by Emma Hart
I laughed and turned. “Give me two minutes. I swear I’m nearly ready.”
“Don’t rush.” He smiled and sat down, leaving me to run into my room and finish getting ready.
I ran the brush through my hair and swept on some pink lipstick before I headed back out into the living room with my purse. “I’m ready.”
Mason looked up from where he was petting Henry on the sofa with a smile. “You look beautiful.”
Another blush.
Damn it.
“Thank you.” I coughed and looked away from him. “Shall we go?”
“Yep.” He gave Henry one last scratch under the chin that I caught out of the corner of my eye. “Hey, do you have any tequila?”
I stopped at the front door. “I thought you were trying to ignore your aunt.”
“Yeah, because I’m not buying her an entire bottle of tequila. She’s already plotting a group line dance for Saturday night. She doesn’t need to bring that shit to Thursday night, too. If you have some, I can ration her.”
“Are you able to ration her? That was some enthusiastic dancing.”
“I probably can’t.” He sighed. “Never mind. It was worth a try.”
“Why don’t you call her now to tell her we’re coming and can’t get tequila but your sister can?”
Mason frowned. “I think Kirsty’s already at the restaurant.”
I motioned between the two of us. “I think she owes you.”
His eyebrows slowly raised as he got what I was saying. “And this is how you’ll take over the world, Lauren. Not with a murderous rage, but with cleverly thought-out revenge plots.”
I locked the apartment door behind us. “Mostly. Every four weeks I’ll change it up to keep people on their toes.”
“Why every four weeks?”
I hit the button on the elevator and gave him a sly half-smile. “Because I once read a story where a woman got away with murder by claiming insanity when she was on her period. There’s something the English kings didn’t have on their side: Shark week.”
He didn’t say a word until we got into the elevator. “Should I be worried about being in a windowless box with you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. This dress is way too nice to get bloodstains on.” I paused. “Probably.”
“Hard work,” he muttered. “Such hard work.”
I grinned.
***
Pru Jackson’s house was the weirdest place I’d ever stepped foot in. Nothing here matched, and the only theme was chaos. A large Persian rug was spread across the wooden floor in the living room. A dark, L-shaped leather sofa took up most of the room, and it was scattered with an array of brightly-colored throw cushions and an afghan that had seen better years, never mind better days.
The walls were a vibrant turquoise that crashed with the sunny yellow curtains at the windows, and on the wall above the marble fireplace was a stuffed fox’s head.
Yep.
Some people had deer horns.
She had a fox’s head.
I was beginning to understand the tequila and line-dancing. She was the kind of woman who’d run out of fucks to give by her fifth birthday and couldn’t care less what anyone thought about that.
There was a chance we could be friends.
I regularly found myself lacking in fucks.
Unless I stubbed my toe, then they all came pouring out.
“She’s very pretty.” Pru looked me up and down, her dark blue eyes peeking out from behind bright purple spectacles. “What’s she doing pretending to be your girlfriend? She’s too pretty to be your fake one, never mind your real one.”
Mason took a deep breath. “Ask your great-niece. She’s the one who put us both in this situation.”
Pru met my gaze. “You couldn’t tell him no?”
“He wore me down,” I said dryly. “I got the feeling he wasn’t going to let it drop.”
She nodded begrudgingly. “He does do that. A bit like a teenage boy playing with his tackle. Won’t give it up until the cannon shoots. I wish he’d be more like a virgin boy, to be honest. Give up the second the submarine docks in the harbor.”
It took everything I had not to laugh. That was the single strangest analogy I’d ever heard for having sex in my life, and my friends were total weirdos.
“We should get going,” Mason said, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me toward the front door. “That’s enough about me.”
“It’s never enough about you, boy. I’ve got a list of grievances, if you’d like to hear them.”
“Why don’t you keep them up your sleeve for now, Aunt Pru? You never know when you’ll need them.”
“Quite right, quite right. I’ve been saving them for my speech at your wedding, but I’m starting to think you’ll never get married. Mind you, staying single forever and faking your dates for the rest of your life is better than marrying that other hussy.”
Aha. So she didn’t like Claudia either. At least I was in good company.
“Mason, why do you have this godawful truck? You know my knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“Oh, give it up. We’ve all seen you line dancing, Aunt Pru. Get in the truck.”
She huffed but did as she was told, climbing into the backseat with only a little steadying help from Mason. She buckled herself in and leaned forward as he walked to the driver’s side. “It’s the line dancing,” she said conspiratorially. “It makes me feel fifty years younger.”
“I’ve seen a video. I think you’re great,” I replied.
Mason groaned.
She clipped him around the side of the head. “Let the girl talk. She’s smart. I like her. Better than—”
“That other hussy,” Mason finished for her. “Yes. Everyone is better than Claudia. If she’s the measuring stick for female standards, it’s not set very high.” He glanced at me before he pulled out. “No offense.”
“What if I’m offended?” I replied.
“What?”
