by Emma Hart
Fran laughed. “And pick up that popcorn you just knocked everywhere, right?”
Maya nodded, eyes wide. “Okay, Mama.”
“Go on, then.” She put Maya down. “I could do with a coffee anyway.”
“Okay. Dadda, I let Dolly back after, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said to her, then turned to Fran. “Come through.” I walked into the kitchen with her right behind me. “Fran, this is Imogen. Imogen, Fran.”
Fran’s eyebrows shot up when I said Immy’s name, but Immy was too busy trying to disappear to notice.
“Imogen. It’s lovely to meet you!” Fran walked right up to her and wrapped her in a huge hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN – IMMY
Bulbous Cocks And Nipple Clamps
This wasn’t awkward.
At all.
I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear into the floor.
It didn’t help that Francesca was absolutely beautiful. She was that stereotypical ex-girlfriend that nobody ever wanted a guy to have. The kind of woman that makes everyone around her feel inferior, even unintentionally.
She was tall and slim, with long, dark hair that hung to her chest and shone in a way mine never would. Big dark eyes were genuinely friendly, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was destined to be a model at some point.
I returned the hug Fran gave me. I never knew what to say when people said: “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Like, have you? What did you hear? What did that assrat tell you? Did he point out that I have a bad aim and sometimes don’t think before I speak, or did he say I was a great cook and can draw wonky-eyed squirrels?
This was the worst.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I finally settled on. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have to get home. Grandma’s baking, and it’s going to go one of two ways.”
“Burned or Jack Daniels in the cake?” Mason offered, grinning.
“You go over there and ask her if she’s burning a cake. I dare you,” I said with a sharp look. “She’ll beat you with her spatula, and she won’t send me over with any more cheesecake.”
“Cheesecake?” Fran asked. “She makes cheesecake?”
“She makes every kind of cake.” I pointed to the one I’d brought over. “She thinks cake can solve everything.”
“I’m kind of inclined to agree with her. You don’t like cake?”
“I like cake just fine. When I get to eat it, instead of bringing it over here for him to eat it all. It’s been sitting there for twenty minutes, and he hasn’t offered me a slice yet.”
Fran looked at Mason. “I like her. Now, pass me a knife so I can cut this.”
All right. I liked her right back.
“That’s mine!” Mason protested as Fran bypassed him and pulled a sharp knife out of the block. “Hey!”
“Do you or do you not make our daughter share her cake with you?”
Mason rolled his neck. “Maybe.”
“Fair is fair. Besides, I need good cake for the wedding. Consider this your gift to me, because if I like this, I might go compliment her some more. God only knows Matt’s mother will tag along to any tasting.” Fran pulled three plates from the cupboard. “I’m getting married in nine months, and my future mother-in-law is a real witch.”
“So is my grandma,” I muttered. “She loves baking. I think a wedding cake would keep her amused for at least three weeks.”
“Perfect. Let’s taste this!” Fran set to business with the cake.
Mason slipped across the room to me. “She’s a bit like a freight train when she wants something.”
“I heard that, Mason,” she said without looking.
I smiled. “You think she’s a freight train? You’re in for a treat at book club tonight.”
“Book club? You’re going to a book club?” Fran peered at him through her lashes.
“My grandma and her friends have a book club. They pretend to read a book, get a little drunk, and bitch about people in town once a week,” I explained. “They have to be supervised after a flashing incident not so long ago.”
“Sounds like my kinda book club.” She winked at me. “Mason, I know I told you to make friends, but are pensioners really your target audience? Unless you’re on the hunt for a sugar mama, in which case, go ahead. I won’t judge you.”
He sighed the same way an older brother would sigh at his annoying little sister. “I’m being a good neighbor, Francesca. You should try it sometimes.”
“It’s not my fault Janice Keegan’s ivy keeps growing into my yard. I’ve told her before to prune it before I do. I give her two weeks’ notice before I go out there. That’s more than reasonable.”
“Yeah, sounds it.”
“Shut up, Mason, or I’ll tell Matt you’re happy with your pensioner friends, and he won’t take you out next weekend.” She punched him in the arm, and I couldn’t help but smile when she winked at me.
I had their relationship down to a tee—despite sharing Maya, they really were like brother and sister. Had they been like that since they broke up, or was it something that had developed over time?
Oh, my God. Why did I care? It wasn’t like the kind of relationship they had was any of my business. It wasn’t going to affect my life. I didn’t need to know.
Yet, I did. I wanted to know. What had their romantic relationship been like to end up like this? Were they really just the kind of people who were better off as friends? Most people who broke up after a child fought all the time, but they seemed to be as close as friends could be.
God. I needed a new hobby. Something that didn’t involve being anywhere near Mason, for a start.
I sat down with them both at the island and listened as Fran told us about their trip to the Maldives. Talk quickly moved to her upcoming wedding and the issues she was having with her future mother-in-law that Matt was now apparently going to sort out.
We talked until we’d all finished our cheesecake and Maya was ready to go. Mason rounded up her things, and after a long explanation about why Dolly couldn’t go with her—Matt was allergic to dogs—she finally said goodbye, even rushing to hug me. I promised I’d give “Mrs. Jen” a hug for her when I went home, and she happily skipped out to the car with a big wave.
