he doesn’t want to share.”
“I’ll share,” Kirsty input.
“No, you won’t.” I glared at her.
“Her name is Lauren. They met not long ago, and he took to her to his reunion on Friday.” The words escaped her so quickly that it took everyone a moment to catch up with what she’d said.
I was going to kill her.
Slowly and fucking painfully.
“Is she hot?” Grandpa Ernie asked, licking his fingers as he fixed his dark blue eyes on me.
“Dad!” Mom admonished. “Mason, why didn’t you tell us you were seeing this girl?”
“Because he’s a grown man and he can keep parts of his life to himself,” Dad drawled. “I know that’s a foreign concept to you, honey, but it’s a thing.”
“Well, I’m not saying I need a play-by-play! But it would be nice to meet this young lady.”
“He’ll introduce us if and when he wants to.” Dad poured more water in his glass. “Don’t pressure him or he’ll run off and never speak to us again.”
That was tempting right now.
“No, he won’t. I’m not out of line by asking about her.”
“Is she hot?” Grandpa repeated, ignoring their bickering. “I don’t blame you keeping her secret if she’s hot. I’m a bit of a stud. Are you worried she’ll run off with me instead?”
The napkin that peeked out of his sweater was coated in spaghetti sauce, and so was his mouth. “Yes, Grandpa, that’s it. I’m worried she’ll be swept off her feet by your handsome self.”
“I knew it.”
“Well?” Mom said, nudging me. “Will we meet her soon? How serious is it?”
I looked at Kirsty. She had a sickening smug look on her face, and if we were teenagers, I’d be wiping it off her face with a headlock. She had no idea what a clusterfuck she’d just created with her stupid little joke. It was one thing to mess with me, but to mess with someone she didn’t even know—that was low.
Maybe if I could play down the so-called seriousness of it all, then I could hold off my mom until Lauren and I “broke up.” That was about the only option I had right now.
“It’s new,” I said cautiously. “I don’t think introducing her to the family just yet is a good idea.”
“Why not?” Mom said. “Better she knows what she’s getting into. It’s your Grandpa’s birthday this weekend. Why don’t you bring her to the party?”
Grandpa shimmied in his seat. “More bitches for Ernie!”
Kirsty choked on her spaghetti.
Dad leaned over and took the glass of whiskey. “I think we’ll switch this for water.”
“I think not,” I said to Mom. “I can’t think of anything worse.”
“I can think of plenty of things that are worse than introducing your new girlfriend to your family. Poverty. No clean water. Malaria.”
“All right, I get it, I get it.” I rubbed my hand down my face. “We’ll see. She might have to work.”
“If she’s working during the party, she can come to dinner on Thursday night. How does that sound?”
Like I’d rather put my balls in a blender.
“We’ll see,” I repeated. I was not going to agree to anything that I’d regret later.
Although, I had a feeling that this was one battle I’d already lost.
***
I grabbed Kirsty before she could get into her car. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
She yanked her arm away from me and smirked. “You had fun with her. What’s the harm in one more date?”
“A ton of harm,” I said bitterly. “Just because we had a good time doesn’t mean that either of us wants to have a relationship. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s bullshit.”
“Look, just text her. See if she’ll go with you.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. It’s one message, Mase.”
“No, I can’t.” I shook my head. “I deleted her number and our texts. I can’t contact her.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Good thing I still have it, isn’t it?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.” She grinned. “Pass me your phone.”
“This is a fucking terrible idea.”
“I know. It’s why I suggested it. Gimme.” She wiggled her fingers, and I reluctantly handed her the phone out of my pocket. She tapped on the screen and showed me it. She’d added Lauren’s number to my contacts. “There. Just text her and see what she says.”
I snatched my phone back. “I’m gonna kill you for this, you know that?”
She shrugged and unlocked her car. “You can try, but we both know you’re gonna send this message.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kill you.” I flipped her the bird before I got into my truck and backed onto the street so she could get out. She beeped her horn at me and shot me an annoyingly cheery wave out of the window before she drove down the street.
I stared at my phone.
This was insane. But I didn’t really have a choice. Kirsty had well and truly shoved me into the deep end with this.
MASON: Hey, can we talk?
I’d driven home by the time her response came through.
LAUREN: Who’s this?
MASON: Mason.
LAUREN: Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t keep your number. What’s up?
MASON: Nothing to worry about, but I need to talk to you. Are you free now?
LAUREN: I’m at work. My break is nearly over and we’re slammed. Is it important?
MASON: Not really. It can wait.
LAUREN: I start work at six tomorrow. Why don’t you come in then? We can talk there.
MASON: Sounds good. I’ll come straight from work.
LAUREN: Okay, see you then.
Fuck.
CHAPTER EIGHT – LAUREN
Can we talk?
Those were three words no girl wanted to hear from a guy, no matter the status of their relationship. They were most certainly not words you wanted to hear from a guy you’d fake-dated one time.
Yet, here I was, at work, waiting for Mason to come in here. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about this conversation. I’d even go as far to say as I had butterflies, but I’d say it damn reluctantly.
I had nothing. I’d been rolling his words over and over in my mind ever since I’d gotten his text yesterday. The only thing I could think of was that he wanted to take me out for real.
I wasn’t against that, for the record. But I wasn’t for it, either. I really was happy being single, and I really didn’t want the baggage of a crazy ex-girlfriend when I did date again.
Of course, I was a woman, which meant I’d dissected that thought seven ways to Sunday. I’d driven myself crazy thinking about why he wanted to talk to the point I’d even broken a glass before my shift had started.
“You’re away with the fairies, Lauren.”
I jerked my attention away from the door and toward one of our regulars, an old veteran. “I sure am, Randy. Sorry about that. You want your usual?”
“Don’t you worry about me, girl. I’d wager the fairies have a prettier world than we do.” He winked. “Yes, the usual, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.” I grabbed a glass and moved to the Guinness tap. “How’s Belinda?” I asked, referring to his wife who’d recently broken her ankle.
“She’s doin’ good. Going crazy with some cabin fever, so the daughter’s taken her out to get a bite to eat with the grandkids. Do her some good, I reckon.”
“You’re probably right there. Send her my love, and make sure you bring her in here instead of creeping away for a beer every day.” I jokingly wiggled my finger at him as I slid him the beer.
Laughing, he handed me a five-dollar bill. “If you don’t tell her about this one, you can keep the change.”