I drop my head into my hands and sigh. “You could make the pope go on a killing spree.”
“Though from what I can tell, you think too much of people in general. Everyone is good in your eyes.”
I lift my head and say tartly, “You’re forgetting about Satan.”
He snorts. “Even Helen Keller could tell Bettina is no good.”
I wag my finger at him. “Don’t say anything mean about Helen Keller. That woman is a national treasure. And it’s not right to make fun of people with disabilities. Their lives are challenging enough as it is without being the butt of jokes.”
He gazes at me for a quiet moment, his eyes growing warm. “You’re right, Pink,” he says softly. “My bad.”
It seems like he’s saying something else than the words that came out of his mouth, but I don’t know what it might be. Still, the look in his eyes flusters me. I have to look away before my face starts to redden.
The waitress returns with our carafe of wine. As she’s filling our wineglasses, she says, “You guys officially started practice yet?”
“We start OTAs on Sunday,” says Mason. “Training camp starts next month.”
“Cool. I’m going to draft you for my fantasy football league, so make sure you kick ass this season.”
He puts a hand over his heart. “I’m flattered.”
She gives him a sour look. “Don’t be. You’re my third choice for QB after Drew Brees and Baker Mayfield, but I figure since you tip so well, I’ll move you up. But if you suck on the field this year, don’t come back here expecting to get good service. Your entrees might get dropped onto the kitchen floor a couple times before they make it to your table.”
He says to me, “You said that was a cockroach you saw on the carpet? We should give the health department a call.”
The waitress smiles. “Don’t forget to tell them about the cockroach you’re going to find in your spaghetti.” She turns and leaves.
I really like this girl.
I lean in and say in a lowered voice, “Have you ever thought about dating Lauren? She seems great.”
In response, he simply stares at me.
“Right. I forgot about your infamous List of Ideal Female Attributes. She doesn’t have the blonde hair, giant boobs, or pretty much anything else. Wait, where were the sense of humor and sharp intellect on that list?” I pretend to think. “That’s right—they were missing.”
He mutters, “Here we go.”
“Along with honesty, integrity, responsibility—”
“Oh, please,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not looking for an accountant.”
“—compassion, kindness, respect—”
“Or a nurse.”
“—spirituality, wisdom, inner harmony—”
“Or a guru. Just a wife, Pink. That’s all I need. Let’s keep it simple.”
I pick up my knife and point it at him. “Okay. That. That right there is probably the single most offensive thing I’ve heard lately, and I’ve been hearing a lot of offensive things from you men.”
He adopts an air of strained patience. “Is this gonna take long? If so, I should visit the restroom first.”
I ignore him. “‘Just’ a wife is insulting on so many levels. Shall I name them for you?”
“No. Not that you’re gonna listen to me.”
I have to decide whether or not to launch into an explanation, considering he’s expecting me to do just that. Ultimately, I arrive at the conclusion that nothing I say or do will change his mind. It’s not my job to change anything about him, anyway.
I set my knife down and take a swallow of the wine. It’s dry, full-bodied, and very good. Unlike my mood, which has taken a nosedive.
“Uh-oh,” says Mason, smiling a lopsided smile. “The lips are pinched. I’m in trouble now.”
I sniff disapprovingly. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His smile turns heated. “God, I love it when you get prissy.”
“And I hate it when you call me that.”
“I’ve never called you that before.”
“Oh, excuse me. Prim and puritanical were the other two P-words I’ve been the lucky recipient of.” I eye the knife longingly, imagining myself embedding it into his chest.
“But since we’re on the topic of prissiness, I noticed you weren’t wearing an engagement ring.”
Ugh. He’s talking about Robert. “I think I’ll need to have a lot more of this wine before we broach that particular subject.”
He stares at me like a police interrogator, waiting for me to break, until I sigh in defeat. “Okay. You win. What do you want to know?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You said no to his proposal?”
“Bingo! Give the man a prize.”
“But you said he was so perfect for you. That you had so much in common, blah, blah, blah.”
That elephant’s memory of his is started to get annoying. Especially because it’s selective. “I also said I wasn’t in love with him, remember?”
His gaze sharpens. “So, what you’re really saying is that all that nonsense about shared goals, dreams, and backgrounds is just the undercard. The main event is twue wuv.”
“Wow. You just mixed boxing metaphors, blistering sarcasm, and a classic movie quote in one neat package. Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.”
He pauses. “Did you just quote the same movie back to me?’
With a straight face, I say, “Mawwiage. It’s what bwings us togevah today.”
For some strange reason, me quoting the lisping clergyman from The Princess Bride makes Mason look anguished. He sags back into his seat, scrubs his hands over his face, and softly groans.
I watch all that, wondering what on earth is wrong with him. “Am I giving you heartburn?”
He exhales deeply, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
“I’ll leave if it will make you feel better.”
“Here, gone, it’s all the same. I’m screwed.”
I scrunch up my face and stare at him. “I’d ask if you’re drunk, but you haven’t even had a sip of your wine yet.”
Looking morose, he stares at his wine glass. “You’re right.” He picks up the glass and downs the entire thing in one big swallow.
“Oh, we’re doing this again? Good times. Remind me not to text you later to apologize after I throw up. Inevitably, we’ll end up in a restroom somewhere shouting at each other.”
He gazes at me, his empty wine glass gripped in his big hand. Then he starts chuckling. “Don’t forget the guy taking a dump.”
“How could I? I’m scarred for life.”
The waitress arrives with our salads. We’re quiet as she sets down the plates and wishes us buon appetito. She refills Mason’s wine glass, then leaves.
We munch for a while, until I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “There’s something I need to say to you.”
He freezes. “Oh God.”
“Don’t be such a wuss. It’s not bad.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He sits back, bracing his arms against the table. “Go ahead, then.”