Fran said goodbye to us both, and Mason went outside to say goodbye to Maya properly.
I waited awkwardly in the kitchen until Fran’s car had disappeared down the road.
“So, book club,” he said. “I’m really going?”
“You said you were, didn’t you?” I raised an eyebrow. “If I go over there and tell Grandma and you don’t show up, she’s gonna come over here and drag you there.”
He blew out a long breath. “And you’re gonna do that anyway, aren’t you?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
“Fine. What time? Shall I bring Jack Daniels?”
“Seven-thirty, like I said. And if you bring Jack, I’ll beat you with the bottle. They already smuggle their contraband in like it’s the Twenties and it’s illegal.”
“You don’t let them drink?”
“I ration their drinking. Unless you’d like to supervise and then escort them to Main Street so they can flash their bloomers at everyone.”
He paused. “You know what? I think I’ll leave the alcohol here.”
I smiled. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“I take offense at that.”
“Good,” I said, walking toward the front door. “It wasn’t exactly an entire compliment.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Imogen.”
“Yeah, well, look out for knitting needles, then.”
***
“Don’t sit there,” Lillian instructed Evelyn before she could sit on the chair I’d set up especially for Mason.
Evelyn looked down at the chair. “Why? Will it bite? I might like that.”
“Immy has a knitting needle hidden in it,” Kathleen answered, loo
king up from where she was tapping at her phone screen with one wrinkled finger. “She’s going to poke Mason in the ass. He’s the guy next door. He’s coming for book club.”
“I’d like to poke him in the ass,” Lillian trilled. “It’s a nice one.”
I tucked my feet beneath my butt on my corner of the sofa and smiled into my wine glass.
Mason had no idea what was heading his way this evening with these crazy old ladies, and I was going to enjoy every last second of it.
It was about time I enjoyed a book club.
“I hear you met his baby mama,” Evelyn said, sitting on the wicker chair.
“Please don’t ever use the phrase ‘baby mama’ again,” I replied. “You’re sixty years too old to even attempt to sound right using it.”
She scrunched up her nose. “It did feel a little strange to say.”
Both Lil and Kathleen nodded slowly.
“Cake!” Grandma announced, bringing in a huge chocolate cake that smelled strongly of Jack Daniels and had a giant flamingo as a decoration. “Ta-da!”
“Where the hell did you get that flamingo?” I asked, staring at it. It was at least eight inches tall and… were those LED lights? Did it light up?
“I found it in my pocketbook!”
“Your purse, Grandma.”
“No, my pocketbook.” She pointed to her purse.
“That’s a purse. It’s not a book that fits in your pocket. It’s a purse.”
“Oooh,” Grandma said, pursing her lips. “Is someone due on her period, or is she a little nervous about a certain gentleman joining us this evening?”
I glared at her. Thankfully, Mason chose that moment to knock at the door so I didn’t have to justify that stupid question with an answer at all.
All three ladies’ heads turned, and smiles that would look innocent to anyone except me spread across their faces. They greeted him with all the hustle and bustle that only a group full of grandmas could.
“Here, take a seat!” Kathleen guided him over to the chair I’d set up the knitting needle in. You couldn’t see it, but Hannah had taken the needle to the ass earlier when she’d stopped by with something for Grandma, so I knew it worked.
“Thanks.” He sank back into the seat with everyone watching him. He opened his mouth to say something, but a hissed curse escaped his lips instead.
I grinned.
“What the hell did you do?” he asked me, jumping up.
“Who said it was me?” I shot back.
“It’s always you!”
“I take offense at that.”
“Oh, Immy, we all know you stuck a knitting needle there,” Grandma said, cutting in. “Stop bickering like children. We all know it’s because you have a crush on each other.”
“Grandma!” I said at the same time Lil shouted, “Jennifer!”
“What?” Grandma asked, looking around the room. “I’m just telling the truth.”
“Ooh, goodie!” Evelyn clapped her hands. “We’re getting started on the gossip portion of the evening early.”
Kathleen plucked the knitting needle from the chair. “Ah-ha! Got it. Sit down, dear. That’s the only one there was.” She pushed Mason back into the chair so he was sitting there. “Have a wriggle, just in case.”
Mason dutifully wriggled.
“Anything in your ass? Nothing poking up it or anything?”
I bit down hard on my lower lip so I didn’t burst into laughter. Her words had gone right over everyone’s head except mine and apparently Mason’s because he was doing his best not to explode with laughter himself.
“No, ma’am,” he choked out after a minute.
“Lil! He’s choking! Get him a whiskey!” Evelyn called.
Lil snorted. “No. He’s trying not to laugh about something being in his ass.”
Kathleen looked around at all of us before she looked back at Mason. “Is there something in your ass?”
“Oh, Jesus, Kathleen, sit down!” Grandma snapped. “Cut the cake, and we’ll all get to know each other.”
“It’s not Alcoholics Anonymous, Grandma. Just everyone’s names for Mason’s benefit will do.” I cradled my glass of wine against me.
