16. Your exclusive sneak peek at Take Me
Mason
I fling open my sister’s front door and catch a fierce blast of estrogen right in the face.
Wait. That’s not estrogen. It’s blueberry coffee cake.
“Hello?” I stomp through the foyer, following voices. All of them female, so I got that part right. “Is everyone dressed?”
“It’s my idiot twin,” I hear Lucy tell someone. “Throw your bras so he’ll find us quicker.”
“Like a bra trail of breadcrumbs?” That sounds like Cassidy, my big brother’s bride-to-be. “I thought Mason had a girlfriend.”
“They’re not exclusive,” says my oversharing sister. “Annabelle doesn’t like labels.”
My gut does an unpleasant roll, but I slap on a smile and head for the dining room.
Erika Gentry looks up first, a fan of blond hair falling over her eyes. “I’ve got a shop rag to toss instead of the bra.” She’s the head mechanic at my brother’s shop, so she might really have one. “Looks like red panties, except for the oil stain.”
“Ladies.” I cruise through the room, reviewing the faces at the table. Lucy’s parked next to Cassidy, who’s beside Erika. Across from her sits Lucy’s sister-in-law, Samantha.
Sam’s wearing a shirt that says Haven Creek Farm and Wildlife Rescue, holding hands with her fiancée, Maxine. Max scrolls her phone, forehead scrunched in concentration. Both women look edgy, like someone just set down a frothy pint of amber liquid and they’re not sure if it’s beer or?—
“Piss,” Maxine growls, looking up from her phone. “That’s what damaged the whole shipment.”
“Actual urine?” Sam looks concerned. “How does a crate full of wedding stuff get covered in pee?”
Max shrugs. “Apparently they traveled on the same barge as a pair of pileated gibbons headed for the Portland Zoo.” Her brow scrunches some more as she keeps scrolling. “They offered to replace everything, but that’s pointless with the wedding in ten days.”
“That’s a pisser.” My jackass quip earns me a jab to the gut from Lucy. Lucky for me, I’ve got abs of steel. Grabbing a fork, I get to work carving a thick hunk of coffee cake. “Is Harper ready to go?”
My twin hands me a plate. “Piano lesson ran late. Peter’s picking her up and grabbing her friends on the way.”
“Cool.” One less stop for me. I’ve got time for a snack before taking my niece and her pals to the exclusive soft opening of Cherry Blossom Lake’s cool new kombucha bar.
Snagging a seat next to Maxine and Sam, I give their dilemma my full focus. “Exotic monkeys peed on your wedding decorations? Isn’t that a bad omen?”
Sam sits up straight in her chair. “Pileated gibbons mate for life,” reports our resident wildlife expert. “Maybe it’s a good omen.”
“Huh.” Gotta admire her attitude. “Maybe I’ll ask a pileated gibbon to pee on me.”
My sister snorts. “I’m sure you deserve it.”
Stabbing a thick bite of coffee cake, I stuff it in my mouth. It’s spongy and sweet and packed with fresh berries, just like our mom used to make. My sister must use the same recipe.
“It’s Mom’s,” Luce says, doing her creepy-ass mind reading thing. “Thanks again, by the way.”
“For being so handsome your friends forget all their problems?” I wink at Maxine, who rolls her eyes. “No sweat.”
That gets me an eye-roll from Lucy, too. “For taking Harper to the kombucha place. She’s been talking about it all week.”
“Sure thing.” My fourteen-year-old niece is the coolest damn human I know. “How many friends did she invite again?”
“Three.” Lucy bites her lip. “You sure that’s okay?”
“Of course.” The kid’s growing up, and her super-cool uncle can’t be her whole world forever. I’m okay with it. Really. “The more, the merrier.”
“Okay, so back to the decorations.” Cassidy’s keeping us all on task. “Did everything get ruined?”
“Just about.” Sam sighs. “The centerpieces are goners. Same with the custom koozies we bought as wedding favors.”
My sister makes a sound like someone stepped on her toe. “Those were adorable. Sam showed me the design—this super-cute script that says, ‘Mrs. and Mrs.’ with Max and Sam’s engagement photo on the back.”
