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He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re Nanny McPhee at the beginning of the movie.” At the beginning of the movie, she was hideous and warty, changing and becoming prettier by the end.
I just grin.“So you’ve actually watched the movie. I’m learning so much about you. By the way, you can just wear what you’re wearing. You don’t have to wear the costume.” I have brought a costume, but I’ve decided to spare him today.
Mason shoots me a suspicious look. “What are you talking about?”
“You can wear what you’re wearing. You look fine.” His eyebrows climb with surprise. “I mean, I’m not saying that you are fine in the traditional sense ... you’re average,” I hurry to clarify. “You’re okay. Never mind. Let’s head on up. We can be a little early.”
“Are you joking?” he demands.
Where was the relief? The gratitude?
“No, of course not. What are you talking about? What’s the problem?” I ask, puzzled.
“You’re being nice and it’s deeply alarming.” He folds his arms across his broad, muscular chest and glares at me. “Go back to being evil so I know who I’m dealing with. Nice Rowan does not compute.”
“Geez, Mason, who hurt you?” I give him a pitying look. “And I was trying to show you my appreciation for picking me instead of the competition.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I went with you because Amelia is actually my type, which would be distracting and eventually lead to issues.”
A small hand grenade of irritation detonates inside me, flinging sharp shrapnel.
Just when he was starting to seem human, he has to go and act like ... well, himself. No wonder he can’t maintain a relationship; he has to keep a sarcastic wall up between himself and humanity.
“You know what? Never mind. Costume’s in the bag.” I gesture at it irritably. “Plans have changed. You are now required to wear one at every single hospital appearance. Maybe I’ll throw in a song and dance routine for you.”
“That’s more like it. The Rowan I know and loathe.” But there is a hint of a smirk on his mouth when he says it.
I kick the bag towards him. “And her name is Amanda, not Amelia, you asshat.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “I was too distracted by her ten-inch heels to remember her name. I kept waiting for her to topple over like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
“That’s never toppled. Unless I’ve missed some major international news.”
He unzips the bag and pulls the costume out.
He stares at me, his brows shooting up towards his hairline. “A cock? You’re dressing me up as a cock? Seriously?”
“It’s a rooster, thank you very much.”
“You seriously chose a cock costume for me to wear in front of kids?”
My blood pressure’s shooting up and my face is burning hot. “For the love of God, Mason. Have you ever watched a cartoon? Foghorn Leghorn? Kids. Love. Roosters.”
He holds the costume up and shakes his head at me. “Sure they do. Sure, that’s what you were thinking of. Roosters. Been driving by my billboard again and again, haven’t you?”
“No, but you’ve been spending entirely too much time staring at your own well-outlined bulge, which is pretty disturbing.” His latest ads have some interesting white elastic placement on bright red fabric, which end up accenting his package like a target.
“Aha.” He flashes me a fierce grin. “If you haven’t been driving by my billboard, how did you know my bulge was outlined?”
He has me there.
My face turns hot. “Excuse me, I have to take this,” I mutter, and I grab my phone from my purse and move a few steps away, pretending to answer a text.
“Game, set, match.” He saunters off, holding his rooster costume. “She likes my panties, she likes my panties ...”
“Go cluck yourself.” I yell at him.
I close my eyes and work on my calming breathing techniques. One, two, three, four, five, I am floating on a crystal blue sea ...
