Frenemies

by Emma Hart

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – MASON

  Chocolate Isn’t Always The Answer

  It’d been hours and I still couldn’t get the taste of fucking shaving cream out of my mouth.

  Fucking Imogen.

  I knew it was her. I should have known something was up when she spent so long in my bathroom yesterday. Freshening up my ass—the only thing she was freshening up was my taste buds.

  I was going to get her back for this, and I was going to get her back hard.

  Shaving cream was the kind of vile taste that lingered. It didn’t matter that I’d used an entire tube of toddler toothpaste to try and rid my mouth of it, or that I’d chewed a whole packet of gum or had the worst garlic pasta for lunch.

  I could still taste it.

  And to make it better, my car had a blown tire and the only garage in town couldn’t get my exact tire in until the following day.

  I really needed a reminder of why I’d moved to a small town. At this point, driving to see Maya every weekend was becoming preferable.

  I sighed in the back of the taxi. No, it wasn’t. I didn’t want to spend hours of my weekend with her driving. It was just a day that had started off funny, hovered in the middle at lunchtime with a blown tire and finished with a bad work meeting.

  Some days don’t go your way, and this was one of mine.

  The taxi pulled up outside my house. I passed some cash forward with a murmur to keep the change and got out of the car.

  This day would only get worse if I had to clean up dog shit from my carpet again.

  Shit. I’d cursed it now, hadn’t I?

  I let myself into the house. It was completely silent, which meant Dolly was either sleeping or up to something. Judging by the way my day was going, I was going to say it was the latter.

  “Dolly,” I called, setting my bag down by the door. “Dolly!”

  Nothing.

  I frowned. She recognized her name already, so there was no reason for her not to greet me. Panic clenched in the pit of my stomach, and I moved quickly through downstairs until I went into the kitchen.

  There was a chocolate wrapper on the floor.

  An empty one.

  “Motherfucker! Dolly!” I ran through the house, but she was nowhere downstairs. I thundered upstairs until I found her under my bed looking lethargic, and there was a distinct smell of vomit coming from somewhere in the room.

  Shit. I needed to get her to the vet, but I had no fucking car.

  I scooped Dolly up and held her against me. I moved faster than I ever had, and when I passed the living room window, I saw a black car next door.

  Immy was home.

  I grabbed my keys and phone and ran over there and hammered on the door.

  It swung open. Immy was the other side, and her eyes widened when she saw Dolly in my arms. “Holy shit, what happened?”

  “I must have left the cupboard door open and she got at some chocolate. My car is in the shop. Can you take me to the nearest vet?”

  “Oh, my God, of course. Hold on, let me get my keys.” She darted inside. “I’ll be back later, Grandma, there’s an emergency, I’ll call you soon!”

  She ran back out to me with a blanket.

  “Thanks,” I said, moving Dolly so Immy could wrap her up.

  “Let’s go.” She unlocked the car and both climbed in. “Here, call Hannah and put it on speaker.”

  I took the phone she shoved at me. I barely had time to hit ‘dial’ and put my seatbelt on before she reversed out of the driveway at lightning speed.

  “Hello?” said a voice from the phone.

  “Are you home?” Immy replied.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Is Isaac working tonight or is he home?”

  “He was just leaving when I got home from work. He’s on call at the clinic all night. Why?”

  “Neighbor emergency, I’ll text you later. Thanks.” She reached over to my lap and hit the ‘end call’ button, then her blinker stink. “That was Hannah. Isaac is her neighbor and he works at a clinic on Main Street. He’s a great vet.”

  He’d have to be to save Dolly.

  I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid.

  The next twenty minutes were all a blur. Immy stepped in and explained the situation to the receptionist, and I could speak only to say that I couldn’t remember exactly how much chocolate was left, but it was less than half a bar.

  We were quickly swept into a back room with a vet in a plaid shirt and a stethoscope around his neck.

