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“Well, if it makes your night better, Trev wants to date you for real.” He took a huge bite out of his burger.
Me?
Well, I choked on my fry. “I’m sorry, what?”
Mason wiped the corner of his mouth with his hand and swallowed. “He said that if I didn’t want you, could he have you?”
“I’m not the last pre-packed sandwich at the store.” Fucking men. “Besides, wasn’t he asking after Stella?”
“Yeah, but just in case it wasn’t glaringly obvious, he’s a fucking man whore.”
“Really,” I drawled, grabbing a few fries and dipping them in my ketchup. “I couldn’t tell.”
Mason glanced at me sideways. “So I can definitely tell him no?”
“You can definitely tell him no,” I confirmed. “I’m all good there, thanks. I don’t want to date anyone right now.”
“You and me both.”
“Well, any fake date that contains a bit of bitchiness to an ex and ends with a cheeseburger is worth my time.” I met his eyes and grinned, raising my milkshake. “Cheers.”
He tapped his Coke against my cup. “I’ll drink to that.”
***
Yawning, I spooned a can of wet food into Henry’s ceramic dish. He sniffed it for a minute before he turned away and stalked into the living room.
Fussy little shit.
I put the can aside to recycle and tossed the spoon, then washed my hands before I turned on the coffee machine. Nobody needed their coffee cup to smell like cat food. I slid my mug asking, “Does running out of fucks count as cardio?” beneath the machine, then I hit the button for it to go and eyed the gray smudge of cat as Henry quietly plodded across the kitchen.
I shook my head.
He was fussy, but he was still hungry. And a cat, which meant he was a pain in the ass by default.
I took my cup from the coffee machine and poured in some cream before I added a lump of sugar. While I hadn’t stayed out late last night for my fake date, it honestly felt like it’d lasted forever.
Or maybe that was just the part where I’d gotten a little too into being Mason’s girlfriend and shot his ex down.
Look—it’s already well established that I’m not perfect. I’m not always the best at thinking before I speak, and sometimes, I battle bitchiness with bitchiness.
Yes, yes, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but I don’t want to catch flies.
I want to swat them.
Which was exactly what I did with Claudia last night. I swatted her bitchy little behind until Mr. No-Balls took her away before she made a fool of herself. Well, a bigger fool than she already had.
That had happened the second she’d thought it was a good idea to go and talk to Mason.
I blew out a deep breath and put some bread in the toaster. Thank God it was over and not my problem anymore, meaning that Claudia wasn’t either.
She was hard work.
That didn’t mean I was fully against everything. Actually, in a weird way, I was a little gutted I wouldn’t see Mason again. He was exactly the kind of guy I would have picked off a dating app—which meant it was probably a good thing I wouldn’t see him again, given my disastrous track record.
Still, we’d had a fun time. At least, I’d had one. Not only was he hot as hell, but he made me laugh, and we’d gotten along really well, in my opinion.
Shit happened, though. He wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I didn’t blame him. Claudia cheating on him aside, she struck me as the kind of woman who had the mentality of, “I don’t want him, but you can’t have him, either.” Getting into a relationship would probably be more hassle than it was worth for him.
And that was fine by me. I didn’t particularly want one right now either—some people were happy being single, thank you very much. Even if I did want a relationship, I most definitely didn’t want one that came with a pain in the ass ex.
I already had my sister and two best friends to be that for me. I didn’t need anyone else’s problem.
My toast popped and I pulled it out to butter it while it was still hot. When it was done, I picked up one slice and leaned against the counter, looking out of the window.
It wasn’t much of a view. Half a brick wall and some trees that occasionally gave me an elusive glimpse at the Gulf of Mexico wasn’t much to write home about, but sometimes, swaying leaves were calming.
Ugh. I was too poetic this morning. This was why I didn’t go on dates. They made you mushy and shit—and I was not mushy. I was not baby food, even if I did enjoy the odd spoonful of applesauce.
My grandma made a boss applesauce.
