by Amy Brent
The phone rang me all the way to voice mail, which wasn’t a surprise, but all I did was hang up. I called right back, hoping to catch her attention or interrupt whatever plans she had. Maybe she was already on another date. Maybe she was already hooking up with another guy. She didn’t strike me as that kind of woman, but if she had that kind of play, I had to admire her for it.
Most women didn’t have the confidence to play that game.
Then finally, on the last ring, she answered.
“Yes?”
“Ah, so you have been thinking about me,” I said, grinning.
“Do you ever stop?” she asked.
“Not even when you beg for it,” I said.
I heard her scoff, and it caused me to grin. She was adorable when I was pissing her off. I could see that little scowl on her face now that crinkled her nose and reddened her cheeks.
“Why would I be thinking about you?” she asked.
“Because I rocked your world a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, really? And how do you figure?”
“The wine. The drive. The talk. The eroticism.”
She giggled, and I knew I had her. If I knew all I had to do was pursue her a bit longer to get her hooked, I would’ve fucking done this shit yesterday.
Some women enjoyed being chased before they were devoured by their predator.
“It was all right, I guess,” she said.
“All right?” I asked. “Are you really sticking with that story?”
“It’s funny to me that you think it’s a story.”
“Fine. Fine. If it was just all right, then tell me what could I have done that would’ve made it better.”
“And ruin your game? No, thank you,” she said.
“Just humor me.”
“I already did.”
“And how did you humor me?”
“By pity fucking you.”
I was in shock. I threw my head back and laughed, thinking she was making a joke. But I didn’t hear her laughing, and I started to get a bit … I don’t know. I wasn’t familiar with what I was experiencing honestly.
“How it could’ve been better? For starters, you could’ve actually indulged about yourself a bit.”
“Funny, coming from you,” I said.
“I told you my father was dealing drugs, and my mother chose him over me. That’s pretty personal.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“The only reason you pumped me full of wine was to get me to screw you. You didn’t have to do that. I went into the date knowing I needed to relieve some stress. The wine was a waste on your part. Though I could’ve used a shoulder massage.”
I was absolutely beside myself. Was this woman fucking serious?
“And lastly, you never called.”
“You didn’t say a word when you left,” I said.
“Does that bother you?”
Honestly, it did. I just didn’t fucking know why.
“Better luck next time, precious.”
She hung up the phone, and I was beside myself. What the hell had just happened? This woman, whose world I know I did rock because of the amount of shaking she did in my bed, had just … Mason Bakered me.
I fucking got Mason Bakered.
Chapter 9
Sarah
I laughed every time I thought about that conversation. Giving men like that a dose of their own medicine is exactly what they needed sometimes. But it was odd. Even after the conversation we had, he kept calling. Playboys didn’t do that type of shit. It was all over the news. The women he interchanged. The different flavor every week articles that broke down the new woman on his arm. What she wore. What she did for a living. Where they probably met. How long they would last.
I knew he wasn’t hunting for another woman because he was spending his free time blowing up my damn cell phone.
He was supposed to be this big, bad playboy, but all he portrayed himself to be was this desperate, insecure man.
He kept calling, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d ignore him, and he’d leave a voice message. I’d turn off my phone, and he was texting me. And every single time he kept asking me for the same thing.
He wanted to take me out on another date.
I didn’t want to go out on another date with him. I didn’t want to waste my time trying to give him a dose of his own medicine again. Men like Mason Baker needed to be brought down a peg, that much was for sure, but I’d settle for him no longer blowing up my phone.
So, I finally picked it up and listened.
“Just let me take you out one more time. And this time, you can plan the date.”
“Excuse me? You’re asking me on a date, and you want me to coordinate it?” I asked.
“Not execute it. Paint me the perfect date, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Are you trying to redeem yourself or something?” I asked.
“Think of it as a second first impression.”
Honestly? It sounded kind of nice. After all the jerks I’d met and the bullshit I went through in high school, it would be nice to actually get the date I wanted. And it was one date, right? Mason Baker surely didn’t do the iconic third date.
Hell, we did on the first date what usually waits until the third date.
“Okay,” I said. “A second date, it is.”
“So, talk to me. About your perfect first date.”
“No, no, no, no. I’m agreeing to this under one solid principle,” I said.
“Name it, beautiful.”
“Stop fucking calling my phone. No phone calls until the day before the date to solidify things, if you need to.”
“I can do that,” he said. “How do you feel about Monday night?”
I see how he wiggled around that principle. That cheeky little bastard.