Maybe I can help. “I buy koozies constantly for the brewery.” I’m chewing with my mouth open, but who cares? Half these women saw me in my underwear at the Cherry Blossom Lake strip show last week. What? It was for charity. “Let me see if I can get a rush job on a custom koozie order.”
“Really?” Sam looks hopeful. “That would be great.”
“How many do you need?” My distributor owes me a favor anyway.
“About three hundred. Blush pink, if possible.” Sam chews her bottom lip. “We’re not in a position to be picky, though.”
“No prob.” I shove another hunk of coffee cake in my mouth. It’s nice to feel helpful, given the crap week I’ve had. “Send me the design files if you’ve got ‘em.”
Max sets down her phone and pinches the bridge of her nose. “This pee thing is just icing on an awful cake. We found out last night we’re not getting the etched crystal glasses for our first toast. Some mix-up with the order.”
Sam’s hopeful smile wobbles. “I know it’s a total first-world problem, but I loved those glasses.” One shoulder lifts in a limp little shrug. “They said, ‘I’m hers,’ with cute cupid arrows pointing at each other.”
“We ordered them etched with our names,” Max says. “We wanted to use them for anniversaries.”
The side door bursts open, and Zoe Brooks flies through. Zoe Cornish , I guess, since she eloped to Jamaica last month. She looks tanned and relaxed, and I don’t feel the least bit envious of all the dopey, happy couple pheromones floating around. Nope. Not at all.
I’m perfectly fine just stuffing my face with cake, feeling happy for my friends getting hitched while I’m here surrounded by women I don’t even date.
“Good news.” Zoe slings herself into an open chair. “Cal called the guy who etched our glassware at the pub. He’ll do two custom glasses by next Friday.”
“Really?” Sam’s eyes fill with tears. “That’s amazing, Zo. Thank you.”
“You guys are the best.” Maxine’s tearing up, too. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Please,” Lucy says, squeezing Sam’s hand. “It’s what friends are for.”
“Vulvarines,” says Zoe. “It’s what Vulvarines are for.”
“Can I be a Vulvarine?” I’m not even sure what that is. “I like vulvas and secret clubs.”
“No.” They all shout at once, but they’re smiling now.
Damn, I’m good.
I go back to my cake, enjoying the thick crust of cinnamon on top. Erika hands me a pale-yellow napkin cinched with a polka-dot ring.
“No shop rag?” I ask, sliding the ring off the fabric.
Erika chuckles. “Only cloth napkins for lady time .” The way she says it cracks me up. “We’re fucking ladies here.”
Can’t let that one go. “Who’s fucking ladies?”
Maxine and Sam raise their hands, and everyone snickers. Hey, look at that—we got everyone laughing again.
Mission accomplished.
Maxine draws a steadying breath. “Okay, so we still need to deal with the candles.”
I spear another wedge of coffee cake. “What candles?”
Erika picks up a glass jar wrapped in a rustic pink label. “There’s a typo.”
I squint at the loopy black script. “ Two rides are better than one ?”
“It’s missing a B to spell brides .” Erika sets down the candle. “I suggested switching to a car theme. We could slap on some stickers for Spencer-King Auto.”
“Perfect.” I point with my fork, flinging a cake-speckled blueberry at her. “Great idea.”
Erika flicks back the berry. “Thanks.”
Sam rolls her eyes. “She was kidding .”
I’m not sure she was, but that’s fine. Erika’s humor is right up my alley. She’s a great girl—the best—and funny as hell. I’ve known her for years, and she beats me at pool on the regular.
My sister snatches a pen off the table “We’re fixing the candles. Make yourself useful, Mason.” She tosses the pen at my head. “Your calligraphy’s better than mine.”
I catch the pen in one hand, masculinity unthreatened. “She’s right,” I agree. “I am the best.”
Lucy snorts. “Modest, too.”
“Why be modest when you can be awesome?” I uncap the pen and study the angled brass tip. It’s the kind with the changeable ink cartridge. I’m not kidding about the calligraphy skills. Those cool chalkboard signs at my brewery, spelling out specials in cursive?
That’s my handiwork, thank you very much. I have my own set of fancy-ass chalk paints and everything.
“Are you okay?” Zoe touches my arm with concern in her eyes. “I heard about Annabelle.”
Aaand…there goes my masculinity.
“Wait, what?” My sister looks startled. “What about Annabelle?”