“No, we’re doing full introductions. We’ve been practicing for this very moment. Everyone sit down with a drink!” She waved her hands, and all the old ladies snapped into action.
Evelyn poured Mason a Jack Daniels and forced it into his hands, Kathleen slices the cake into eight pieces, Grandma fussed at everyone because her cushion was missing, and Lil… Well, Lil sat down with her glass of wine and watched them all go insane.
I looked into my own glass. There was not going to be enough wine in this thing.
“Right! I hereby call this meeting of the book club to order.” Grandma banged her mini gavel on the arm of her chair.
I really had no idea where she got that thing from.
“Today, we have a new member. Mason from next door,” she went on. “Oh, wait, what’s the date?”
“Nobody is taking notes, Jennifer, get on with it!” Lil sniped. “I want to talk about Mr. Wesley’s nipple clamps!”
Mason’s eyes widened, and I grinned like the Cheshire cat rolling around on his branch. He’d just learned exactly what these crazy old women liked to read.
Dirty BDSM erotica.
He met my gaze and mouthed, “What the fuck?”
I kept grinning.
“All right, all right,” Evelyn said, stepping in. “My name is Evelyn Elmhurst. I’m eighty-one years old, I like gardening in my greenhouse, I absolutely hate cats, and I’m here because I like to read about kinky things I should have done fifty years ago.”
Well.
There we go, then.
That was how you introduced yourself to the group.
“I’ll go next!” Kathleen sat up straight. “My name is Kathleen Springs, and I’m seventy-nine years old. I like knitting, crochet, and I can roast a mean chicken. I like sending Evelyn photos of cats and watching alien documentaries on the History channel.”
Crochet and aliens? You learned something new every day.
“Right.” Grandma straightened in her seat. “My name is Jennifer, I’m eighty years old, and I let my granddaughter live in my house.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m excellent at baking, watching Netflix, and complaining about absolutely everything.”
Preach that.
Lil sighed. “My name is Lillian Fradley-Park, I’m eighty-one years old, and I couldn’t give a damn about anything other than Mr. Wesley and his nipple clamps.”
Good old Lil.
“All right. Imogen?”
All eyes turned to me.
“What? I’m not doing that. I’m not a part of this club. I’m here to supervise,” I said.
“You’re drinking our wine,” Evelyn pointed out.
“I’m drinking my wine,” I retorted.
“Oh. Never mind then.”
Grandma shook her head. “Imogen.”
“Fine. My name is Imogen Anderson. Despite my grandmother’s protestations, she lives in my house, I’m an artist, I run an art store, and I have to look after four drunken, kinky-book-loving pensioners once a week because they can’t be trusted by themselves. Is that okay?”
“A little brusque,” Kathleen replied. “But it works.”
“It was fine,” Lil answered. “Politer than mine.”
“Everyone is politer than you, Lil,” Evelyn offered.
“Mason.” Grandma nodded at him. “You’re up.”
He cleared his throat and looked around the room. “Uh. Hi. I’m Mason Black. I’m twenty-eight, I have a three-year-old daughter called Maya, and I’m a lawyer. I also have a Shih Tzu puppy called Dolly that I was coerced into adopting by my daughter.”
“And you used to sleep with Imogen,” Lil offered brightly.
Mason coughed. “That’s not usually how I introduce myself to people, but sure.”
My cheeks flamed br
ight red.
Why the hell had I been a part of the conversation that ended up with him at book club? I should have known better. I should have known that at least someone would bring that up.
I lifted my wine glass and finished the rest of it in one. “Look at that. I need another drink. Anyone else?”
I jumped up and darted into the kitchen before anyone else could answer. Gripping the edge of the counter, I stepped back and dropped my head forward, closing my eyes for a brief second.
This was just going from bad to worse—and then some.
I pushed off the counter, refilled my wine, and headed back in once I’d taken a few deep breaths. The ladies were now discussing the book, and Mason looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than here.
You and me both, I thought.
I took my seat and put my feet up. Mason caught my eye, and I hide a smile behind my glass.
“Can we please discuss the nipple clamps now?” Lil asked, waving her book around. “We’ve already discussed the words used to describe his penis.”
Mason paled slightly.
“I’m not sure ‘bulbous love wand was a favorite of mine,’” Evelyn mused. “It made me think of the bulbs I have to plant this fall.”
“Not really the kind of excitement the author was going for, huh?” I replied. “What was your favorite description, Mason?”
He went even whiter. “Uh, they were all so good I can’t possibly choose.”
“I bet it was the ‘pulsating cannon,’” Kathleen said. “These penis analogies are awful. Why do we read this BDSM stuff?”
“Because nobody ever screwed us on a sex swing, Kathleen,” Grandma responded.
“Speak for yourself,” Lil said, getting up. “Bobby Thornberry was a real sexpot back in the day.”
“Him? A sexpot?” Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “I doubt that. I went on one date with him, and he had the sexual skills of a kitten.”
Lil patted her silver curls. “Maybe he just needed a real woman, Evelyn.”
This was not how I’d expected the gossip portion of the evening to go.
CHAPTER TWELVE – IMMY
The Great Escape