“Monday night sounds fine. You can pick me up at my place around the same time as our last date.”
“All right. So, what constitutes your perfect first date?”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I was very relieved my phone wouldn’t be ringing off the hook anymore, but I had to admit that having his attention was nice. It wasn’t like the first date was terrible. In fact, it had been wonderful. It wasn’t without its awkward and guarded moments, but welcome to the world of first dates. That’s how that shit went. He had been on my mind, but not enough to blow up his fucking phone.
However, I was intrigued by this new concept of a second date.
“I want you to take me on a cruise on the countryside in your convertible. Top down so the wind can blow through my hair.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said.
“I want you to take me to Wylie. It’s north of Dallas, sandwiched between two beautiful lakes. Make a picnic basket so we can eat in your car. We’re going to find ourselves a remote location right on the edge of the lake so we can watch the stars reflect in the still lake waters, where we eat and actually open up about ourselves.”
“Are you holding me to that or yourself to that as well?” he asked.
“Any in-depth answer you give, I’ll give an equal in-depth answer in return,” he said.
“And who is the judge of these answers?”
“I am,” I said. “Afterward, when we’re done eating and talking, we’re going to cruise back to your place with the top of your car up, holding hands.”
“Holding hands.”
“Yep,” I said. “We’ll go back to your place and sit on that same couch we sat on last time, except you’re going to make me a decent cocktail this time instead of crapping out and just opening a bottle of wine.”
“That was expensive wine.”
“Leave it closed for someone else. Cocktails and that couch. What happens from there happens,” I said.
“I think I can do that. See you Monday at seven. And I won’t even call you until I’m there. I take it you want to come out like last time?’”
“Yes. Have the door open and ready for me.”
“Yes,
ma’am,” he said.
I could feel his grin through the phone, and my spine shivered with anticipation.
“See you then, playboy.”
I hung up the phone and giggled. Holy hell, that man was relentless, and I was excited about the prospect of screwing him again. If there was one thing that man did well, it was fuck. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. I needed him to think he was still working. Men who thought they were still working for it threw their all into sex.
And that’s what I wanted.
Some fucking good sex like we had last time.
I was a bit nervous again, but this time I was more excited than nervous. I knew exactly what was going to happen, and it was going to be romantic. He thought he was just doing all these things to get me in bed, but I was able to concoct the one date I’d never been privy to.
A simple, romantic, vulnerable evening between two people.
We wouldn’t be under the scrutiny of the press, no one would be trying to take pictures of us, and we could get his fucking wallet out of the way. He thought he could lavish me with expensive things and that would be enough. I wanted to drop that defense and see the person who was behind that wallet of his.
The person he attempted to hide from the world.
I gathered my things and went to meet up with Emma. I promised her we would do dinner tonight, but when I got to the restaurant, she was in a rough mood. I checked to make sure I wasn’t late before I ordered my food and drink, and it took her ten minutes to finally take a deep breath and speak what was on her mind.
“My fucking brother never showed up for dinner the other night,” she said.
“Well, I was about to ask you what was wrong, but there it is,” I said.
“He promised this time. He told me he’d fucking be there, and he stood me up again.”
“You mean the brother that’s been absent from your life for essentially all of it?” I asked.
“Yeah. That one.”
“Why are you even trying? He wasn’t in your life when you were born. You didn’t grow up with him. Sure, you share the same DNA—”
“Half DNA,” she said.
“Whatever. The point is, why are you suddenly reaching out to him now?”
Honestly, I was glad for the diversion. It meant I didn’t have to divulge the fact that I was going out with this guy again. This was exactly the kind of shit she tried to steer me away from, and I knew she would chastise me and say something to make me back out of it. I was actually excited about this date, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. I was ready to see how Mason would interpret what I’d told him I wanted, and I was secretly buzzing with delight in my seat.
“Because he’s family,” she said. “You don’t turn your back on family.”
“Unless they turn their backs on you,” I said.
“Sarah, your situation was different.”
“Not really,” I said. “My dad chose drugs over me, and my mom chose him over me. They abandoned me, so I never went back. I don’t reach out to them. I don’t talk to them. I sure as hell don’t try to schedule dinners with them. Has this mysterious brother given any indication to you that he wants to reconcile or whatever it is you’re trying to do?”
“Half-brother,” she said.
“Whatever, Emma. Answer the question.”
“Why are you being so harsh?” she asked.
“Because you’re my best friend and someone’s pissed you off. That automatically means two things. I’m going to protect you, and I’m going to kill him. Does Amazon have two-day shipping on lye and body bags?”
