“And the candidates I sent who you talked to on the phone.”
His voice hardens. “Who all signed NDAs. Right?”
I get up from the table and start to rove around my house, because I’m feeling antsy. “Yes, of course. Dick insisted on it. Though technically, they all thought you were sincere about finding a wife.”
“I am sincere.”
“You are totally not sincere.”
“Just because I don’t want a wife doesn’t mean I’m not sincere about finding one.”
I stop wandering and stare out my living room windows into the gorgeous morning beyond. “Are you aware how insane that sounds?”
“Look, I just need you to find me a nice girl I can settle down with, okay?”
“No.”
After a blistering pause, he says, “Oh. Right. You believe in love.”
He says the word with so much disdain it almost drips from the phone.
This man is bad for my blood pressure.
“Yes, I do, but even more than that, I believe in honesty. You can’t build a foundation for a relationship on a lie.”
“Sure you can,” he shoots back. “People do it all the time.”
“Just out of curiosity, are you deliberately trying to make my head explode?”
Ignoring that, he says impatiently, “What if we tell the next round of girls that I’m looking for a pretend wife? We’ll be honest with them. Would that make you feel better?”
“No! I’m not matching you with any more women! And by the way, if you’re only looking for a ‘pretend’ wife, what difference does it make whether or not you have chemistry with her?”
“I don’t know about you, Pink, but I can’t have sex with someone I’m not attracted to.”
It sounds like he’s accusing me of prostitution. “I don’t have sex with people I’m not attracted to!”
“Oh, so you’re all about the lust factor, huh?”
“Wait, you just said—”
“Seems kinda superficial for someone who goes on and on about love.”
“I never mentioned anything about lust—”
“Hey, you don’t have to get huffy,” he says nonchalantly. “I’m just pointing out the double standard here. You’re getting all down on my choices, but it sounds to me like you’re the one having a bunch of meaningless sex—”
I shout, “I’m not having sex with anyone!”
After a beat, Mason says, “You’re celibate? Huh. Is that for religious reasons?”
I look around for something heavy to throw at the wall. Instead, I hurl myself down on the sofa and throw an arm over my eyes. “Actually, it’s because I can’t find a man who isn’t allergic to all the cats.”
I expected a laugh. Hoped for it, honestly. His laugh has been the only pleasurable thing about this entire conversation.
But all thoughts of laughter flee my head with Mason’s next words, spoken in the husky tone of a sex line operator.
“I’m not allergic to cats.”
When I don’t respond because I’m too shocked, he says with a casual laugh, “Just kidding. I hate cats. What was it you called for again?”
If I could get my head to stop spinning, I’d tell him. But I’m flushed and breathless, and pretty sure I’ve fallen into another dimension.
Did Mason Spark just flirt with me?
7
Mason
Kill me. Just kill me now.
I could literally hear Maddie’s disgust in the pause after I blurted out that dumbass line about not being allergic to cats. I mean, it’s true. I’m not allergic to anything except the sight of Tom Brady. But I didn’t mean for it to come out so pervy.
I sounded like a total molester. Hey, little girl, want some candy?
Which is probably on account of the dream I had about her last night, but I’m not thinking about that.
I can’t think about it. My dick might explode.
I had to get up and take a cold shower, if you can believe that. Fucking ridiculous. Like I’m some horny teenager.
And then she called! She fucking called me! I’m standing in my bathroom with a towel around my waist when the phone rang. And who does it turn out to be?
Her.
Maddie McRae.
The smart-mouthed librarian with an unnatural obsession with the color pink.
Who, because the universe has a really fucking dark sense of humor, is apparently celibate.
“I’m not having sex with anyone!” she hollered, like something as basic as sex is beneath her. Like she tried it once and found it super gross. Too sticky, probably. Too messy. But my dick took it as a personal challenge and stood up at attention.
Again.
So now I’ve got a boner that could cut steel and a raging desire to see Maddie naked underneath me, unraveling at the seams.
Which will never happen, because I believe in one night stands and she believes in happily-ever-afters, and even if somehow the stars aligned and I had the opportunity to fuck her, I wouldn’t.
I’ve already ruined too much in my life. I don’t have to ruin her, too.
On the other end of the phone, she clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is unsteady. “Um…I…part of our service is relationship coaching.”
I repeat doubtfully, “Relationship coaching.”
“Yes. Either pre-commitment with a couple who are considering marriage or with singles who’ve had trouble with past relationships and want to develop strategies to build better relationships in the future.”
If I hear the word “relationship” one more time, I might die.
When I don’t say anything, she continues. “People who are serious about having a successful life partnership can work with a coach to move faster toward that goal. I can help you identify your strengths and weakness in dealing with women.”
I laugh, because seriously. This is getting silly now. “Oh, trust me, Pink, I know exactly what my strength with women is.”
After a short pause, she says something that throws me for a complete fucking loop.
“You’re much more than what’s between your legs, Mason. You have a lot to offer.”
I open my mouth, then shut it. Then I turn my back on the bathroom mirror because I can’t stand that look on my face. That stunned, baby deer look.
I had that look on my face a lot when I was a kid.
It only ever meant one thing: weakness.
“You don’t have to give me fake flattery,” I snap, pacing into my closet. I whip off the towel and throw it onto the floor. “You’ve already got my fucking money.”
“Yes, I do,” she snaps back. “And if you curse at me one more time, I’ll shred it and send it all back to you in a big black garbage bag so you know exactly how impressed I am by it.”
She huffs.
I hate myself that I think it sounds adorable.
I spend a minute glaring at my clothes hanging in row after row in this stupid closet that’s so big it could double as a spare bedroom, until I realize she’s waiting for me to say something.
I shock myself by making that something an apology.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” My voice is low and gruff, but sincere. Holding my breath, I wait for her to reply.