“Seriously, are you okay?” she asked gently, any trace of petulance gone from her tone, replaced with sincere concern.
“I’m a bit sad,” I admitted. “More than I thought possible since I only spent an hour with him.”
Truth be told, I was taken aback by how low I felt after the amazing time I’d had with Mason.
“Clearly it was a good hour,” she murmured sympathetically.
“It was.” I sighed. “I can’t believe he’s some big football star. He was so down-to-earth and funny. It felt like we really connected.”
“I’m sure you did,” she put in.
I shook my head. “Not if he lied to me. He had so many chances to tell me the truth, and he didn’t.”
She was unusually quiet as I regarded her. “You think I was too hard on him?”
She shrugged. “The guy probably can’t go anywhere without attention. I’m sure it was refreshing to get to know a pretty girl without worrying why you were really talking to him.”
“Still,” I muttered stubbornly. “I wonder why he was hiding out in his room during his own party,” I added, sharing a question I’d been curious about ever since.
The opulent house and partygoers didn’t line up with the man I’d spent time with.
“I think he threw the party as a favor to a friend and didn’t want people to know he was even home.”
Well, that was generous and sort of sad.
“How did things go with Ryan?” I asked, wanting to change the subject and to ignore the conflict of emotions now warring in my head.
“I’ll only let you off the hook since I have to share.” She pointed a finger at me in warning. “He asked for my number,” she divulged with a grin.
I clinked my glass with hers, happy for my girl. Where I was aloof with men and standoffish, Lily was downright picky. I was happy to see her excited about someone. Everyone deserved butterflies.
“Do you know when you’ll see him?” I wondered.
“Not sure, trying not to get my hopes up,” she admitted, a trace of vulnerability in her tone.
“Well, if he doesn’t call, it’s his loss,” I replied firmly. “Do you want to do dinner? I was just going to order in.”
“Sounds good,” she agreed. “After last night, I’m good with an old lady night—or put another way, your dream Saturday night,” she teased.
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” I replied without ire.
Hours later, pizza consumed and Netflix binged, she got up to leave. “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked as she put on her jacket.
“I have a session with Walt,” I replied, referring to the self-defense trainer I’d been working with for the past few years. “Other than that, I think I’ll just do some painting and laze around. I have a busy week ahead.”
“Me too.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m flying out to New York for a meeting, but I’ll be back by mid-week for the show,” she added, referring to the live music we’d made plans to see.
“Sounds good,” I agreed, getting up so I could lock up after her.
“El, I just have to say it,” she began as she stood in the open doorway, her gaze beseeching. “Just make sure you’re not forcing him away because you’re scared of what you feel. I know it’s scary for you after everything, but just make sure, if you’re going to walk away, that it’s for the right reasons,” she pressed.
“Lil, I already walked away,” I argued.
She smirked. “With the way he looked when we left? We’ll just see about that. Later, girl.”
“Later,” I replied, still musing over her parting line.
I spent another sleepless night wondering if I had another chance to talk to Mason Jackson, what would I do with it?
