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Masturbation usually helped her sleep. Not this time. Tonight it made her more aware of being alone in bed. Because that’s what she needed to dwell on…not. She stared at the clock for three insanely long minutes. Half past ten. Too late to bug friends. They all had kids or significant others, or some combination thereof, except for Lasha. By this point in the evening, her best friend would be incommunicado due to much more thrilling sexploits. And that left Andie a little green.
Not that she wanted Lasha’s brand of freewheeling promiscuity. Just some adult companionship once in a while. A couple hours of fun. The no-strings-attached kind—and if it came with some nudetastic action, as Lasha had called it, the vibrator collection in her bedside drawer would probably appreciate having a night off.
She flipped on the bedside lamp and picked up the slip of paper. She’d had plenty of chances to throw it away—at the ball park, when she stopped for takeout, at home—but she’d kept his number. Using it would be crazy. And yet the phone was in her hand, her fingers pushing the buttons.
One ring, two. Her heart beating its way out of her chest almost drowned out the third ring. Good, he wasn’t home, saving her from one giant, embarrassing mistake.
Then he answered, “Hello.”
Most people used the simple, standard greeting in question form. Not Mason. His hello was a statement that slid into her ear like a caress. An invitation. As if he knew she was naked and had recently come while fantasizing about him.
“Sorry, I think I’ve called the wrong number.”
“I don’t think you did, Andie.”
Dammit. Foiled by Lasha’s big mouth and caller ID. Now what?
“I’m glad you called, I was thinking about you.” Rustling followed a beat of silence on his end. “How’s the foot?”
Ah ha. That kind of thinking about her, the guilt-ridden kind. “I iced it when I got home, like you said, and the swelling has gone down a lot. But your sloppy throw cost me a night of dancing, so you know.” The around-the-house-by-herself kind, but he didn’t need to know that little detail.
A low laugh that curled her toes filtered through the line. “That’s too bad. But I’m sure your date found other ways to entertain you. Better ways.”
“My date?”
“The guy from the ball park. Glasses, green shirt.”
“Oh, him.” So, Mason had seen her talking to Scott after the game. Interesting. But she and Scott giving off a couple vibe? Not possible. They’d barely touched each other while married and Andie always kept at least a foot between them now. Still, if people—such as Mason—got the wrong impression, she obviously needed to make some changes.
“He’s my ex. Definitely not a date.”
“In that case, I’d like to make it up to you.”
Andie listened to more shuffling on Mason’s end. She rolled to her back and it struck her—the rustling sound could be bed sheets. Mason lying in bed, stretched out in his naked glory…
The mental image made her mouth water. And reach for her southern parts. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m fine. That’s really what I called to say.”
“At ten-thirty on a Friday night?”
The amusement in his tone initiated a blush she was glad he couldn’t see. “Busted. That was lame, I admit.”
“Lame but cute, and I like that you’re owning it. So, how about it, are we on?”
God, he had a sexy voice. Like broken-in leather, rough and soft at the same time. She could listen to him talk for hours. About anything. So why not do it—accept his offer, grab the opportunity before it disappeared. Before she chickened out. “Okay. Make it up to me sometime.”
“Now works for me.”
No backing out. She looked down at her naked body. Freshening up in a bath would be nice, but take too long. “I need a few minutes to get dressed. Where should we meet?”
“By the fountain at Museum Square. We’ll go from there.”
“Okay, it’s a…a meeting.” She slapped her forehead.Lame, lame, lame.
MASON
“It’s adate, Andie. I’ll see you soon.” Mason waited for her to hang up before reaching over to disconnect. As soon as he’d seen her name on the call display, he’d switched to speakerphone mode. He wanted her voice in the air around him. And yeah, he wanted his hands free for other things.
The guys from his team had razzed him plenty when he bailed on pub time. Not because he skipped partying for sitting by the phone—none of them put those pieces together. Instead they ribbed him about work, since morning appointments were the excuse he gave. He could live with that. Only he needed to know the truth.