Fuck.
Me.
“Oh, shit.” Zoe pales. “I’m sorry, Mason. I didn’t know it wasn’t public.”
“It’s fine.” That’s a small fucking town for you. “It’s no big deal. We’re not seeing each other anymore.” I study the candle, mulling the best way to turn rides into brides . That’s better than seeing the pity in their eyes. “Didn’t even register on my radar.”
“Who called it off?” my twin demands.
“Does it matter?” Of course it does. “She did. It’s really not a big thing.” This is fine. I’m fine . “We weren’t ever dating seriously, you know? Never exclusive.”
Here’s the godawful truth: All these months I’ve dated Annabelle Hanlon, I’ve spun myself silly to make it official. To call her my girlfriend and not just some girl I’ve been seeing.
But Belle wasn’t up for commitment.
Except—as it turns out—“I don’t want to be tied down,” meant she didn’t want to be tied down to me .
That stings a lot more than it should.
But hey, I’m over it. No biggie, right?
Erika stares at the side of my head without speaking. I feel her watching me, those pebbly gray eyes drilling right through my skull. At least she’s not saying she feels sorry for me. That’s something.
“Mason.” Lucy grabs my hand holding the candle, forcing me to look at her. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Completely.”
“You seem upset.”
“Not even a tiny bit.”
Stupid twintuition.
Feeling itchy and anxious, I get up to hunt for some milk in the fridge. “It’s always been casual with Annabelle. Both of us date other people. Lots of other people.”
That’s a lie.
I mean, I didn’t date other people.
It’s anyone’s guess what Annabelle’s game plan was.
Over dinner last night, she let me down gently. “It’s not you, it’s me.” She looked deep in my eyes, twisting the knife in my gut. “I just don’t think we should keep flogging this dead horse.”
“Are vets allowed to say that?” I forced my face to form a smile. “Or wait—was that a sex euphemism?”
“Mason.” The sympathy in her eyes made it worse. “Could you be serious for one second?”
“You mean we can keep having sex?”
The answer was no, in case anyone’s wondering.
My sister’s soft voice pulls me back to her kitchen. “Are you positive you’re all right?” She sets a glass on the counter for milk. Probably worried I’ll drink from the carton, which—okay, fair.
“I’m great.” I dump milk in the glass and chug it like beer, refilling again before she can protest. “How long do we have ‘til Harper gets home?”
Lucy looks fretful but doesn’t push. “Another thirty minutes maybe. I should have texted to say she was running late, but we had this wedding crisis and?—”
“Let’s fix it.” Shoving the milk in the fridge, I head back to the table. “Move aside, amateurs. The calligraphy master is here.” I snatch the pen and a candle, turning the label to face me. With a flourish, I execute the perfect curlicue B before rides . “Boom!”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding.” Erika leans in to peer at my work. The others are talking, not paying attention to us. “That’s really good.”
“Hot, right?” This might be inappropriate. “Chicks dig a guy with a big, thick, eight-inch long…calligraphy pen.”
She hands me another candle. “I saw that scrawled on the bathroom wall.”
“In calligraphy, right?”
“Duh.” Erika watches me ink another bold B. “I’ve also got bad news for you if you think that’s what eight inches looks like.”
Burn. I dig that about Erika.
“I prefer cans as my unit of measure.” I own a brewery, after all. “My junk isn’t huge—only the size of a beer can—but man , is it long.”
“Gross.” She’s amused, I can tell. And also, more into calligraphy than I would’ve guessed. She’s watching me work, her eyes on my hands as I finish another candle. “How did a guy with biceps like hams get so good at delicate lettering?”
“Mom taught us.” I’m secretly pleased she’s admiring my arms. “Before she ran away from home, I mean.” Whoops, didn’t mean to get grim. “I’ve always been the best at it.”
“No lie,” Lucy says, sitting back down. “How many straight men do you know who own a successful business, can deadlift kegs without breaking a sweat, and can also do this ?”
I do a show-offy twirl with the pen and move to the next candle. Erika picks up the one I’ve just finished. She’s still watching me work, shifting a little bit closer.
“I’ve never been good at stuff like that.” She nibbles a bitten-down fingernail. “I tried to write Neil a love letter when he was in Baghdad. I got this pretty pink pen and lavender oil to spray on the paper. Spent hours trying to make my writing look cute.”
