“Immy, your first water balloon totally missed my car. A car. Do you really think you have a good aim?”
“It’s really irritating when you’re right. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes, and it usually comes from women who enjoy being right all the time.” I shrugged. “What can I say? I must get the incessant need to be right from my mother.”
“You must,” she drawled. “Anyway. I have to go before Grandma slips Jack Daniels into her coffee cake, if she hasn’t already. It’s book club night.”
“Book club? Oh, right, with the wild old ladies. I kind of want to see that.”
“Be my guest. Come by at seven-thirty, and you’ll be scarred for life when you see what they’re reading.” Her eyebrows went up. “You’ll bolt.”
“I don’t know. I like a good book. I didn’t graduate law school by winging it and drawing wonky-eyed squirrels, you know.”
She sighed. “That still haunts me. It was all your fault.”
“I know. I’m really proud of that.”
“I know. Asshole.”
I grinned.
So did she.
She fought hers instantly, though, and put it back in its box—the one where she hated me and couldn’t grin at me like that.
Our eye contact was broken by the rumbling of an engine. I peered out of the window at Fran’s car pulling up behind mine on the driveway.
“Who is it?” Immy asked. “I don’t know that car.”
“It’s Francesca.” I met her eyes. “Maya’s mom.”
Her mouth formed a small ‘o,’ and she took a step back. “Maybe I should go.”
“Why?”
“Two exes in one room. That’s gotta be awkward.”
“No more so than living next to you.” I snorted. “She knows you live next door.”
“She… knows about me?”
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. “Why wouldn’t she know about you?”
“I don’t know. I just…” Immy trailed off, then finished with a shrug.
I laughed gently as I went to get the door. “Hey. How was your trip?”
Fran beamed at me. “So good. And we did the seating chart, all while keeping Matt’s mom as far away from me as possible.”
I chuckled and let her inside. “Maya! Guess who?”
“Mama!” There was a small clunk and the unmistakable sound of popcorn skirting all across the floor.
I winced.
Fran grimaced. “Sorry,” she mouthed, changing course quickly to grab the high-speed ball of tiny human hurtling her way. “Hey, baby!”
“Mamaaaaa!” Maya wrapped herself around her like a koala. “Can I finish Peppa first?”
Fran laughed. “And pick up that popcorn you just knocked everywhere, right?”
Maya nodded, eyes wide. “Okay, Mama.”
“Go on, then.” She put Maya down. “I could do with a coffee anyway.”
“Okay. Dadda, I let Dolly back after, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” I said to her, then turned to Fran. “Come through.” I walked into the kitchen with her right behind me. “Fran, this is Imogen. Imogen, Fran.”
Fran’s eyebrows shot up when I said Immy’s name, but Immy was too busy trying to disappear to notice.
“Imogen. It’s lovely to meet you!” Fran walked right up to her and wrapped her in a huge hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN – IMMY
Bulbous Cocks And Nipple Clamps
This wasn’t awkward.
At all.
I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear into the floor.
It didn’t help that Francesca was absolutely beautiful. She was that stereotypical ex-girlfriend that nobody ever wanted a guy to have. The kind of woman that makes everyone around her feel inferior, even unintentionally.
She was tall and slim, with long, dark hair that hung to her chest and shone in a way mine never would. Big dark eyes were genuinely friendly, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was destined to be a model at some point.
I returned the hug Fran gave me. I never knew what to say when people said: “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Like, have you? What did you hear? What did that assrat tell you? Did he point out that I have a bad aim and sometimes don’t think before I speak, or did he say I was a great cook and can draw wonky-eyed squirrels?
This was the worst.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I finally settled on. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have to get home. Grandma’s baking, and it’s going to go one of two ways.”
“Burned or Jack Daniels in the cake?” Mason offered, grinning.
“You go over there and ask her if she’s burning a cake. I dare you,” I said with a sharp look. “She’ll beat you with her spatula, and she won’t send me over with any more cheesecake.”
“Cheesecake?” Fran asked. “She makes cheesecake?”
“She makes every kind of cake.” I pointed to the one I’d brought over. “She thinks cake can solve everything.”
“I’m kind of inclined to agree with her. You don’t like cake?”
“I like cake just fine. When I get to eat it, instead of bringing it over here for him to eat it all. It’s been sitting there for twenty minutes, and he hasn’t offered me a slice yet.”
Fran looked at Mason. “I like her. Now, pass me a knife so I can cut this.”
All right. I liked her right back.
“That’s mine!” Mason protested as Fran bypassed him and pulled a sharp knife out of the block. “Hey!”
“Do you or do you not make our daughter share her cake with you?”
Mason rolled his neck. “Maybe.”
“Fair is fair. Besides, I need good cake for the wedding. Consider this your gift to me, because if I like this, I might go compliment her some more. God only knows Matt’s mother will tag along to any tasting.” Fran pulled three plates from the cupboard. “I’m getting married in nine months, and my future mother-in-law is a real witch.”
“So is my grandma,” I muttered. “She loves baking. I think a wedding cake would keep her amused for at least three weeks.”
“Perfect. Let’s taste this!” Fran set to business with the cake.
Mason slipped across the room to me. “She’s a bit like a freight train when she wants something.”
“I heard that, Mason,” she said without looking.
I smiled. “You think she’s a freight train? You’re in for a treat at book club tonight.”
“Book club? You’re going to a book club?” Fran peered at him through her lashes.
“My grandma and her friends have a book club. They pretend to read a book, get a little drunk, and bitch about people in town once a week,” I explained. “They have to be supervised after a flashing incident not so long ago.”
“Sounds like my kinda book club.” She winked at me. “Mason, I know I told you to make friends, but are pensioners really your target audience? Unless you’re on the hunt for a sugar mama, in which case, go ahead. I won’t judge you.”