  “Isaac,” he introduced himself, and his British accent made me blink as he immediately got to work checking Dolly over. “You’re Hannah’s cousin?”

  Immy nodded. “Imogen. This is Mason, my neighbor, and that’s Dolly.”

  “All right, Dolly, let’s give you a good look over. You said it was only a little amount of chocolate?” He directed that question to me.

  “Less than half a bar of Hershey’s. Maybe even less than a quarter.” I made a rough shape with my hands so he had some idea.

  “How old is she?”

  “Eleven weeks, according to the shelter.”

  “Right.” He rolled her over and held the stethoscope to her chest. “Do you know when she ate it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Any vomit?”

  “I didn’t see it, but I smelled it in my bedroom, and it definitely wasn’t there this morning.”

  “All right.” He pulled the things out of his ears and scratched Dolly beneath the ear. “She seems to be okay, but just a little out of sorts. Vomiting is always the go-to for a dog who fancies some sweets, and since she’s done that already, I’m going to say she’ll probably be okay. But since she is lethargic and not totally with us, I want to keep her in overnight where we can keep an eye on her and get some fluids in her so she doesn’t get dehydrated. That way, if she hasn’t gotten it all out of her system yet, we can do something about it. Does that sound good?”

  “Yes. Please. Whatever it takes.” I rubbed my hand down my face and reached to smooth Dolly.

  “Okay. Don’t worry, I promise she’s in good hands.” Isaac smiled as he scooped her up and held her against his chest lovingly. “Go and see Kate at the front desk and she’ll get all your information for you. I’ll call you in the morning with an update at around seven-thirty.”

  “That’s great, thanks.” I gave Dolly one last scratch goodbye and watched him take her through a door to the back.

  “Come on.” Immy wrapped her hand around my elbow and guided me out to the front desk.

  I was shaking and almost dropped the pen when Kate handed it to me. Immy took it straight off me and began filling out the form—she knew my full name, date of birth, address.

  Of course she did.

  Why wouldn’t she?

  The only thing she asked for was my phone number, which I dutifully relayed to her, then froze.

  “What? What’s wrong?” She looked at me with panic shining in her eyes.

  “I didn’t lock my front door,” I replied. “I don’t even have my keys.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I thought you needed the hospital next. Here you go, Kate.” She slid the clipboard back to Kate who looked it all over.

  “That’s all good, Mr. Black. I just need you to sign this form and pay a deposit toward the overnight stay.” Kate handed me a form and another pen which, thankfully, I was able to hold this time. “And one more,” she added. “This is the basic cost breakdown for the treatment Isaac said she needs tonight.”

  I tried not to bug my eyes at the cost.

  One: I was in the wrong business, even if I was a lawyer.

  Two: If Dolly made it through the night, I was getting her fluffy little ass insured.

  I signed, paid, and all but dragged Immy out of the building before Kate could hit me with any more forms. There would probably be a charge for their dinner on there, too.

  Shit. Talking of dinner: it was almost eight, and I hadn’t eaten.

  “Get in. We�
��re getting pizza.” Immy got right into her car and slammed the door before I could answer.

  I could go for pizza.

  I got in next to her, and I’d barely clipped in my seatbelt when she reversed out of her parking space. “We?”

  “Well, I’m not taking you home and then going back out for pizza,” she said smarmily. “And the stupid ass place never gets my order right, even though ‘pepperoni’ is really not me speaking Chinese.”

  “Can you speak Chinese?”

  “If I could, I’d be wasted teaching ceramic painting to seven-year-olds.” She hit the blinker stick. “If you don’t want pizza…”

  “I’ll take a pizza,” I said quickly. “Nothing wrong with pizza.”

  “Good. You’re paying.”

  “I am, am I?”

  “Yes. I’m a starving artist, and you’re a fancy lawyer.”

  “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard, and I have a three-year-old.”

  “Fine. I drove you to the vet even though I can barely stand to be around you. I deserve free pizza.”

