Page 14 of Scary In Love
Mason stands tall and makes an awkward, strained noise. Dad closes the door, leaving us alone under the porch light. I am so mortified I want to disappear into the mist.
“He lives to embarrass me. Sorry.”
“You live with your dad?” he asks, stepping further back. His tone is even and non-judgmental, but shame curdles beneath my skin. Thirty years old, and still living at home. What a catch.
“Both my parents,” I correct him, as if that makes it any better. “And my brother. Well, he moved out for a bit, then he broke up with his boyfriend, so now he’s back. I’m saving up for a deposit, but the housing market is out of control around here. You can’t even buy a one-bedroom place unless you’re loaded, which I’m not. And anyway, it’s handy for work, so...”
Shut the fuck up, Jenna.
We’ve had a lot of short snippets of conversation tonight, and I think I did a half-decent job of playing it cool, but I was bound to overshare and screw it up at some point. He doesn’t need to know this stuff. Mason is hot, and funny, and has an interesting job he’s clearly very passionate about. Of course, he wouldn’t actually be interested in me.
“What do you do for—”
I cut him off, reaching for the handle and stepping inside. “Thank you for driving me home. For the drink and the chat. And the icepack.”
Once the door is closed, I lean back against it and finish the thought in silence.
And for making me feel more alive than I have in months.
9
Mason
Aweekandabit later, I’m still replaying opening night. Specifically Jenna Laing, and the way she goaded me into dirty talk in my office.
And her lips.
And her hair.
And her gorgeous thighs.
I want to spread them apart, tear those fishnets wide open, and sink my teeth into her skin. Thought about that more than is healthy, to be honest.
Every night has run smoothly, and every night I’ve watched the door of the Tavern, hoping to see her walk through it.
Last Tuesday, I pulled her number from her first aid paperwork and called to follow up on her accident, as per protocol. She didn’t answer, and I chickened out of leaving a voicemail, but I still can’t get her off my mind.
The fact that I know where she lives is haunting me, but turning up on her doorstep doesn’t feel appropriate. And anyway, contacting her for anything beyond work-related purposes is a breach of confidentiality guidelines. I’m trying to keep things professional, even if my thoughts about her are entirely unprofessional.
After a couple of hours in her company, something shifted when I walked her to her door, and our night ended before I could…
Honestly, I don’t know what I had in mind. It’s not like I have any free nights to take her out. Who knows how long I’ll even be in town. Dating is not a distraction I need right now, but I know I would have kept talking on her doorstep all night. And I definitely would have been up for five minutes of canoodling if she’d let me kiss her.
Our first week has been great, but I’m a little stir-crazy spending all my time in the house. I guess that’s bound to happen when you live where you work, so I’m forcing myself to walk down the hill into town to grab a coffee most mornings.
When I was planning the haunt, my research veered into the old market town of Crowmorne, and I learned the cobbled streets were once bustling with businesses. Half of them are now coffee shops, but that’s great news for someone as caffeine dependent as me. I’m determined to try them all, and today’s spot isHappy Crow Coffee, where I hope the drinks are neither made from, or served by crows.
I never figured out how the town got its name, but the locals sure love birds, and you can spot them in most shop windows. The bakery sells crow-nuts, there’s a salon calledHair We Crow, and the community vegetable garden has a sign that says‘Crow Your Own’. The puns are tenuous at best, but that’s part of the charm.
The line is short, and the woman in front of me has dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and a figure that reminds me of Jenna’s. She places her order, and when she makes her way to the other end of the counter, I catch sight of a long blonde streak hanging loose in her face.
Holy shit. ItisJenna.
She’s in a world of her own, toe-tapping along with whatever she’s listening to. I place my order, then lean into her eyeline and give her a little wave.
She glances over her shoulder, then back at me, before removing one earbud and staring at me blankly.
“Hi?”
