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“Great,” I say. “Well, then—thanks for all this and … goodnight.”
I hop up and head for my room. If I’m stomping all the way like a kid whose Mom just took away her favorite toy, so be it.
And Mason doesn’t say a word to stop me.
CHAPTER8
Mason
Because I’ma man who keeps his promises, I am now sitting in awkward silence with Chelsea’s date for the evening. Had I made a move with her last night or even broached the topic of my feelings, maybe things would be different. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting across the room from a guy named Ronald.
Yes,Ronald. Because some parents still think this is a viable name.
Maybe it’s a family thing?
Though Ronald’s last name isn’t McDonald, all he needs is a pair of red, floppy shoes and a cheeseburger in hand to complete the look. He’s even got a red nose.
“Sunburn,” he explains with a rueful smile, tapping his nose when he catches me staring. “Curse of being a pale redhead. I spent the afternoon outside and forgot sunscreen.”
When I don’t so much as blink or move, he clears his throat and drops his hands to his lap again.
I’ve been sitting on a stool glaring at Chelsea’s date since I let him in the door. She has yet to emerge from her room, and the sound of the hair dryer and Chelsea singing off-key Pat Benatar tells me she won’t for a few more minutes. She has no idea Ronald is already here.
Which is all part of my plan, which piggy-backs on John’s plan—both of which are stupid, stupid plans.
You know whatwasn’ta stupid plan? The one where I planned a simple but thoughtful date involving special things Chelsea loves—Christmas tree decorating, hot cocoa, andMean Girls—wherein I was planning to ask Chelsea on a real, official, no confusion possible date.
And then I froze at a clutch point in the night. We had one of those moments where a kiss felt like a sure thing. The pull between us felt like a tangible thing, hanging in the air.
This had not been part of my plan. I saw the whipped cream on Chelsea’s lip and then … I almost lost control. I definitely lost my head.
Maybe I’m old-fashioned in this way, but I’m not casual with my affection. Never have been. Considering how important Chelsea is to me, I don’t want to rush anything.
Before I kiss Chelsea, I want to feel like I’ve earned it.
And … I haven’t. Yet.
I’m still terrified of messing this up. Because I won’t just be losing Chelsea if things don’t work. Not even just this loft—which I don’t think we could share in that situation. I’d lose the only family I know. And that makes every move feel weightier.
But ruining that moment also ruined the night. I couldn’t figure out how to come back from not kissing her when it was so clear I wanted to.
I can’t even blame Chelsea for stomping off and for still being frustrated with me this morning. She got up earlier than usual, and I think it was just so she could make a show of slamming cabinets and stomping around the apartment. If I didn’t feel so bad, I would say it was kind of adorable.
Anyway, my mistake last night only makestonightmore important.
Through the app, John told Ronald to be here at six but John toldChelseaher date would be here at six fifteen. This gives me fifteen minutes—or more, considering how late Chelsea usually is—to intimidate Ronald.
The nice thing is I don’t even need words. Staring him down seems particularly effective.
It’s also highly enjoyable. Honestly, though, I’m not sure I’llneedto scare him off. I cannot imagine any world in which Chelsea would be interested in Ronald.
Besides the clown similarities, Ronald is wearing cologne that smells like a middle school locker room and chews his fingernails. The fingernail thing isn’t just because I’m making him nervous, either. I noticed they were bitten down to the quick when he tried to shake my hand. (For the record, I refused his handshake. Another part of my intimidation strategy.)
Maybe these are all superficial things and I’m just being nitpicky. Ronald could be a quality guy.Somethingmade John pick him. Maybe I’ll ask later, because I just don’t get it.
For now, I’ll catalog each of Ronald’s flaws so I don’t lose my mind thinking of Chelsea on a date with him instead of me.
“So.” Ronald rubs his palms over his jeans. “Are you her brother or …?” he asks, and I can hear the hopefulness in his voice.
