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“To save you from your life if terrible date choices, you will be going on a series of dates with men of my choice.”
CHAPTER6
Mason
I havean hour to kill before work, so I put a basketball game on John’s huge flat screen. But I’m not really watching. I don’t even know who’s playing. Yellow versus blue? Team versus team?
My thoughts are on Chelsea. Not on her being in the shower right now—that’s something I’m actively tryingnotto think about—but on how to navigate this whole surprise living together situation.
Thanks for that, John.
My eyes drift to the tree I bought while Chelsea was camping. She was all I could think about—wondering if she was safe, wondering if she was having a good time, wondering if she ever thought about me. Or if she was thinking about the guy she went on a date with.
I guess the last was true in a sense, considering he was on the trip with her. And was involved with the whole skunk encounter. This is the kind of thing that would ONLY happen to Chelsea. From what she said, I guess I don’t need to worry about him now. Which is a relief.
But one day, sheisgoing to date a guy who realizes just how special she is, a guy who isn’t into someone else, a guy who would dive in front of a skunk for her, and then I’m going to have to live with it.
Unless I do something about it.
The Christmas tree is a tiny start—me dipping my toe in new, uncharted waters. Waters that don’t involve John circling around us like some kind of overprotective shark.
But was it too much to buy a tree and ornaments—a deep dive rather than dipping a toe in the shallows? Did it sound too date-like when I asked her to decorate it? Would she have minded if itdidsound like a date?
Would she have said yes?
A scream from her bedroom has me jumping up. “Chelsea?”
My feet are already moving toward her door when it flies open and she emerges, looking ready to commit murder with the hairbrush in her hand.
“Whoa.”
I back up, palms outstretched as she charges toward me, then charges right by me, the scent of some kind of flower and skunk hitting my nose in tandem. I wish it helped tone down my attraction, but it doesn’t. Chelsea cloaked in skunk perfume is still Chelsea. Just … skunkier.
I cough, and Chelsea spins around to face me. Her eyes are even fiercer now. “You can still smell the skunk, can’t you?”
I’d love to lie. But I can’t. “Little bit.”
Chelsea throws her head back and shrieks again. The noise is ear-splitting, and I’m thankful one of the loft’s features is excellent soundproofing. Because if anyone heard her right now, they’d assume she’s being murdered.
Her shrieks give way to shouts. “I hate skunks and I hate blind dates and I hate my brother!”
With that, Chelsea hurls the brush, which bounces harmlessly along the rug before coming to rest near my feet. I bend down to retrieve it.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask.
Maybe at a more reasonable volume,I don’t add. Because I’m a smart man, and I know you should never, ever do anything remotely in the neighborhood of telling a woman to calm down or quiet down.
“No!” she says, flopping down on the couch. “I don’t want to talk about how you could possibly be friends with my brother. He’s infuriating. And overbearing. And just … the worst. He’s like Jean-Ralphio Saperstein bad. But I amnotMona Lisa in this analogy. Just so we’re clear.”
We arenotclear. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I hold out the brush and Chelsea snatches it away, starting to drag it through her wet hair violently.
“Mona Lisa, like the painting?” I ask. “And who’s John … Ralph?”
Chelsea stops mid-brush to stare at me. “Mason Brandt—have you never seenParks and Rec?”
“I’ve heard of it,” I say.
“Unbelievable,” she says, shaking her head. “Well, now I know what will be our first binge watch as roommates. You’ll thank me. And then you’ll see that Jean-Ralphio and Mona Lisa are the worst. But neither one can hold a candle to my brother. Can I disown him, do you think? Or is that just a thing with parents?”