  I grinned. “There it is.”

  “Don’t grin at me, Mason.”

  “Why? You afraid you might, smile back at me? That would really mess with the whole hating me narrative, wouldn’t it?”

  “Oh, shut your face.” She huffed out a breath and turned down another street. “I like pepperoni pizza with a cheesy stuffed crust, and they do these amazing little garlic bread balls that go well with their ranch.”

  “So you’re telling me I should order you a pepperoni pizza with a cheesy stuffed crust and garlic bread balls with ranch.”

  “I was just telling you what I like.”

  “Mmm.” I fought against a smile. “Noted. Anything else? Would you like me to run to the liquor store across the street for a bottle of wine?”

  “It would be a nice thank you for my sacrifice.”

  “Your sacrifice?”

  “Fine, my neighborly goodwill.”

  I rolled my eyes as she parked, then got out of the car. “I’ll order, run to the store, then come back in time. Does that sound acceptable, Your Highness?”

  She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “You get the pizza. I’ll go grab the wine.”

  “The wine? Are you sharing?”

  “Not freaking likely.” She snorted and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Anyone who shares wine isn’t someone worth spending time with. I thought everyone knew that.”

  “Testing you.” I grinned and got out of the car, then stopped. I got my wallet from my pocket and pulled out a twenty, then passed it to her over the top of the car. “For wine. And beer.”

  Immy rolled her eyes but she took the bill I offered her with a flourish and turned, slamming the car door behind her. I shut my door and waited as she locked it, then watched her go.

  Jesus, she was hot.

  I shook my head and turned around toward the pizza place before I chased after her and grabbed her to kiss her. That was how I felt in general when I looked at her now anyway—the urge to pull her against me and kiss the hell out of her.

  I wished that was a new development.

  I’d honestly wanted to since the moment I’d seen her on the front porch when I’d moved in.

  I stepped inside and placed the order, then took a seat to wait. It wasn’t that busy, which hopefully meant I wouldn’t be hanging around here for too long.

  Which, in turn, meant I wouldn’t have to sit here and think about kissing Imogen anymore.

  For at least five minutes, anyway.

  Maybe.

  Fuck.

  This was not how I’d planned my evening. First Dolly’s little feast—and I still had to figure out exactly how she’d gotten into that chocolate—and now all I could think about was grabbing Immy and kissing her.

  And the pizza.

  Jesus, I needed to pick something to obsess over and get on with it.

  My order was thankfully called before I could wrap myself up in any more knots. I took it from the young girl and checked everything, then thanked her and headed back out to Immy’s car.

  “Oh, God, that smells like heaven,” she groaned when I got in. “Belt up, let’s go, I’m starving.”

  Laughing, I clipped my seatbelt into place and held tightly onto the pizza boxes as she tore out of the parking lot onto the main road.

  “All right, we can’t actually eat the pizza if we die on the way there,” I pointed out.

  “Well, at least I won’t be hungry anymore,” she grumbled, hitting the blinker stick.

  “You’d rather be dead than hungry?”

  “You haven’t seen me hungry, Mason. The only reason I’m not turning green and ripping my shirt off is because you’re in the car.”

  “I’ll take a raincheck on the turning green, but if you’d like to remove your shirt, there’ll be no complaints from me.”

  She shot me a look that could kill. “My shirt will be staying firmly on unless there’s a baby animal in need of rescue.”

  “You’ve already rescued one baby animal today, Imogen.”

  “I know. That’s exactly why my shirt is staying on.” Another look lingered for a moment until she pulled away from the junction and took the turn that would lead us back home.

  We didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride. I didn’t think me suggesting I could help her take the shirt off just in case we found a hurt squirrel or something would move this conversation along.

  It would probably get my pizza shoved in my face, and I was hungry.

  Immy pulled into her driveway, and I grabbed the pizza order and the bag from the liquor store. The curtains covering her living room window twitched, and she raised her hand and stuck her middle finger up in the direction of it.

