He does this little shake, like he’s preparing himself for a big speech. “I’m glad you asked. I was thinking about a towering funfetti, chocolate raspberry mud sponge with buttercream and vanilla icing.”
“I’m glad you haven’tunderthoughtit, but what the hell is funfetti?”
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Really, Bradley? You’re like the Sweet Confetti king, you should know what funfetti is. For your information, it’s a layered rainbow speckled vanilla sponge with sprinkles. We’re just mixing it up because Bobby loves chocolate.”
“Glad you cleared that up.”
“Be nice, or you won’t get a slice.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re doing swans, aren’t you?”
“I said low key, but now you mention it, swans could be doable. It’ll mean I’ll blow the budget with the ice sculpture.”
I cough into my fist. “I’m gonna call it — I think you’re in the wrong job. You should’ve been a party planner.”
He looks down his reading glasses at me. “Don’t tempt me. The amount of crap you Lucas boys put me through is enough to give me gray hair.”
“Wait, do I see one?” I look pointedly at his head as he touches his expertly coiffed hair — ultimately his pride and joy — and then, realizing I’m kidding, he pokes his tongue.
“Very funny. I’ll remember you said that when you need something in a hurry.”
Mason is very much like a little mosquito. He flits around, buzzing, eventually landing and makes you itch until you swat him away. I mean, I love him like a brother, but sometimes you gotta send him on his way or he’ll have flags flying and balloons bobbing around every day of the week.
“I’m sure you’ll make me regret it.”
“So.” He leans on the desk, waggling his eyebrows. “Speaking of our young, hot single mom…”
“Don’t go there, M,” I warn. I’m very protective of Chelsea. Sure, we’re best friends, but she’s been through a lot.
That scumbag of an ex left her when Deaton was two months old, and she’s had to struggle and strive for everything she has. She moved back to LA when Deaton was four, two years ago, and that’s when we reconnected. We’ve always gotten along well, and we tell each other everything. She’s also hot, I’m not dumb, I’ve got eyes. She’s sexy as fuck with that long, dark hair and bright blue eyes with curves in all the right places. But it isn’t like that with us. She’s the only woman friend I have, and it isn’t because I don’t like women — I love women — but being friends is different. We tell each other everything, and there’s a trust there that I don’t have with many people. I also know how hurt she was when that loser Ron left, leaving her to cope alone in a town where she barely knew anyone. He’s a real fucking dick because he’s missed out on seeing what a creative, sweet and endearing little boy Deaton has turned out to be. I get that parenting is hard, I’ve seen my friends struggle, but the rewards are worth it. You can’t just ditch your responsibilities because life got complicated. It makes me fucking sick. Little Deaton didn’t ask for this, and neither did Chelsea. I’d love to find Ron and punch him in the throat, even though I know she’s better off without him.
“Hmm, and why not? You know what I’ve noticed,hotshot?”
I give him a withering look. “You won’t go away until I bite. Fine. What?”
“You’ve not been out on the townat allfor a very long while, could that have something to do with Little Miss Cupcakes? You guys hang out an awful lot, and I haven’t seen you with a spring in your step like you have had lately.”
“I almost fell asleep, are you done talking? Some of us have work to do.”
He wags a finger at me. “I don’t know what you’re not seeing, but Chelsea is a major catch. She’s funny, intelligent, sweet, sexy, adorable, a hands on mom, gah! And on top of all of that, she can cook!”
“You don’t have to sell her on me, she’s my best friend for a reason.”
“So you don’t have any romantic feelings for her?”
I ignore him, staring at my computer. “Go away.”
“Say it once, and if you say it like you mean it, I will go away.”
“Dad?” I yell. “Mason is annoying me!”
It’s really childish calling out for my dad, but since he runs this firm, you’d think he’d be on my side.
“Get in line, buddy!” he yells back from his office next door. “Welcome to my world.”
“Rude,” Mason mutters. “Stop trying to change the subject. You two are perfect together.”
“Aside from the fact I’m a workaholic, live alone, can’t even look after a plant, and never remember to call a woman after the first date, remind me why I’d be a good candidate for Chelsea?” I say in all seriousness.
