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“Well … I’ve got just one last date.”
Mason makes a low rumble that sounds awfully close to a growl. “Okay. When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“And after that?” he asks. “No more John interfering in your dating life?”
“No more John interfering in my dating life,” I agree.
“Good.”
“Um, Mason? Can we maybe table any more discussion? The water’s getting cold and the bubbles have pretty much disappeared.”
Mason makes a choking sound and bolts from the room like it’s on fire, hand still over his eyes. He bumps his head on the door frame as he goes.
I wince and call, “Are you okay?”
But he slams the door. Whatever reply he gives is only a low, muttered rumble.
Sliding back into the lukewarm water, I lift my hot cocoa and do a solo toast.
To new beginnings, I think, raising my mug,and to us—Mason and me, without interference from John.
CHAPTER12
Mason
Look,Austin is known for embracing weird. It’s the Portland of Texas. But to see a grown man wearing a skin-tight, crocheted outfit in shades of taupe and poop brown—it’s almost too weird even for Austin. His outfit looks like the photos I’ve seen of a 1970s macramé plant hanger.
Does that make him the plant?
Inexplicably, he also has on very expensive sunglasses. Which he’s still wearing. Indoors.
“’Sup,” he says, holding out a hand with the kind of confidence you have to possess to wear this kind of outfit. “I’m Damon. Like the vampire.”
The … vampire?
He laughs at my blank expression, then slaps a hand on my shoulder like we’re best buds as he nudges right by me and into the apartment. “Just a little TVD joke.The Vampire Diaries?” He snaps his fingers as I still stand there, dumbfounded. “Not ringing any bells? Anyway, whatever. We’re cool. Where’s my girl Chels?”
Normally, I’d be super irritated to hear another man call her Chels. But Damon is … something else. The kind of something else I don’t have any worries about. His face has a kind of young Brad Pitt thing going on, but between his mouth—I still haven’t said a word and he hasn’t noticed—and his outfit, I don’t think I need to be jealous.
“Yo, Chelsea!” Damon calls. “Destiny is calling!” He turns his attention back to me when Chelsea doesn’t immediately appear. “I’m in film. Working on a little docu for South by. You know—South by Southwest? Our film follows three people who only eat from the same taco trailer for like, six months to see the impact on the inside, if you catch my drif.”
He winks. I still don’t answer, because what exactly do you say to this barrage of information?
“Let me explain,” he continues. “We do a colonoscopy before and then a colonoscopy after—”
“Did you say colonoscopy?” Chelsea interrupts.
She stands in the hallway, staring. First, at Damon’s face. Then, her eyes travel down, growing wider as she takes in the full effect. I do my very best not to laugh. I have to bite the inside of my cheek—hard.
Clearly misreading her dumbstruck expression for awe, Damon strikes aZoolanderpose, then turns slowly for her perusal. The backside is almost indecently fitted.
I take that back. BOTH sides are indecent in the … nether regions.
“You like? It’s handmade from locally sourced organic wool. One of a kind. Oh! I almost forgot. I’m Damon.”
Damon bows deeply, and I pray his unisuit doesn’t rip as he bends. That organic wool must have some kind of stretch because it stays intact.