“Yeah?” I can’t picture Erika spritzing perfume on a letter. “How’d it go?”
“He had to call and ask what it said.” She laughs, but it sounds kinda shaky. “Couldn’t read my writing.”
Neil is her ex, by the way. The dickhead who dumped her on the dance floor at Zoe and Cal’s reception. In that two-second lull in The Replacements’ song “Can’t Hardly Wait,” the whole fucking room heard Neil Eastman blurt, “let’s break up.”
I was dancing with Annabelle, so stupidly sure I was on a great path of my own. That Belle and I were in a real relationship. The dumb thing is, we didn’t break up.
How could she dump a guy who wasn’t her boyfriend?
“Erika, hon.” My sister puts a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, sweetie. This was insensitive of us, asking you to help with the wedding stuff.”
“God, you’re right.” Cassidy frowns. “We’re such jerks. Between my wedding and Zoe’s and?—”
“And mine.” Lucy winces, looking to me for help.
“Neil’s a dumbass.” I reach for another pink candle.
Lucy sighs, but Erika laughs as she stacks my finished candles back in the box. “He’s not a dumbass. He just didn’t want to be with me.”
“Like I said, dumbass.” I mean, come on. Erika’s smart and funny and completely gorgeous. Why the hell wouldn’t Neil want to be with her?
My sister’s still stuck at the pity party. “I know I asked you be a bridesmaid,” she tells Erika, “but that if that’s too emotional after what you’ve been through?—”
“It’s not,” she assures her. “I absolutely want to dress up in tulle with a giant blue bow on my ass.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I pick up another candle.
My sister still looks fretful. “I just don’t want things to be too hard on you.”
Erika swallows. “I’m fine.”
“You said ‘hard on,’” I say, which makes Erika snicker.
Lucy ignores me, turning to Sam as she whips out her phone. “What do you think about these for quickie, DIY centerpieces?” She tilts the screen so Max can see, too, leaving me marking up candles.
Erika leans in again, blond hair brushing my arm as she studies my pen stroke. The fresh, fern leaf smell of her skin fills my head, and I nearly miss what she whispers.
“Save me,” she murmurs, “from friends who love me too much.”
“No joke.” Was it a joke, or an actual request? Either way, I get it. Sucks to be everyone’s object of pity.
Cassidy exits the centerpiece convo, drawing her gaze back to Erika. “The same goes for my wedding stuff,” she says kindly. “I know I said yes when you offered to host the bachelorette party, but please know I don’t expect you to go through with it. Not if it’s painful at all.”
“I’m really okay.” Erika’s voice says she’s trying to be. “I mean yeah, did I think Neil and I would get married? Sure. We’d been together since high school.”
“That’s what makes me so mad.” Zoe balls her fists on the table. “You wasted all those years on a guy who kept stringing you along, saying he’d settle down as soon as he finished his last tour of duty.”
Color floods Erika’s cheeks. “Things don’t always work out.” She puts some more steel in her voice. “It’s fine. I’m good. I’m already moving on.”
Zoe tilts her head. “You are?”
“Totally.” She sounds almost convincing. “Getting back in the game, putting myself out there. Dating a little, working on myself, finding balance.”
She sounds like a freakin’ self-help book. All we need now is my brother’s fiancée. My other brother’s fiancée.
Christ, is everyone engaged?
Brooke would normally be here, but her famous shrink life has her flitting around in Hawaii this week. Kaleb went with her, drumming up pre-sales for her next book, A Lover’s Guide to Healing and Joy or something schmoopy like that.
It really is raining lovebird shit around here.
“Has anyone heard how Kaleb’s trip is going?” Lucy looks instantly guilty. Guess our brother’s romantic vacation isn’t the subject change she hoped for.
“I heard it snowed.” I didn’t really, but that makes Erika smile.
“Guys, really.” Erika stacks another candle in the box. “You don’t have to handle me with kid gloves. Hearing about happy couples doesn’t bother me.”
It doesn’t?
Because it bothers the shit out of me.
Then she catches my eye, and I know.
We’ve got this in common, Erika and me. Love screwed both of us, big time.
Her gray eyes hold with mine as she offers a halfhearted smile. I try to smile back, but my stupid-ass mouth won’t oblige. It’s like Erika’s frozen my power to fake it.
