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KARLI
It’s inching close to midnight by the time we say goodbye to the entire crew, leaving them behind at The Hot Sauce. I should be absolutely worn out after this adventure-filled day. Instead, I’m still turned on and buzzing from my moment with Mason on the dance floor. Luckily, the drive to his place is a short one.
The whole way there, I’ve got my hand on his thigh and I’m barely restraining myself from whipping off my seatbelt and climbing into his lap as he drives. I’m two seconds from shoving my hand down the front of his pants when he pulls into the driveway of a real-life princess castle.
I blink.
I mean—there are flowerseverywhere.
And so. much. hot pink.
The house is practically glowing hot pink in the dark.
From the flowers to the curtains to the welcome mat. Even the bulbs shining from the front porch down into the yard are pink.
I crane my neck for a better look out the windshield. My gaze bounces to Mason. Then back to the building in front of us. “This isyourhouse?”
Mason follows my line of vision, a genuine pained look on his face. “Yeah…at least it used to be.”
I slow-nod approvingly, stifling a snicker. “Barbiecore. I like.”
He immediately starts making excuses. “Well, when I left town, my four sisters moved in and then—”
Grinning, I press a finger to his lips. I don’t wanna hear it. “Own it, Mason. Own it.”
He chomps down on my finger with his teeth. “You know what, Karli Brighton? I am sick of your snark. I’m gonna fuck yousohard tonight.”
“On your pink bed sheets? All right. As long as we don’t get glitter between my butt cheeks. That stuff is really hard to wash out.”
Sorry. I can’t resist teasing him.
Mason growls.Uh-oh. I’m in trouble.
He hops out of the driver’s seat and rounds the vehicle, his eyes finding mine through the windshield as he goes.
By the time he tears my door open, I’m laughing uncontrollably. I’m absolutely hysterical as he unsnaps my seatbelt, yanks me out of the vehicle and throws me over his shoulder like a caveman.
I’m kicking and shrieking and hanging upside down over his shoulder, with my ass sticking up in the air. And I’m guessing he’s got tunnel vision in his mission to get me to his bed. That’s probably why neither of us notices the very angry woman charging up the driveway behind us.
Out of nowhere, her piercing yell rips through the air. “MASON! WESTBROOK!”
Mason’s footsteps halt, and then slowly, he turns in the direction of the voice. “Zara, what the hell are you doing here?”
Zara. Oh, shit.
Still hanging upside down, I grab hold of Mason’s waist for leverage, craning my body to get a look at this Zara woman I’ve heard so much bullshit about.
She looks crazy as fuck, stomping toward us—crinkled mini dress, smudged eye makeup, sky-high heels, hair all over the place. But it’s the wild look on her face that sends my blood rushing into my head.
“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?!” she demands, marching up the driveway. “And my emails? And my text messages?!”
I wiggle-jiggle myself off of Mason’s shoulder, stumbling onto my feet in a disoriented whirr.
“Zara, now is not a good time.” In one quick move, Mason steps in front of me, arms spread out like a shield.
I don’t know if he’s trying to protect me from his ex or if he’s concerned that I might attack first. To be honest, I just might. This woman put Mason through hell. I don’t like that shit.
The hysterical woman just keeps coming. “We need to talk,” she says defiantly. She digs into her purse and whips out what looks like a few soggy slices of bread and wilting lettuce wrapped in transparent plastic wrap. “I made you a sandwich.”
