MASON
MASON: How was your day, Dream Girl?
Silently, I pray for her to respond and not ignore me like she has most of the day. She might have been busy, but I think it’s more like she’s throwing up walls already, trying to stuff me into a box I’ll never fit in because I’m not a douchebag.
And I’m not her ex.
I told her about this trip, was open and honest and she was understanding. But apparently notthatunderstanding.
LANA: Fine
I stareat the single word and try like hell not to let it tank the rest of my mood. Today had been a long-ass day, between the drive, tryin’ to find a place open late enough to grab something to eat, and dealing with this bullshit Bodhi and I now have between us.
“I don’t know if that’ll ever be me, Mase, and I don’t want you to think we gotta be two old men sitting on a porch, still a couple of bachelors…”
But where the hell else did he think we’d end up?
As if I’d find some happily ever after and let him fade into the background to be only a memory. He’s out of his fucking mind.
MASON: Am I allowed to miss you?
MASON: Because I really fucking miss you
Sighing,I toss my phone on the hotel bed and scrub my hands over my face. It figures I’d have to go out of town so soon after meeting Lana. She’d been cagey all day—short—and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.
“What?” Bodhi asks from where he’s sitting on the other side of the room. Even though we’ve stayed in lots of hotels through the years, my first thought had beenwow, this is fancy. There’s two beds and a coffee maker and no hourly rate.
Life has certainly changed in the last few years.
Thank fuck.
“Lana’s upset.”
“Why?”
“My guess? She thinks I’m lying about being here with you. Her husband cheated on her, so she’s still learning to trust me.”
“Need me to leave?” he asks and I smirk, watching as he rolls his eyes as he stands. “Make sure whatever you’re doin’ is finished before I get back,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”
“I appreciate you.” I grin and this time he flips me the bird before heading for the door.
“Thirty minutes or I’m eating the snack I get you from the vending machine.”
“Something chocolate.”
“Better mind the clock then.”
Chuckling as the door closes, I wait until his footsteps disappear before hitting the video button on the screen next to her name. It rings and rings, and just when I think it’s about to disconnect, she answers.
Annoyed.
“You’re pretty even when you’re pissed, Dream Girl.”
“I’m not mad.”
I raise my eyebrows slowly, making sure she knows I find that statement to be suspect.
“You’re not happy,” I point out as she flops back against her pillows. I can almost smell the light scent of jasmine and wish I would’ve bottled it up for this trip.
