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Mason nods vigorously. “We’ve been forced together like incompatible body parts on Frankenstein’s monster.”
“Please. Tell me more,” Ruby snickers.
“There’s nothing more to tell.”
“You guys remind me of how Mom and Dad used to argue.”
Our mom and dad were such a perfect romance story that it kind of ruined romance for me. How could anyone top their love story? They were so enamored of each other it hurt.
“We actually need to head out now,” I tell Mason. “Good luck with your new child. Don’t forget to book the dog sitter we selected.”
He shoots me an alarmed look. “You can’t leave. You have to stay and help me assemble the dog stuff.”
“Mason, you are a grown-ass man. I am one hundred percent confident that you can put together a dog crate and a few dog gates.”
He shakes his head. “No, I can’t.”
That’s another strike against him, I think to myself. He’s a pretty boy billionaire who had everything in life handed to him. Probably had maids wiping his hiney till grade school. The kind of guy who doesn’t know how to boil water. That’s not my type, but it’s also not my problem.
The fact that I’ve been thinking about Mason more and more frequently these days, though—that’s actually kind of a problem, but I refuse to acknowledge it. In my opinion, the best way to get rid of problems is to ignore them.
Okay, that’s the worst way to deal with problems, but there’s really no way to solve the Mason problem other than to wait it out. In a few months, the season will be over and Mason’s reputation will have been saved, and he can either stay out of trouble or he can set things on fire again. I won’t be there to hold his hand forever.
“You’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Everything comes with instructions.”
He gets a sly look on his face. “Or I could call Amara to help me set it up.”
I shoot him a glare. “Do you mean Amanda?”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
I’m sure he’s bluffing, but the mere mention of her name sets my teeth on edge. “Are you going to hold that over my head for the entirety of this mission?”
“What mission?” He gives me a lazy smile.
“Mission impossible,” I huff. “The mission to de-douchify Mason Raker.”
Ruby starts giggling again. So not helpful.
“There are penalty points for making up words in this house,” he informs me. “The penalty involves setting up dog gates.”
“Fine, we’ll help you. Big baby,” I mutter under my breath.
Mason goes to the kitchen and finds a utility knife, and we begin opening boxes. Ruby and I set to work putting up dog gates, and Mason goes to work on the dog playpen and the dog crate.
Watching him work, his hands moving swiftly and confidently, I realize he’s a lot more handy than he let on.
So why does he really want us to stick around? Could it be that he actually enjoys my company?
I try to focus on the task at hand, but my mind keeps wandering to forbidden places as I watch him. The swell of his biceps, the way the T-shirt molds to his broad chest ...
Impatiently, I shake my head and force myself to finish the dog gate. I try to tell myself that my admiration is purely aesthetic. I am admiring his body the way I’d admire the perfect forms of cold, hard marble statues at a museum.
Marble statues didn’t make my panties damp, however. And thank God above that Mason wasn’t a mind reader.
“Done,” Mason announces proudly, setting down his screwdriver. “I’ll order dinner to pay you guys back for helping me. The Paris Bar makes a mean filet mignon. Or are you more into salmon?”
“Burger and fries for me, thanks. Medium well.”
