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Moody.
Surly.
Standoffish.
Rude.
Those descriptors fit him to a T.
My stepmother raises a brow before studying my expression. “You didn’t think so?”
I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “Nope. Not at all.”
Her eyes cloud. “Well, I feel bad for him. I remember when his parents died. It was such a tragedy for the community but especially for those boys. Mason was just twenty and about to start his junior year of college. He ended up dropping out so he could get a full-time job to support himself and his younger brother. He was so proud and wouldn’t accept help from anyone.”
Part of me softens reluctantly. That is sad. And it gives me a tiny glimpse into why the man is so aloof. At least where I’m concerned. What’s interesting is that when my parents were talking with him, I could see him visibly relax and lower his guard. It was those times when I sat quietly in the background, watching him while he was unaware. Whenever he flashed a smile at Anne or Dad, my tummy did a painful little flip.
“I think this coaching position will be good for him.”
“Sounds like it,” I say thoughtfully.
We chat for a few more minutes before I stifle a yawn. It’s been a long week. “I should probably get going. Thank you for dinner.”
Dad strolls out of his study, and I kiss them both before grabbing my purse and heading to the front door.
What I’ve learned tonight is that Mason has a lot of baggage. Instead of forcing myself on him, it would probably be best if I took a giant step back and gave him the space he’s so desperate for. There are plenty of guys on campus who won’t glare at me every time we make eye contact. I’ll just have to find one who interests me.
And turns me on as much as he does.
Even though that shouldn’t be a tall order to fill, it—unfortunately—is. I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to boys. Probably because that’s exactly what they act like—boys. They want to party on the weekends and drink themselves into a stupor. Or play video games and hang out with their bros.
Unless they’re looking to get laid.
Then, suddenly, you’re high on their priority list.
No thanks.
Dad and Anne loiter at the front door as I slide behind the wheel of my Beetle and start up the engine. It sputters before roaring to life.
I roll down the window as my father jogs toward me and leans against the driver’s side window. “That didn’t sound good. We should probably get it checked out.”
Since neither of us knows much about cars, I nod in agreement. It’s been acting up for about a week, and I’m not sure if there’s a problem.
“You want to stay here for the night? I hate the idea of you driving back alone.”
I pat the steering wheel. “It’s running now. I don’t think it’ll give me any problems.”
“Text when you get home,” Anne calls out from the front porch.
“I will,” I say in a raised voice so she can hear.
With a wave, I back out of the driveway before stepping on the gas and speeding toward the entrance of the small subdivision. When I glance in the rearview mirror, Dad is standing in the driveway, shaking his head. I grin and turn up the music until the decibel level is a smidge below ear shattering as I turn onto the county road that leads back to town.
I’m midway through belting out a Billie Eilish song when the bug sputters and dies.
“What the hell?” My brows slam together as I steer the vehicle to the side of the road before slowly rolling to a stop.
Ugh.