“Sounds like you’re saying I’m not much higher than Claudia on the standards.”
He flicked his gaze toward me. “How do you figure that out?”
“You said no offense. If you didn’t mean to offend me, you wouldn’t have said it.”
He blinked at the road a few times. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Then why did you say no offense?”
“I didn’t—” He paused, flicked the blinker on, and turned. “You’re not a low standard. I mean, you’re a high—Jesus fucking Christ.”
I grinned.
“You did that deliberately.”
My grin widened. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
His nostrils flared while Pru cackled in the back seat. “I’m not flustered.”
“You’re so flustered,” I retorted. “And cute. So, so, cute.”
“All right. I get it. You’ve made your point.” His lips twitched. “No more cute.”
I hid my laugh behind my hand. His great-aunt did no such thing, and she laughed the entire way to the restaurant. She only stopped when Mason pulled into an empty parking space.
Then, she leaned forward and tapped his shoulder. “Mason.”
“Yes, Aunt Pru?”
“Marry this one. I like her.”
Mason’s gaze flicked my way. “We’re not getting married.”
“What’s wrong with marrying me?” I asked.
He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and shook his head. “Nope. I’m not getting into that again. This is a trap.”
Laughing, I undid my belt and got out of the truck.
“Seriously,” Pru said as Mason helped her out. “Marry her. She’s brilliant. It doesn’t matter if you don’t love her. Hundreds of people marry each other when they don’t love each other.”
“Yes, but we’re not royalty looking to strengthen alliances,” Mason replied, locking the truck and offering her his arm.
“Oh, so you’re going to let your girlfriend w
alk in there by herself? Your mother will have a fit.”
I understood why Mason could deal with my sense of humor.
“Mom will have a fit no matter what I do. If I walk in with Lauren, she’ll complain I didn’t walk you in. If I walk you in, she’ll complain I didn’t walk Lauren in.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Where’s the stomach flu when you need it?”
I laughed and took Pru’s hand, positioning it inside my elbow. “There. Problem solved. Now be a good boy and hold the door for us.”
“Be a good boy?” He stared at me. “I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. All that can save me now is food poisoning.” He crossed his fingers and looked to the sky. “Come on, food poisoning.”
Pru chuckled. “I’m having the best time, and I haven’t even had a margarita yet! Ay-yai-yai!”
CHAPTER TWELVE – LAUREN
For the most part, my introductions to Mason’s family were painless. His great-uncle Charlie had tried to offer me a coupon for a striptease which I politely rejected before Mason had thankfully taken me to our seats at the other end of the table.
Which were, unfortunately, next to his mom, Nadia; his dad, Graham; and sister, Kirsty.
It was the height of awkward. His sister kept sending little smirks our way—ones his parents were completely oblivious to. In fact, his mom was nothing but completely sweet, and his dad was genuinely interested in my life.
I felt awful. I was straight-up lying to these people, and it was all because of the other young woman at this table who I knew nothing about. I knew she’d responded to my ad because she hated Mason’s ex, but there was no reason for her to drop us in this.
“So, Lauren, you work at The Beachside?” Mason’s dad buttered a slice of bread.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’ve worked there for around three years now.”
He nodded. “I know Pete. Good man. How you like it?”
“It’s great.” I smiled. “Not my first career choice, but I could do worse.”
“Oh? What’s your first?”
“I’m actually a qualified hair stylist.”
“You are?” Mason looked at me. “I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t know?” His mom raised an eyebrow.
“Uh…”
“The butthead probably asked,” Pru chimed in.
I nodded. “You never asked.” Thank you, Pru.
“Makes sense.” His mom reached for her glass of wine. “You really should ask these things, Mason.”
“Noted, Mom, thank you,” he replied dryly.
His dad hid a smile. “Interesting. Why don’t you work in a salon? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“A chair rarely opens up in town,” I said honestly. “I don’t feel like traveling to a salon when Pete is a fair boss. I keep my license valid and do my friends’ hair to keep practice up.”
“Smart.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I said nothing. Silence hung in the air for a second before Kirsty wiped the corner of her mouth and said, “So, how did you two meet?”
The question was directed at me and Mason, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a challenge in her eyes.
We had the attention of the entire table.
Mason slung his arm over the back of my chair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Online, actually.”
I smiled at him.
“Really?” his grandpa asked. “Are there women wanting some of this online?” When he said ‘this,’ he motioned his hand down his body.
“I can’t say they were in my prospective dates,” Mason drawled, looking right at his sister. “Why don’t you ask Kirsty? She is online dating right now.”
“You are?” His mom’s head moved so fast I thought she’d give herself whiplash.
“I’m dabbling,” she replied hesitantly. “Why don’t you ask Lauren? She was online, after all.”
Seriously. Had I once stolen her boyfriend without knowing it or something? What did she have against me?
Instead of glaring daggers at her like I wanted to, I smiled at Grandpa Ernie and said, “Mr. Jackson, I’m sure there are women out there who would be honored to go on a date with you. You should get online and find them yourself.”
