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I smiled. “Forget the pumpkin slingshot. I’ll just set out a bunch of boxes and let them go to town.”
“See? That’s all you need,” Mason said with a laugh. “Well, that and caramel apples.”
“Obviously.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything—and I wondered if his smile was as big as the one currently stretching across my face. I bit my bottom lip, thankful he couldn’t see how dorky I looked at that moment. And then, after a few more seconds, he said, “Hey.” His voice had shifted to a low, serious tone, sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. “I’m sorry, again, about that comment I made earlier today… about the list of the men you haven’t dated. That wasn’t any of my business.”
I could tell this had been eating at him all day—which was kind of sweet. “I’m sorry for slapping you with my notebook, then,” I said. “But I’m even more sorry that you had to witness my ex-boyfriend’s douchebaggery.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“I’m—just—I’m trying really hard to be respectful after just apologizing to you, but the ‘douchebaggery’ comment is making it difficult.” His voice sounded a little strained, like he was holding in a laugh.
“If you have anything disrespectful to say right now, you get a free pass.”
“Oh, really?”
Assuming he would have something to say about Heath, I urged, “By all means, say whatever’s on your mind.”
“I think,” he began, pausing to take a deep breath mid-sentence, “you looked really pretty in that dress today.”
My heart leapt from my chest to my throat, and I knew he heard the gasp that escaped my lips. My brain turned to mush, and I struggled to form words. “I meant—that’s—you think calling someone pretty is disrespectful?”
“In our case? Probably. Borderline sexual harassment, at best.”
“Then why’d you say it?”
“You gave me a free pass.”
“Because I thought you were going to say something about my ex!” I laughed.
“And waste my free pass on him? No. But—if I upset you by saying that, I’m sorry, again.” He let out an exasperated groan and I could almost hear him cringing when he said, “Fuck. Please forget I said that.”
“Well, you can’t take it back now,” I said, keeping my tone playful so he’d know I wasn’t offended. I sat up in the center of my bed and crossed my legs. “I’ve already let it get to my head. And… I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about you when I put on that dress this morning.”
I could hear him breathing—the tiniest expulsion of air from his mouth before he said, “Weird, most women tell me they think about me when they un-dress.”
The giggle that erupted from my mouth just then was borderline embarrassing. My cheeks, sore from smiling, were getting warm. I could have told him that I thought about him when I undressed, too, but I bit down on my lip to prevent those words from escaping. I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes ever again if I said them.
“Well.” Mason cleared his throat. “I’d say this conversation has taken an unprofessional turn. Sorry.”
“That’s just as much my fault as it is yours.”
A pause. And then he said, “I’m going to guess there’s something in your school policy that frowns upon certain types of relationships between parents and teachers, huh?”
“Yes. I may have actually reread that particular clause recently. And it’s not just frowned upon. It’s strictly prohibited.” As I lay on my back again, there was more silence on his end, though it was safe to assume we were thinking the same thing. “But,” I said, trying to sound hopeful, “there’s nothing in there against being friends.”
“Great.” I heard him suck air in through his teeth. “That came out more sarcastic than I intended. Friends—that’s fine. I can do friendship with you.”
I couldn’t hold in my laughter, amused by his awkward phrasing. “Okay. Let’s do friendship, then.”
“Friend, gooood!” he grunted, his voice quivering dramatically.
I blinked. “What was that?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Bride of Frankenstein.”
