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Theirs was one of those curved booths able to seat an entire family, yet perfect for cuddling. He slid in close beside her and put one arm over the back of the bench. Voila, instant twosome moment. The twirpette grudgingly took their drink orders and huffed away. Once she was alone with Mason, his eyes surveying her face, Andie’s nervous dread returned.
“I’m older than you,” she blurted.
“I’m taller than you.”
“I have a twelve-year-old son.”
“I have a one-eyed cat.”
“You’re just making fun of me now. Your cat has nothing to do with this,” she said, motioning between them.
His fingers dropped to the back of her neck and trailed along her shoulder. “Neither do the other things. None of them affect how well we’ll match up.”
Chapter Two
ANDIE
Mason’s comment, his fingers on her skin and the lure of his incredible eyes, left her speechless. A waitress arrived with their drinks. Not the hostess, but equally young and cute. Great. In acknowledging the new girl, Mason broke their connection. Briefly, but long enough for Andie to regroup.
She clinked her glass against his beer. “To matching up.”
He laughed and took a long pull from the bottle. Over the edge of her drink, Andie watched his lips on the rim and the slide of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Her eyes followed the line of his throat lower, into the unbuttoned zone of his white shirt. Geez, the man was hot.
She tipped her glass, all but draining it. The vodka in the screwdriver worked its magic immediately, and that warm, easy feeling washed over her. Maybe it relaxed her a bit too much, since orange juice was dribbling from her chin. Not quite as smooth as his drinking method.
He caught the drops with his index finger. “Got it.”
She giggled. Like a schoolgirl, for crying out loud. Blame it on the alcohol. His featherlight touch rounded the cap of her shoulder, teased the lower edge of her collarbone, then returned to her neck. Thank god she’d chosen the cowl-neck top. At least her bullet-hard nipples wouldn’t show. She needed to make conversation, and fast. Before she did something stupid like climb onto his lap.
“Do you really have a one-eyed cat?” Ugh, that was the best she could come up with?
“I do. Somebody found him in their backyard, pretty banged up, more than the eye, and brought into an animal shelter. I…” He paused, obviously deciding on what to say next. “I adopted him after he’d recuperated and nobody claimed him. He’s a cool cat, thinks he rules the roost.”
A ballplayer with a soft spot for animals and eyes that a woman could drown in—she was in so much trouble here.
“What about you, any pets?” he asked, and she cringed. “Not a good question, I guess.”
“Touchy subject, that’s all. My ex took our dog when I asked for a divorce.” An unladylike snort escaped. “She wasmydog, but her registration papers were in his name. She’s still my dog, even though she’s no longer mine.” She shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to get another pet. I know that probably sounds stupid.”
His face was intent but undecipherable. “How long has it been?”
“Two years.”
“Do you have visitation rights?”
Was he mocking her, or serious—Andie couldn’t tell. He was getting an honest answer, regardless. Let him think whatever he wanted. “I tried that in the beginning. It tore me up, giving her back after a few hours together, or a weekend. And then I got a call from the vet, accidentally, because they still had my number on file. Apparently, Scott had dropped her off for tests because she’d quit eating and become very lethargic. Everything came back normal, thank god. Turns out it was stress. Doggie depression, because of me. So I gave up the visits altogether for her sake.” Oh great. Her voice had gone all shaky and tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. “You probably think I’m totally ridiculous. Most people do. I got all thisstuffin the agreement, yet I get blubbery about a dog he won’t let me have.”
Mason covered her nervous hand with his big, warm one. “I think you’re great. Not even a little bit ridiculous.”
Being married to a lawyer had taught Andie a thing or two about phoniness. Mason’s smile seemed understanding and sincere. Here she sat, telling a stranger—who happened to be her smoking-hot date—about her divorce, without instantly regretting having opened her mouth. There was just something about this guy.
“He’s keeping her to spite you.”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s a dick move.”
“I’ve always thought so. Let’s talk about something else. Anything, you pick.”
