“Just thinking,” I say with a smile that I know doesn’t convince him because my smile is too bright and contrived, like I’m trying just a little bit too hard.
“I’m almost scared to ask what you’re thinking about when I look at your face,” Mase admits, although I am unsure who to.
I am not doing this, not today, hopefully never, so I do what I do best, I deflect and put on my false front, the one that protects me. Today I just need it to protect me from caving in and opening up. It’s too soon and I will lose him if I do.
“Olivia,” he says again, alerting me to the fact that my mind is doing all the things I keep telling it not to.
“I don’t expect you to act as my chauffeur,” I say seriously. “When I stay at home alone, I will catch the train, like I always do, and it was the train to Peterson Michaels where the guy rubbed himself against me and that was kind of your fault.” I choose my words carefully enough that I engage Mason in a conversation of my own choosing.
“How the fuck can that be my fault? I’d only known you for about ten hours at that point.” He laughs. “Or is this woman’s logic?”
“You were an arse that morning, and then you had coffee so that when you left and I showered and dressed I was running a bit late meaning I missed my favoured train and had to catch the later one, the busier one.”
“Fine. Even more reason for me to ensure you are never in that position again.” He speaks with a finality that tells me I might need to be a little more cunning in order to walk or use public transport ever again.
Chapter 19
Mason
The lesson in using the coffee machine took considerably longer than I had anticipated, mainly because Olivia is still preoccupied. It has almost killed me not to demand answers and explanations from her, but I can see she’s not ready, not that I will wait forever.
The memory of her throwing the tray into the sink after another failed attempt at coffee makes me laugh out loud which in turn makes her look up from her position making instant coffee in her own kitchen while I sit on the sofa in front of her TV watching a programme that she assured me I would, and I quote,love. I am yet to find anything to love about watching a bunch of people in set up confrontations with former partners in public places, people who Olivia informs me are all famous and always in the press and magazines.
“Look at that, coffee in under an hour.” She places two cups on the table in front of us.
“Are you still smarting over the time it took you to get the simple three button operation of my coffee machine?” I know she got more and more annoyed each time I referred to the three-button thing.
“Three button operation if you happen to be an octopus,” she snaps but with less irritation than earlier.
“So, am I an octopus now?” I ask with a grin.
“Sometimes it feels as if you have hands everywhere, so maybe.”
“Don’t go flirting with me tonight and then complaining that you can’t walk tomorrow.” A flick of my eyebrows makes her laugh until her phone interrupts.
I watch as she grabs her phone with an awkward half-smile meaning the caller is someone she doesn’t want to talk to or just not in front of me.
“Hello,” she says softly while I turn the volume down on the TV so as not to interrupt her call rather than to listen in. “Hi Brad,” she adds making me frown. “Mmm, yeah, good thanks, you?”
She is chatting, friendly chatter, no more and yet I am seriously pissed off and desperate to grab the phone and hang up on Brad. I even think his name in a petulant tone.
“Work’s great actually, yes. Peterson has given me a chance to do some design,” she says with a huge smile that could light up the room but even that pisses me off, that and her comment because I have given her an opportunity, not fucking Christian. “Okay, when?” she asks and I am sure he, an ex has just asked her out and she has agreed.
I know we’ve crammed quite a bit of drama into our five days together but that will be nothing compared to our first row which is likely to start as soon as she is off the phone.
“Can I ask what you want to talk about?” I hear her ask and immediately think that he is hoping for a reconciliation and even though she doesn’t fully trust me yet, I do trust her. I trust her to be faithful and not pick up where she left off with fucking Brad.
My head is spinning as I try to order my thoughts and come up with a plan of action. Maybe I could go with her when she meets Brad. God, I am actually sneering as I whine his name patronisingly in my head which is preferable to the brain exploding image I conjure when I hear her continue to speak.
“Yeah, I can do Wednesday or Thursday.”
They are both nights that I am away, so she won’t be doing Wednesday or Thursday. Oh, fuck it, I think, and if only to stop my brain spraying across Olivia’s tastefully decorated home I speak, out loud, close enough to her phone that fucking Brad with his designs on my girl will clearly hear.
“Baby, I can do Tuesday.” My clearly unexpected words cause Olivia’s head to snap in my direction so sharply I am sure she must have strained something.
“What?” she asks but already knows what is happening here. “No, no. Really, no.”
She is glowering at me with a fiery rage glimmering in her eyes, almost warning me not to do this, not to force this discussion, debate, argument, while Brad’s at the other end of the line.