“A diplomat. They have those in Congress, you know. They’re usually known as bullshitters,” Great Uncle Charlie said musingly. “Not that I’m saying you are, dear.”
“Charles!” Pru leaned across the table and whipped him with her napkin. “Don’t be a rude old dolt!”
“Graham,” Nadia breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Excuse me,” I said before it descended in chaos. “I need to use the restroom.”
What I actually needed was a break from Kirsty’s probing gaze before she said something else that would drop either one of us in it. We were only ready for so many questions, and I had a feeling that she had a list of them, and none of our answers would be correct.
I pushed into one of the stalls and locked the door, taking a moment to breathe. Cupping my nose and mouth, I took some deep breaths. I could do this. We were already halfway through. The pensioners had taken up most of the conversation with their endless—yet amusing—bickering, and it’d only recently turned onto me.
After a couple of minutes, I undid the lock and froze.
Kirsty was waiting in front of the sink area for me. “They’re pretty crazy, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “They are. Excuse me.”
She stepped to the side so I could wash my hands. “I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“I didn’t think we’d gotten off any foot, if I’m honest. I’m pretty much on my ass here.”
She grimaced. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I just—” I stopped and turned, taking a paper towel. “Without sounding like a bitch, what were you thinking?”
Sighing, she leaned against the counter, pushing her dark hair from her face. “Honestly, it was a joke. I never thought you’d agree to it again.”
I smirked. “I’m the youngest sister, too. Try again.”
“Okay.” She laughed, holding up her hands. “I was meddling. Mase has been single ever since Claudia, and I thought it was time he moved on. You two seemed to have fun at the reunion so I thought I’d try my luck. That’s all.”
At least she was honest about it.
“Do you know how uncomfortable this is for us?” I asked gently. “Or what an awkward position it puts us in?”
“It doesn’t look awkward.”
“That’s called lying. I’m pretty good at it.”
Her lips tugged to the side the same way Mason’s did when he was amused. “I’m pretty sure he’s feeling something for you for real.”
I grabbed another paper towel to finish drying my hands. “It’s fine, Kirsty. You know this isn’t real, don’t you? Don’t project something that is—”
The door swung open, and we both froze. Turning, we saw Nadia as she strolled in in her heels.
“Oh, goodness. Are you hiding out in here, too?” She slipped in between us and checked her reflection in the mirror. God only knew why. The woman was flawless.
“Just washing our hands, Mom.”
“I don’t blame you if you are. Pru just ordered tequila shots.” She wiped under her eyes and straightened, smiling at us. “Getting to know each other, are we? What are we talking about?”
I shot Kirsty a panicked look.
“Claudia,” she said quickly. “Mom, did you know Mason took Lauren to his reunion last week?”
“Oh, yes. I think you mentioned it.” She paused and looked at me. “So you met Claudia.”
Her distaste was evident in the bitterness that hardened her tone.
“Unfortunately,” I said honestly. “It wasn’t the best part of my week.”
“Mm.” Nadia pulled some lipstick from her purse and slicked it over her lips. “She’s not exactly everyone’s best friend, is she? Did she
act how I assumed she would? Trying to under Mason’s skin?”
“And everyone else’s,” Kirsty muttered.
I hid a smile. “Pretty much.”
“I heard a rumor that a little birdie shut her down.”
I glanced at Kirsty. What was she doing? Stop talking. I didn’t need Nadia to like me.
She turned to me anyway. “Didn’t you basically tell her where to go?” Kirsty continued. “Trevor told me it was apparently hilarious.”
“I, uh…”
“Good.” Nadia was matter-of-fact. “It’s about time someone put that madam in her place.” She blotted her lipstick on a paper towel and tossed it in the trash. With one last glance at her reflection, she met my eyes and said, “I didn’t think Mason would date anyone worth bringing home, if his past is anything to go by. I have to say, I’m more than a little pleasantly surprised by you, Lauren.”
Abort. Abort. Abort.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything! Fucking anything!—but I was saved because the door opened again, and Pru burst in.
“Shots for everyone!”
***
Tequila is never a good idea.
That was why I felt like a giggling little girl. I rarely drank hard liquor, so when I did, it hit me hard.
I’d had three shots.
Three. Shots.
And here Mason was, laughing as I unlocked my apartment door.
“Shut up,” I muttered, pushing it open. “Pru is a liability.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “But the good news, you totally bonded with my mom over tequila shots and bitching about my ex.”
“The way all good fake girlfriends should bond with their fake future mother-in-law. Don’t you know anything?” I waved him in. “If I drink coffee now, will I be awake all night?”
“I don’t know. Are you a person who needs caffeine to function on a morning?”
“Water it is.” I tossed my keys and clutch onto the island and headed for the fridge. “You want one?”
He hesitated.
“I’m not so drunk I’m going to try to jump your bones, don’t worry.” I pulled out two bottles and pushed one across the island to him.
Well, I tried.
