Page 2 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Thank god.
“But suffice it to say,” she continues, “that I’m in demand and on the go. Like, all the time.”
“I get it,” I say. Even though I really don’t. She looks more like a pageant queen than an in-demand woman on the go. But, hey, what do I know?
“Plus, he knew he was supposed to do it now so that I could upstage Whitney, the bride. Because she has been such a monumental bitch through this whole wedding-planning thing. Now I look like an idiot because he didn’t do it.”
“That’s tough.” Saying something is tough, or using the word ouch as a response, about maxes out my ability to be empathetic, so I hope she’s about talked out.
“He’s ruined everything.” She pouts. But it’s a pretty pout, I get the impression she has perfected it over time. In a mirror.
She sees the obnoxious button still pinned to my shirt from my buddy’s party that saysFirst-Rate, Fuck-able, and Forty.His wife made everyone wear them in honor of his birthday.
“You don’t look like you’re forty,” she says touching my forearm and nodding to the pin.
“I’m not.” I laugh.
She looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Hmmm. I’m guessing maybe twenty-eight.”
She aims low on purpose, I’m sure to flatter me.
It works.
“Thirty-five,” I correct her. Then I guess at her age. “And you are . . . twenty-three?”
“How’d you know?” She takes a larger sip of her drink and shudders a bit as she swallows.
I wink. “Lucky guess.” And it was, with me deciding to be nice even though she’s a bit bitchy.
She looks down at her lap, then back at me. “Where do you go after this?”
“You always this inquisitive?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “I’m rarely denied anything when I ask.” Then grabs her drink and repeats the swallow and shudder. Almost half her drink is finished now. I look down at the scotch I’ve been nursing for half an hour, I still have most of it left.
“Well,” I say. “To answer your question, I plan to head out tomorrow sometime. I’m renting a car and driving down to Seattle.”
“What’s in Seattle? Wife? Girlfriend?”
“Mom,” I say. She’s kind of cutely annoying with her subtle questions.
“So, you’re single then?” As well as her not-so-subtle questions.
“Happily.”
“You guys doing okay here?” the bartender asks her cleavage. Not that I blame him.
“I’m good,” I say. “You?” I ask AshLynn.
“I’d like another, but with more sugar this time.” She downs the remainder of her drink and hands the empty glass to the bartender. I wonder if I’m paying for this one too.
“So, AshLynn, where are you headed after this?” I ask.
“Since Brian, that’s my boyfriend, abandoned me, I suppose I could go to my sister’s house in Seattle tomorrow, but I don’t know how I’m going to get there. I’m stuck.” She pouts and looks at me with eyes wide.
Shit.
“I can give you a ride,” I say before I can stop myself. Because I’m an idiot. An idiot who just invited a stranger to join me on a two-and-a-half-hour drive.
