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Convenient.
Ifinallysay goodbye to Ronald, who waves distractedly as he taps out a message on his phone. Presumably to Mason—who, for the record,hatestalking on the phone. And communication in general. DMs are the bane of his existence.
He absolutely will NOT want to get texts or any other messages from Ronald.
And that’s just too dang bad!
When I open the door to the apartment, I already hear Mason’s phone chiming, then chiming again. He’s staring down at it in confusion, brows pulled low.
He is also shirtless.
I immediately drop my purse and trip over nothing. Thankfully, I regain my balance before pitching face-first into the floor. I’ve always been a little clumsy, but around Mason, it’s like I’ve got three left feet. Or two left feet and then a pirate’s peg leg.
But not even the most graceful woman in the world would have kept her balance at the sight of Mason sitting in the dark apartment with his glorious torso on full display.
It’s been three years since I saw Mason’s bare chest. It was at John’s old apartment complex’s pool—a July 4th barbecue, to be exact. I remember all the details. Exactly.
Since that time, the neighborhood of Mason’s torso has changed, my friends. The lovely and attractive subdivision has been upgraded to a gated community with a park and an Olympic-sized pool. One I’m ready to dive into and swim laps.
Not that Mason’s body needed improvement—he was always lean and strong from years of basketball. But now? He could be the model for a Renaissance sculptor. Muscles upon muscles and ridges upon ridges for DAYS.
Is it weird I want to grab a Sharpie and write my name on every single one? Nothing fancy. Just my initials or maybeChelsea was here!
I bend to take off my boots, using the time to try and restart my shocked heart.
There you go, little buddy. Keep on pumping. We need you to do your job! Don’t get derailed by those pecs and abs and other muscles we don’t know the names of.
When I stand back up, Mason glances at me. He holds up his phone, frowning. “You gave Otter Boy my number?”
Otter Boy!I bite back a laugh. It is such a perfect name for Ronald. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Mason how awful the date was. But then I think of how confusing his behavior has been and how disappointed I still feel.
Disappointed, and also irritated.
What was the point of all the nice, thoughtful things if Mason isn’t into me? Why lean all sexy in the doorway right before my date with Ronald? Why sit here now like he’s waiting for me, shirtless?
Mason is like a giant switchboard of mixed signals, all flashing at once.
I smile sweetly at him and then high-tail it to my room. “Consider yourself lucky. He didn’t ask for my number, just yours. Hope you don’t mind. I told him you were super lonely with your best friend gone. Goodnight!”
“Wait—Chelsea!” Mason calls. I pause, but don’t turn around. “How was the date?”
“Why don’t you ask your new bestie?” I call, just before slamming my bedroom door so hard it rattles the hinges.
I only wish it made me feel better instead of worse.
CHAPTER10
Mason
“So, what was wrong with Ronald?”John asks.
It’s the next night, and I’ve just watched Chelsea walk out the door on a date with another man who isn’t me. Talking to John is a decent distraction, as I’m pacing the length of the apartment and trying not to imagine Gary and Chelsea together.
“Everythingwas wrong with Ronald.”
It only took ten minutes of texts, dms, and emails for me to block Otter Boy on all three.
I can’t say I blame Chelsea for giving Ronald my number. I haven’t been my best self this week—not where she’s concerned. So, yeah. Maybe I deserved a little frontier justice by way of Ronald.
