Page 14 of All Your Reasons Why

I knew women who would have sacrificed their trust fund and a kidney for that kind of opportunity.

I’m not one of those women.

Am I?

I mean, I wouldn’t go out of my way to hang out with him, but I am not totally hating today either.

I have to admit, Mason can have a fun energy when he’s not being Mr. Grumpy Skates.

And the opportunity to torture him makes my entire morning. I’ve gotten twenty-seven texts from him in the last couple of days, demanding to know what costume I’ve selected for him.

I’ve responded to every single one of them with a shrugging emoji.

“So, is it true what they say about Mason’s ... hockey stick?” Shelby smirks as we stand in the doorway of our Upper East Side apartment building. She lives three floors above me.

“Don’t you say a single word,” I warn her. “Your expression says it all. And you’re wrong. This is a work trip. A painful but necessary work trip.”

Her smirk stretches wider. “Safe sex save lives. I have some condoms if you need one.”

“Shelby.” I groan. “Seriously. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She shakes her head, still smiling. “It’s more fun down there. You meet the nicest people.”

The town car has just arrived to pick me up, and Mason steps out to hold the door open for me. He looks good. Better than good. He’s sexy, his silky brown hair is tousled and gleaming in the morning sun, and his jeans fit him like they’ve been custom tailored.

Still, I don’t like the smirk on his face as he climbs in next to me.

“What?” I demand suspiciously, not bothering to say hi.

“What what?” he echoes back at me. “My, two weeks went by quickly. Thinking of me constantly, were you?”

“Well, I mostly just passed the time by doodlingMrs. Mason Rakeron every available surface in my apartment. It’s probably going to cost me my deposit when I move out. You?”

He settles into his seat and fastens his seatbelt as the town car pulls away from the curb. “Did you? How original. I’ve been tapping into my inner arts-and-crafts vibe.” At my skeptical look, he adds, “I hand-made a Rowan James dartboard. My aim is impeccable. If this whole hockey thing doesn’t work out for me, I’ve got that to fall back on.”

Music blasts from the town car’s speakers as we glide down the street.

It’s “Macarena.” That can’t be a coincidence.

He smiles at me. “How you doing? Comfortable?”

“I’ll survive.” I pull out my phone and pretend to scroll through it. After a few minutes, the song ends. I shrug. “That’s the best you got?”

The song starts playing again. Mason grinned at me. Shooting him an annoyed scowl, I lean forward and call out to the driver, “I’m so sorry, would you mind playing something else?”

“Sorry, ma’am. Mason controls the playlist,” he replies. He sounds genuinely apologetic.

“How many times will you be playing this song?” I grit my teeth.

“I’m not allowed to tell you, ma’am.”

I shoot a glare at Mason. “I will get you for this.”

“You will try,” he says agreeably.

“I control the costumes,” I warn him.

He arches his eyebrows. “I control the playlist. And I will discover every single thing that drives you crazy, I promise you. And I will use it against you, mercilessly. Unless you agree that I don’t have to wear any more costumes and I can just be my adorably charming self.”

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