  Jen.

  Biting back a chuckle, I headed for my front door. And stopped—my keys were in my pocket.

  Shit.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My keys are in my pocket,” I replied. “And my hands are full.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Which pocket?”

  “Front right.”

  She stepped forward and stuck her hand in my pocket, fishing for the keys. One of her fingers brushed precariously close to my groin, and I gritted my teeth. The last thing I needed was my cock to wake up.

  She pulled the keys out of my pocket with a yank and stuck the house key in the lock. With a turn of the key, she unlocked the door. “There,” she said, turning around. “Are you happy now?”

  “I was going to suggest you took the food so I could get the keys, but being partially felt up by you has definitely made this day better.”

  A noise that was somewhere between a squeak of frustration and a growl escaped through her pursed lips, and she whipped me with my own keys.

  “Ow!”

  “You deserved that!” She stormed into the house ahead of me and tossed the keys on the small unit near the door.

  I grinned. Her own impatience had gotten her into this situation, and I knew she wasn’t mad at me.

  She was mad at herself.

  She’d jumped the gun, after all.

  I took the pizza and alcohol into the living room where Immy was wrestling with the TV remote. Deciding to leave her, I detoured back to the kitchen where I grabbed her a wine glass and the corkscrew.

  “Really? Friends? Haven’t you grown out of that obsession?” I asked, handing her the empty glass.

  She snapped her head around so fast I was surprised it was still attached to her neck. “Grow out of Friends? Nobody grows out of Friends, Mason. You grow with it. I relate to Joey far more now than I ever did.”

  “Are you secretly a starving actress?”

  “No. I don’t share food.” She reached over and grabbed the garlic bread balls from the pile of boxes and put them on her lap.

  “You’ve never shared food.”

  “Why would I share my food? It’s mine.”

  “It’s polite.”

&nbs
p; “No. If we spent more time teaching kids that it’s okay not to share every single thing that belongs to them, maybe people would stop expecting something for nothing.” She shoved a garlic bread ball in her mouth with a grin.

  “You’re philosophical tonight.”

  “What can I say? Saving a puppy’s life and being hungry brings out my inner prophet.”

  “And your ability to also speak while you eat.”

  She shrugged, reaching for the bottle of wine. “When I’m this hungry, manners go out the window.”

  “Should we teach kids that, too?”

  “No. They already waste food by throwing it on the floor. Don’t let them waste anything else. Goddamn it!” She tapped the top of the wine bottle.

  I took it from her wordlessly and inserted the screw into the cork. Five seconds later, I had the cork out and was pouring her a glass.

  She sniffed. “Thank you.”

  “It’s just a cork.”

  “I buy screw caps normally. Corks make it more difficult to get into wine than it needs to be.”

  “Then why did you buy a cork this time?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “I bought a more expensive wine. It was your money.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – MASON

  Pizza Might Be The Answer, Though

  I tried to glare at her, but I failed. Instead, I laughed and grabbed my pizza box, ignoring the twinge of familiarity that brought back.

  Even though she wasn’t old enough to drink in college, that didn’t mean she never did. In my senior year, she’d sometimes give me money to get her a bottle of wine at the store, and she would always tell me the same brand—six dollars a bottle, and nice and cheap for the starving college student.

  It paired well with ramen.

  One time, the store was out of her favorite wine, and I had to buy her a more expensive bottle, so naturally, I’d paid for it. Ever since that day, she’d always asked me to get her the cheap wine when it was her money, but always mentioned the more expensive bottle when it was mine.

  I glanced at the bottle.

  It was the same brand I used to buy her in college—with my money.

  I hid a smile and kicked off my shoes to sit back on the sofa. Immy was already sitting in the corner with her legs crossed and the pizza box balancing on her lap. The little pot of ranch was in the corner of that box, and the garlic bread balls were on the middle cushion between us.