My question made her chuckle, and that was all I needed.
“There she is,” I said as I reached for her hand. “Emma, look at me.”
Our food was set in front of us as her eyes slowly panned over to see me for the first time since I’d sat down across from her.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” I said. “Not by a longshot. Take it as a sign and let him come to you. Trust me, the men that you least expect that treatment from are usually the ones to cave.”
“Uh huh,” she said.
Fuck, I’d said too much.
“It seems you’re talking from experience,” she said, grinning. “Does this have anything to do with the date guy?”
“The date guy,” I said. “Really?”
“Well, I don’t have a name. You gonna give up his name yet?”
“Just a few more days and then maybe,” I said, grinning.
“Sarah? What are you planning?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m not planning anything, yikes. I’m just not ready to say his name yet.”
“Whatever. Just don’t get too attached, though I know you’re not saying anything because you’re going out on a second date with him.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Tomorrow.”
“How the fuck could you possibly know that?”
“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I knew it. I’m your best friend. I know everything. Don’t fucking get attached, Sarah Williams. I’m tired of scraping you off the floor because you pick shitty men,” she said.
“I won’t, all right? Fuck.”
“You better. You’ve been very relaxed these past two days. It looks good on you. And when you are ready to indulge, I want all the sordid details.”
“Trust me,” I said, “when I’m ready to give them, you’re going to die when I tell you who it is.
Chapter 10
Mason
I was leaning against my car right at seven o’clock as I called her on my cell. I let her know I was downstairs before I opened her car door, simply waiting for her to come out. I was excited about this date and about getting a second chance to get her into my pool of women. She came walking out in this dazzling black dress, her heels clicking devilishly down the stairs as her jet-black hair fanned around her shoulders.
She came prepared with sunglasses this time and slid right into my car.
“I enjoy a man who’s on time,” she said.
“Ready for that cruise?” I asked as I slipped into the car.
“Oh, definitely.”
She put her sunglasses on, throwing up a physical wall that followed us all the way to Wylie. I punched in the address of where we were going and hit the highway, allowing the top to come down once we were free of the paparazzi and cameras in downtown Dallas. I saw an easy smile flutter across her face, her hair blowing in all directions as we whizzed down the highway. Her body was so relaxed, so calm.
Much calmer than she had been during our first date.
“Enjoying the ride?” I asked.
“Very much so,” she said.
“I packed us a nice dinner. Made it all myself.”
“Oh, how fancy. I figured you’d have it catered in or something once we got there,” she said, grinning.
“Nope. You asked for a packed picnic, so that’s what I got us. There are grapes, homemade curry chicken salad with cashews, homemade croissant buns, butter, sweet tea, water, homemade roasted red pepper hummus, carrot slices, cherry tomatoes, and homemade chocolate cake for dessert.”
“Did you freshly churn the butter right there in your kitchen?” she asked.
“Nope,” I said, chuckling.
“Ah, such a shame. Better luck next time.”
The grin on her face filled my gut with excitement. She was playful. Sarcastic. Independent. So unlike the women I usually drove around with on my arm. She could meet me, tit for tat, in our verbal sparring matches, and I was actually looking forward to simply sitting with her and talking.
Even though I was worried about the subjects she would want to bring up.
We cruised down the highway for thirty minutes before we entered the Wylie city limits. It was a small town if I’d ever seen one. Quiet houses sat on the main stretch while the laughter of children in the backyards could be heard. My GPS system guided us to the edge of the lake, a hushed and secluded spot right as the sun was beginning to s
et. The water sparkled with the colors of the sky, reflecting perfectly the scenery around it.
It was like a special effect you’d see in a movie, and I could see the wonder on Sarah’s face as she pulled off her sunglasses.
I reached behind me and pulled out the basket of food. I opened up a sweet tea for her before I grabbed a bottle of water for myself. I still didn’t know how people drank that stuff. Tony was obsessed with it, but I couldn’t get past the sugar content of it.
“Not a sweet tea fan?” she asked.
“Not by a long shot, though Tony loves the stuff.”
“Good man,” she said.
“He is.”
We sat there, drawing out food as we ate in relative silence. Here, I wasn’t sure what she wanted. I didn’t know if she would start asking me questions, or if she expected me to offer up scenarios of my life. If it was the latter, she’d be waiting quite a long time. I didn’t ever talk about myself unless prompted, and even then I was a professional at skirting the shit stuff.
But she seemed content to simply eat and gaze out at the lake, and I was shockingly content at sitting here with her and absorbing her presence.