She looks away first and I draw a deep breath, turning my gaze to the brides. “So,” I manage, clearing my throat. “Centerpieces, huh?”
Maxine looks up and nods. “If you’re as crafty with a hot glue gun as you are with a calligraphy pen, we’ll take all the help we can get.”
“Can I be Vulvarine?”
“No.” Sam smiles. “But you’ll have our eternal gratitude.”
“Sounds like the next best thing.” I’m whipping through these candles, just a few more to go and?—
“Um, not to make this awkward.” Maxine bites her lip. “If you need to update your RSVP, we can still do that by midnight tonight.”
Sam gives me a soft look of sympathy. “It wouldn’t be a big deal, except Annabelle requested a vegan entrée?—”
“—And the caterer charges a fuck-ton extra to deviate from the standard menu.” Max winces. “I’m sorry, this is crass. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, it’s fine.” I guess Maxine and Sam don’t know Annabelle well, outside of her status as my plus one. “Um, yeah. I mean, Annabelle’s not coming.” God, I hate that sad puppy look they’re all giving me. “But I’ve got another date lined up.”
Lucy blinks. “You do?”
“Yep.” God help me. “A hot one.”
“Who?” Zoe asks. “Do we know her?”
“Is she vegan?” Max asks, getting right to the point.
“Nope. Definitely not vegan.” Now I need a date who eats meat. That shouldn’t be hard, right?
My eyes bounce to Erika’s, hers sea pebble shimmery and a little bit lost. There’s steel in her spine though, and a clench in her jaw I know well.
“Her.” I feel my hand move, and whaddya know?
I’m pointing at Erika Gentry.
My brother’s mechanic. My buddy, my pal. The woman who crushed the Big One’s Darts Championship at my brewery last week.
A woman who also got dumped.
Erika blinks, then nods. “That’s right,” she says, smiling at Maxine and Sam. “We’re attending your wedding together.” She puts a hand on my arm, and it almost feels natural. “He asked me last week.”
“Yep.” I’m liking this story already. “We’ve gone out a few times, so it kinda made sense.”
“Wait, what?” Zoe glances between us. “I didn’t know that.”
“We’ve been keeping it quiet.” Erika’s relaxing, getting into this now. “Didn’t want it to be weird with our friends.”
My sister blinks. “But you and Annabelle?—”
“—Always dated other people.” Guess that’s coming in handy now. “Her idea,” I remind my twin, as Erika’s hand tenses on my arm.
“I’ve totally moved on from Neil.” She sounds so convincing, but beneath the table, she’s pressing the ball of her foot to my toes. “Mason’s been great for a rebound.”
“And fantastic in bed,” I add, feeling her jolt beside me.
“Yep,” she says, licking her lips. “I am, thanks.”
“You betcha.”
“Very…bendy.”
And now I can’t shake that visual. My brain feels like someone’s rubbing it hard with a bar rag, but I can’t stop now. This is great. This is perfect .
“So yeah, we’re all set for Sam and Maxine’s wedding.” I need to bring this train into the station. “You don’t have to worry about either of us. Or a vegan entrée.”
“Great,” Sam says, smiling.
Maxine beams, too. “Great.”
“Great.” My evil twin gives me a look I know well. We’ll be discussing this later . “I’m happy for you both.”
Threading my fingers through Erika’s, I lean into the lie. The hand that’s in mine feels steady and solid, callused and broader than Annabelle’s.
But the warm, hollow core of her palm feels smooth as the seashells I’d hold to my ear as a boy, absorbing the sound of the ocean.
My eyes slide to hers and I fight back an urge to seal this whole plan with a kiss. To claim Erika’s mouth. Those soft, rosebud lips that part slightly as her tongue wets the plush cushion of her bottom lip.
“We’re excited,” she says, and I think for a second she’s feeling it too. “Can’t wait for the wedding.”
“All the weddings.” My heart’s thudding now, revved by the thrill of our unfolding plan. By something else I can’t name. “This is gonna be great.”
“Amazing.” Squeezing my hand, she presses her toes to the top of my foot. The pressure gets stronger, pulsing my leg with a strange mix of pleasure and ache.
It looks like we’re in this together.
***