Page 19 of Black Roses

I pull my hand away, but stand ready to catch her if she falters. “Right. Not a date. Of course not.” I hope my pants don’t catch on fire, because according to the pounding of my heart and the tightness of my trousers, this is totally a date, and I’m a big fat liar.

She may not let me help her down the stairs, but I’m sure as hell not going to let her open her own car door. I beat her to it, shaking my head when I see the disagreeable look on her face. “Humor me, okay? I’ve got on a monkey suit and you look . . . well, you look incredible. So, I don’t care if we’re on a date or not, I’m holding the goddamn door for you. Here and all night. Get used it to it, Princ . . . uh, Piper.”

The hint of a smirk crosses her face and she nods at the car door, allowing me to open it for her. She awkwardly situates herself in the low-riding seat, making sure her dress doesn’t creep up in the process. When she seems satisfied, and perfectly in position, I grab the seat belt and lean across her to secure it.

She puts her hand in the way, halting my progress as she takes the belt from me. “I’m not a child, Mason. I can do it myself.”

“Sorry, old habits, I guess.” I close the door and let her belt herself in, having told my second lie of the evening. It’s not an old habit, it was an excuse to touch her, smell her. And in that second when my head was in the car, inches from her body, it was like fireworks were shooting through my veins. The pure feminine fragrance of her scent still surrounds me, the subtle whisper of fresh flowers lingering in my nostrils.

It’s hard to keep my eyes on the road as I drive to the museum that’s hosting the benefit. Her hair is down, the dark, wavy tips of it brushing against her collarbone. It looks soft and for a brief second, I imagine it cascading on my chest as she straddles me. I shift around in my pants, hoping she doesn’t notice. She doesn’t. She’s looking out her window, making me wonder if she ever does anything else while riding in a car.

I turn on the music to ease the piercing silence and we make it almost the whole way without conversation. Until I see her messing with her bracelet. I think she does it when she’s anxious. I try to alleviate her fears.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Piper. You’re helping me out a lot. As a player, I’m required to attend a certain number of functions, but I almost always pick the smaller ones. You don’t have to worry, we’ll be in and out in a few hours. All you need to do is stand next to me and pretend to enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not just doing it for you,” she says, momentarily taking her eyes of the road to fiddle with a strap on her dress. “Skylar said she’d disown me if I cancelled. She said it was really important to her that I come and not let you down.”

“You wanted to cancel?” I say, trying not to sound defeated as I pull up to the valet stand in the parking garage.

She nods. “I’m not very good with crowds.”

“And yet you want to run in the Boston Marathon, next to . . . oh, about thirty thousand other people?”

She laughs silently, spurts of air blowing out her nose as she exits the car when the attendant opens the door for her. “That’s different,” she says, as if it’s a real explanation.

I get my valet ticket and offer Piper my elbow before making our way through the garage. She stares at it, rolling her neck that I can only assume is tight with tension. If I could just reach out and work my fingers around her exposed shoulders, kneading the anxiety from her body. I long to pull her close to me; to put my arm around her waist and escort her properly. My body is twitching with the need to touch her. But I know I have to take it slow. She’s skittish. Wary. Lost. And if I want any real shot with her, I have to be patient. The shit that happened to Charlie must have really messed with her head. I suppose it’s why she has a hard time trusting men. Trustingme.

I drop my hand to my side, walking next to her through the garage and up to the front doors of the museum, feeling empty and alone for the first time in several years. I’m not sure what is driving my incessant want of this woman. She’s never shown interest in me. She hasn’t acknowledged our electrified touches. Has she not felt them? Is this simply about the chase for me—wanting someone I can’t have? Or maybe I just need to feed the beast.

No. It’s more than that. I could go out and get laid any day of the week. Hell, I can guarantee there will be at least a dozen women here tonight willing to strip down right there in the parking garage if I’d let them.

“There you are, baby.” I cringe at the high-pitched nasally voice as we walk through the large double-doors into the massive entry hall. Case in point.

I give Piper my best apologetic look. I should have prepared her for this possibility, but I really didn’t think she’d show. I turn to my ex-girlfriend. “I told you not to call me that.”

She waves a conceited hand at my remark, dismissing it as she turns her attention to Piper. Like most of the women here, Cassidy is wearing a short, skin-tight dress accentuating her store-bought cleavage. Her wrist, neck and ears display a gaudy amount of expensive jewelry. And the price tag that resulted in her hair being straightened to within an inch of its life probably cost a week’s worth of child support.

Cassidy’s eyes rake over Piper from head to toe in a long, silent, sizing-up moment, as if Piper were a stray mutt brought to a dog show. I take a second to notice the differences between the two women. Cassidy is the complete opposite of Piper. Her too-long hair, extending all the way down to her waist, is blonde with strawberry highlights brought out by the loud color of her fire-engine-red dress. Her face is heavily painted with makeup, eyeliner so thick and black it makes her eyes look cat-like. Her lipstick matches her dress and is slick and wet; looking like a single touch from her lips would send one’s clothes straight to the dry cleaner.

In contrast, Piper looks young. Innocent. Natural. She has makeup on, but in a tasteful way that makes it look like she doesn’t. Even with her inky-black hair tips and miniscule nose piercing, she looks tame and demure compared to the predator assessing her as prey.

“Who’s Snow White with the bad dye job?” Cassidy raises her drawn-on eyebrows at me.

I scowl at her furiously. I’ve never felt the need to hit a woman as much as I do this very second. My heart sinks and I close my eyes, shaming myself for subjecting Piper to this feeding frenzy. Am I so selfish that I’m willing to bring her to this mosh pit just to spend a few short hours with her?

I’m ready to grab Piper’s hand and march her right back out the front doors when she turns to me and fires back, “Who’s Barbie with the collagen lips and fake tits?”

If I had a drink, it’d be spewed all over the ladies in front of me. I can’t hold in my laughter, much to Cassidy’s displeasure. I give Piper an approving nod, happy to see it’s not just me she can stand up to. “This is Cassidy Whitmeyer, Hailey’s mother.”

“Oh, right, the ex-wife.” Piper holds out her hand in greeting.

Cassidy sneers at it then ignores her hand completely.

“Girlfriend,” I say, correcting Piper.

“What?” she asks.

“Cassidy is my ex-girlfriend, not my ex-wife. We were never married.” I lean close and whisper into her ear. “Thank God.”

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