Page 1 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Mason
The hotel barI’ve parked myself at has been quiet for the last hour of the two I’ve been here. Which is why I’m surprised when I hear, “Wanna buy me a drink?”
It’s close to midnight and the little blonde who is asking is a little too dressed up to be a casual, late-night drinker.
“Why not,” I say.
“Great! I need it. It’s been a hell of a day.” She settles on to the bar stool next to me. Her short satin skirt rides up her thighs in the process. Way up. I try really hard not to notice. I’m not successful.
She tries (not) very hard to pull it down.
And is also not successful.
“What’re you having?” I ask.
“I’ll take a lemon drop martini, please.” She bats her eyelashes at me. A trick I’m ashamed to say works every time. I’m a sucker for . . . well shit, there’s not really one particular thing I’m a sucker for when it comes to women. I’m just a sucker for women.
This one has big blue eyes and full berry-colored lips. Her eyes are a little bloodshot, but it’s hard to tell whether that’s from crying or drinking.
I order her drink and introduce myself. “Mason.” She takes my offered hand in hers. Her grasp is firm, her fingers small, and skin cool to the touch.
“AshLynn, it’s nice to meet you.” She smiles.
“The pleasure is mine, AshLynn. You from around here?”
“No. I live in Southlake, Texas. I’m only in Washington, or here in Leavenworth, for a wedding. One of my sorority sisters got married this afternoon. God, it was not a fun day. I can’t believe I wasted my time. What about you?”
“My buddy’s fortieth birthday party was earlier tonight. He and his wife live over in Wenatchee, but she threw the party here. We all got rooms for the night. Why wasn’t the wedding fun? I thought all girls liked weddings.”
The bartender sets her drink in front of her.
She takes a sip and looks up at him. “It’s a bit tart, don’t you think? I guess it will have to do.” She turns to me. “Girls like weddings when it’s their own. Otherwise, it’s just a bitchy bride lording it over everyone else that she’s married and you’re not.”
“Ouch,” I say, and not just because she’s a little harsh.
“Exactly. And my boyfriend was supposed to propose at the reception. It’s all I’ve been talking about for weeks. Instead, we got in a fight and he left me here, stranded. Can you believe it?”
“Uh, no?” I don’t mean to ask it as a question, but I don’t really know her, so I have no idea why he wouldn’t have proposed. Or left her stranded.
“When I asked him why he didn’t propose he said it was too soon. As if.” She takes a large sip of her drink.
I nod and look for the bartender hoping he’ll join the conversation. This is not how I thought it was going to go down when she first asked me to buy her a drink. I think I liked the silence better.
The area behind the bar is empty and I can tell by the reflection in the mirror on the wall that he’s not in the general seating area either.
Where did he go?
So, I keep talking to her. “Is it too soon?”
“Pfft. No. And he knows this was the best time in my schedule for an engagement. I can’t believe he didn’t do it. It was humiliating to say the least.”
“Busy schedule, huh?”
“Very. You have no idea.”
Please don’t tell me.
“I won’t bore you with the details,” she says.
