Chapter 5 #2
As I wash my hair in the shower, I think about how much I had left out in my description of the night to my best friend. Emma didn’t specifically ask me if I met anyone, so it’s not like I lied to her by leaving Nate out. But it was definitely an omission, a huge one.
I wonder what she would think if I did tell her. She’d be shocked, I’m sure. Obviously me just walking through the door had seemed like a big deal to her. Hooking up with a stranger at a sex club was about the farthest thing from normal Harper Cain behavior she could imagine.
Hell, hooking up with a stranger in any kind of club—even your run-of-the-mill variety—is so out of the realm of my normal experiences she would probably have a heart attack to hear about it.
I shake my head under the spray, trying to clear it.
I can’t sit here mooning over my secret dalliance all morning.
If there’s one thing my brother Mason hates, it’s tardiness.
And I know I’ll be on edge enough this afternoon—the last thing I want to do is give him cause to be irritated right off the bat.
I wrap a towel around myself and head to my room, groaning when I see the time on my alarm clock.
There’s no way I’ll have time to properly straighten my hair or apply makeup.
My hair will have to go back in a ponytail.
Under normal circumstances, say, if I was heading into school, this wouldn’t be a big deal.
I find myself running late more often than not and a ponytail has become like a uniform for me.
But I’m aware that it makes me look younger, so I always try to put in a little effort at sophistication when I’m going to be seeing my brother. By now I know that it’s pointless to expect him to ever treat me like an adult, but I figure styled hair and proper makeup is the least I can do.
But there’s no time for that today. I pull my still wet hair up into a knot on top of my head, grab a simple blue wrap dress from my closet, and manage to apply some mascara and lip-gloss before I absolutely have to be out the door.
“You need anything while I’m out?” I call to Emma as I pull my heels on in the foyer.
“Just those pancakes,” she calls from her sick bed on the couch. “And maybe a couple trashy magazines if you feel like stopping.”
Since she can’t see me, I don’t bother to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the martyred tone.
Sick for barely three days, Emma is already bored out of her mind.
Though I don’t envy her the pneumonia, I wouldn’t actually mind the excuse to lay around reading for a while.
My best friend, on the other hand, is sure to go out of her mind after a few more days of quiet.
Unlike me, Emma needs excitement in her life.
“Got it,” I call back. “Text me if you need anything else.”
“Good luck!” she shouts just before the door closes behind me.
My brother and I always meet at the same restaurant.
Croque Monsieur is a trendy little French eatery in Charlotte’s SouthPark neighborhood, close to Mason’s office.
I find the atmosphere more than a little bit pretentious, but the food is amazing—definitely the best part of these twice monthly meetings Mason insists on.
I’m relieved when I manage to squeeze through the front door right at twelve. There’s a line at the hostess stand—there always is—but Mason will have made a reservation. Sure enough, I see him sitting right in the middle of the restaurant at his usual table.
I would prefer something a little more private, maybe near a window with a view of the bustling street outside. But Mason never passes up the opportunity to see and be seen. The man probably networks in his sleep.
When he sees me, his face lights up, and I immediately feel bad for all the negative thoughts I’ve had about him this morning.
It’s not that I don’t love my brother. Honestly, I love him more than any other person on this earth.
Mason is hardworking, dependable, and about as loyal as is possible for a human to be.
He also has a good sense of humor—when he can manage to let his guard down for a minute and stop thinking about work.
And, most importantly, he’s always been there for me.
When our parents died and my entire world seemed sure to crumble, Mason is the one who picked up the pieces.
He was little more than a kid himself, just out of college, but my older brother didn’t hesitate to take me in.
To take care of me. If I couldn’t have my parents, Mason was the next best thing.
And he never once faltered in the role of caretaker.
It’s just that, sometimes, I miss having him as a brother.
“There’s my girl,” he says, standing and pulling me in to kiss my cheek. “I was starting to get worried about you.”
“I’m right on time,” I tell him, patting his shoulder affectionately. “We don’t all show up for every appointment ten minutes early.”
He pulls out my chair for me then tweaks my ponytail as I sit. “It wouldn’t be a bad habit for you to get into, Harpy.”
I make a face at the nickname as he takes his seat across from me.
“Especially,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, “now that you’re entering this stage of your life.
Everything counts now, sweets. The impression you make on your professors and your peers could lead to references and contacts that will serve you the rest of your career. ”
Jesus, this must be some kind of record. I haven’t even touched my water glass yet and I’m already getting a classic Mason Cain lecture. He usually at least pretends to go through the pleasantries first.
“I’m doing well, Mase,” I say pointedly. “Thanks for asking.”
