Page 45 of What are the Chances

Once we start driving away, I lean in to shift the air vents until they’re facing me.

“So, what question do you have for me?”

Mason grips the steering wheel and chuckles, giving me a sidelong look with a perfect smile. With his sunglasses perched on his nose, he literally looks like a movie star.

“It’s a surprise, part of the fun. You have no idea what I’m goin’ to ask, but you’ll have to answer.”

“Well, then.” I turn to look out the window and swallow my worry. “Let the games begin.”

***

“What’s your favorite color?” Mason’s legs are kicked up on the chair next to me, and he’s licking a huge, green ice cream cone with little black cookie crumbs all over it. He drove us to a little ice cream shop in Ennis that’s supposedly legendary. They don’t just give you ice cream, they give you an experience. My cone has pink, strawberry ice cream along with shortcake crumbs sprinkled all over it.

I smirk at Mason’s innocent question. My first one to him had been if he’d had any girlfriends growing up. He said yes, and I silently yelled at myself for being such an idiot. Now I was planning for a very specific, not yes or no question. I lick my lips which Mason watches, his eyes lit with excitement and smiles.

“My favorite color is green. Dark green to be exact.” His exact eye color to be more specific, but I’m not telling him that part. Mason chuckles, and I wonder if he’s caught on. I don’t really care what his favorite color is, I need more specifics about his life.

“What’s your place like in L.A?” I try to seem vague, hoping he won’t say something like “nice” or “big.” He sets his feet down, flat on the floor and leans forward.

“It’s an apartment, two bedrooms, one bathroom. Carpeted, except for the kitchen. It sits on the edge of Huntington Beach.”

I sit back and stare at him. Holy shit. He must have money if he’s on the beach, more specifically, Huntington beach. Come to think of it, he’s never batted an eye at laying down money for our food and dates. I kind of hate he has money. I don’t know why, but Kyle is rich too and a total jackass. He must sense my weird mood shift because he leans forward to lick my ice cream cone.

“It’s a strange set up I have with my boss,” he explains as if reading my thoughts. “He needed a renter, and I needed a place. He charges me five hundred a month and allowed Noodge to stay there. It was supposed to be until I found a place, but I never actually started looking.”

I let out a small breath of relief and lean in to kiss him. I love how willing he is to give me more answers than he needs to, according to our little game. It’s his turn.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

I laugh and shake my head. He was asking the easiest questions, and for some reason, their lack of depth was unnerving.

“I like cats, actually. I was bitten by a dog as a kid and have hated them ever since. I’ve always wanted a cat, but Kyle was allergic, and the other places I lived had a no pet policy.”

Mason gives me a half smile and tucks a few loose strands of hair behind my ear.

“What kind of cat would you want if you could have one?”

I look into his eyes and try to ignore what’s happening in my gut right now. No need to feel swoony over talk of cats. I clear my throat and attack my ice cream cone.

“I don’t know, something with really soft fur and pretty blue eyes. Not white though, not black, and not one of those Siamese cats either.”

“You’re very specific about what you don’t want,” Mason laughs, his whole body moving with the movement.

I reach behind me to grab a small napkin and wipe my lips clear of the crumbs.

“I may have pinned a few photos on Pinterest of different breeds, but I have no idea how I’d go about finding a breeder or anything like that.”

Mason leans over me to snag a few napkins too and wipes his fingers, his cone nearly gone now.

“Well, you’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Have you ever considered getting another pet?” I carefully ask him, knowing this topic is still very raw. I slightly hate I answered cat, maybe I should have said horse or hamster.

His lip lifts in the corner, but his eyes stay on his dwindling cone. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

He stands and walks over to the garbage can and tosses his napkin. Stretching, he eyes the older windows of the shop. A few tourists walk past, but otherwise, the street is empty.

“You ready for our next adventure?” he asks, holding his hand out with a smirk in place. I stand and take his warm hand, feeling the butterflies lingering from the first time he took my hand.

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