Page 92 of Love Lessons

“Mason.”

“I’m just kidding.” He cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his hand on my knee. “Yeah, I’m not surprised she reacted that way. This little gesture of hers was really important to her for some reason.”

“I don’t understand why she thought I would be mad.”

Mason shook his head, staring down at his hand—the one lightly stroking the inside of my knee. “She likes to act tough, but she’s sensitive sometimes.”

“That sounds familiar.”

He smiled, hooking both of his hands behind my knees to roll my chair closer to his. “I’m surrounded by sensitive girls trying to act tough.”

“I was talking about you,” I blurted, mustering up the best straight face I could manage as Mason leaned forward. His hands slid underneath my thighs where he gripped me tight, grinning devilishly.

“Must be the Gemini in me,” he said.

“I’d like to have a Gemini in me.”

Up until that point, Mason had been trying to play it cool—but those words broke him. He bowed his head and laughed into his chest, squeezing my legs even harder. It wasn’t often I could make Mason squirm like this, but I enjoyed it immensely. When he was finally able to pull himself together, he said, “We’re in a school, Ms. Devin.”

Before I could quip back with something even dirtier, my phone chimed—and it was yet another notification from my dad. “What now?” I muttered, picking up my phone to read the message.

Troy Devin: I would love for you and your sister to come for pre-Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday. Grandma Deb will be here and it would mean so much to all of us if you could come. Miss you, kid

I swallowed. Something about the inclusion of the word “kid” tugged at my heartstrings, transporting me right back to my childhood. The version of my father that woke up early with me to eat Rice Krispies cereal and watch ESPN together flashed through my mind—the man who let Jamie and me sneak cans of Mountain Dew even though our mom said we weren’t allowed to have it.

The nostalgic side of me longed to see him again, but the realist in me doubted the sincerity of this sudden invitation. He was probably just keeping up appearances. He’d get my step-mom to take a picture of us together so he could post it on Facebook and pretend like he was Dad of the Year, and just by sending this message he could say that he was trying to be a good father. If I didn’t accept the invitation, it would be on me. I’d be the bad guy.

“Something wrong?” Mason asked, watching me close.

I let out a long sigh. “My dad wants me to visit on Sunday.”

"Oh," Mason responded, his hand giving my knee a reassuring squeeze. A second, more pronounced, “Oh” followed once he understood the reason behind my heavy sigh.

“I haven’t been there in years. And it’s been even longer than that since I’ve seen my grandma. She’ll be there, too.”

He was still eyeing me closely. “Do you like her?”

I shrugged. “I barely know her. She sends me a card every birthday, every holiday. She’s nice.” Staring down at Mason’s fingers tracing a circle on my knee, I chewed on my bottom lip. A lump formed in my throat. How many invitations like this had I ignored now? When would the distance become my fault? “I have to admit, I’m a little curious. It’s like showing up there would satisfy my inner child somehow. I know that probably sounds stupid.”

“That’s not stupid. I know my opinion here doesn’t really matter, but I think you should go.”

“No. Nope. I’m not going alone, and there’s no chance in hell Jamie would go with me.”

“Ah.” Mason nodded, and for a moment, he was quiet. He stared down at my knees. The longer we sat in silence, ignoring the papers I needed stapled, the closer I came to saying something idiotic and impulsive.

“Um.” Oh God. Here it comes. There was still a chance to turn back, but the words I knew I’d regret tumbled out anyway. “You wouldn’t want to go with me, would you?”

I forced out a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the absurdity of what I’d just proposed. Of course I wasn’t serious about asking him to meet my father. That was boyfriend behavior, and I knew as well as he did we weren’t ready for that level of intimacy. And, thanks to our unique situation, we might never be.

“Sorry, I’m just—”

But before I could dismiss my own words, Mason said, “Sure, I’d love to go.”

“You would?”

“Yeah,” he said with a casual shrug, like he was unbothered.. “As long as you really want me to. It sounded like you were about to change your mind for a second there.”

I couldn’t keep anything from him. “It’s probably going to be awkward, and it’s, like, a half-hour drive. You don’t have to do this, Mason.”

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