He grins at me, the sheepish expression familiar. “You’re right, I’m sorry. How are you?”
Though I’m glad to have won the point, I immediately regret forcing his question.
Because I can’t really answer him honestly.
I’m all confused about my sexual desires and horny as hell, Mason, how are you?
That obviously won’t fly. So I shake out my napkin and place it on my lap, allowing me to avoid his eyes as I say, “I’m fine.
Emma and I are all settled in the new place. ”
“You like the building?”
He chose the building. I would have preferred to be closer to campus, but Mason overruled me in favor of what he considers to be a safer neighborhood. But since he insists on paying my share of the rent, I can’t really complain.
And that, right there, is the problem with us. Mason is still treating me like the thirteen-year-old girl he had taken home after Mom’s funeral. And I never feel like I can press the issue because I’m so far in his debt, so obligated, I would feel spoiled for ever complaining.
“How’s Emma?” he asks. “Getting settled in at work?”
Like me, my best friend is getting ready to start her master’s degree at Denby. But where mine is in sociology, Emma’s study is in the far more exciting field of marketing. In addition to her classes this year, she’ll be working for a swanky party-planning firm in the city.
“She was just getting the hang of things when she got sick,” I explain, reaching for my water goblet. “Now she’s been out for the last three days.”
His face immediately transforms into worry. “She’s sick? What’s wrong with her? Should you be staying there? Has she seen a doctor?”
I reach over and place my hand over his. This is one protective urge I completely understand. We both tend to be a little over the top when it comes to illness.
“I made sure she went to the doctor as soon as her temperature spiked. She has pneumonia but she’s been on antibiotics so the doctor says there’s no chance of her being contagious.”
He doesn’t look appeased. “I don’t know, Harp. Maybe you should come and stay with me just in case. You don’t want to be catching anything right before the term starts.”
“Mason, come on. I’m not going to leave my best friend when she’s sick.”
Before he can argue anymore—and he’s definitely planning to argue a lot more—a waiter arrives to take our order.
I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet, but there’s really no need.
I always get the same thing. “I’ll have the shrimp and grits,” I tell the waiter.
“And a to-go order of the mascarpone pancakes after we’re finished. Can you put them on a separate check?”
Mason rolls his eyes. “A separate check won’t be necessary. I can get Emma’s pancakes.” He places his usual order—the croque monsieur for him—and then surprises me by telling the waiter someone else will be joining us.
“I’m sure he’ll start with a Bloody Mary, so make that two.” He looks over at me, eyebrows raised. “And a mimosa?”
I nod in agreement and the waiter adds the drinks to our order before hurrying off into the bustle of the restaurant.
“Someone is joining us?”
He grins, like he’s about to bestow a great treat. “Do you remember me talking about my friend, Chase?”
I nod. Apparently, an old college buddy—they both went to Denby, too— of Mason’s is teaching at my university. I’d never met him before. My brother was always very careful to keep his social life far from me. Couldn’t have the little girl knowing he drank beer with his buddies.
I assume, based on Mason’s age, that this friend of his must be an associate professor, so I haven’t made much of an effort to pay attention when he’s brought it up. An associate professor in a different department is hardly likely to be very helpful towards my academic ambitions.
I’m sure Mason just wants him to keep an eye on me—not an arrangement I’m at all interested in.
“Chase has a few hours free today so I invited him to join us. I figured he could give you some good inside information before you go in for orientation.”
Wonderful. This is just what I need. If the man is a friend of Mason’s he’s probably every bit as uptight as my brother. The odds of me enduring a double lecture before the meal is over seem high.
I suppose it could be worse, I muse, as the waiter appears with our drinks. At least I have alcohol.
Mason has just started in on some long story about meeting Chase at the Denby freshman orientation when I realize exactly how much worse it can get. Because standing there behind my brother, his eyes every bit as piercing as they had been last night, is Nate.
And, I soon realize, that isn’t even the worst part. The worst part—the absolutely awful, stomach-dropping, sweat-inducing part—is when my brother turns to see who I’m gaping at. And his face lights up.
“Chase!” he says happily, standing to shake hands. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Mason,” Nate—or Chase, or whoever the hell he is—says, his deep voice sending my stomach plummeting to my knees as I recall exactly how that voice had sounded whispering filthy words in my ear.
I try to wipe what I’m sure is a horrorstruck expression off my face as Mason turns to me, still grinning broadly.
“Harpy, this is my old friend, Chase. Jonathan Chase. He’s the associate head of the psychology department at Denby.”
Somehow, Nate manages to keep his expression entirely neutral as Mason turns back to him. “Chase, this is my baby sister, Harper.”