Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
I scowl.
Then I rock the stroller with my toe. “He also bought a stroller for me to walk an invisible baby. He’s probably crazy.”
Lauren just shrugs. “Whatever. Who isn’t?”
Chapter Eight
After my conversation with Lauren, I decide that I absolutely cannot trust a single thing that she said. She’s clearly blinded by her new marriage, thinking every person who kisses someone is their soulmate or whatever. Because Mason definitely isn’t into me for anything other than possibly sleeping with me, and even that would be because he’s a typical douchebag playboy and I check the box on his “sexy nerd” fantasy.
Thankfully, Mason gives me space as promised for the rest of the week. He’s gone before I get to the apartment, and I’m gone before he gets home. We still text about Velvet to keep up our “nanny” charade, but our messages have turned more fun than flirty. Which I appreciate. It makes it easier this way.
In fact, he keeps it so clean that I start to wonder if I was wrong about him wanting to sleep with me. Maybe he hated kissing me. Maybe he came to his senses and realized the two of us would be a mistake. Maybe he found someone more appropriate to pursue. Except his Instagram is revealing nothing of the sort. Maybe giving me space could be part of his getting-me-into-bed game plan, but after a few days of it… wouldn’t he get frustrated?
Because I’m sure as hell frustrated. I’m stuck in his apartment, forcing myself not to go into his library because I’ll start reliving that fucking kiss. It’s not like Mason and I are soulmates or anything. But there was a connection, wasn’t there? How is he not thinking about that kiss as much as I am?
But after a full week, I go to bed Friday with nothing but chaste texts about stroller safety to look through. I glance back up at our older texts, the ones I thought were laced with lust, and feel myself getting pissed. Did I imagine all of this? No. Because no one buys a stroller for a nonexistent baby unless they’re flirting.
Yes, I hear how crazy I sound.
I start typing a new text, telling him that I hate his stupid library, but before I can press send, a new text from him pops onto my screen.
Are you awake? Nanny emergency.
I stare at the message. It’s close to eleven, well past nanny hours. I blink at his words, wondering what could possibly be an emergency at this time of night. For a baby that doesn’t exist. He’s flirting, right? I want to scream. I can’t keep playing this game.
But then again…
The thing is…
If I do sleep with him, yes, I might lose my job. And it won’t be easy to find another one. But it might also be fun. A lot of fun. An adventure, as it were. And I don’t think I can take the unknown any longer. I have to find out what the hell he’s thinking, and then I can put this all behind me.
Except Lauren’s words from earlier creep into my thoughts. The idea that maybe this isn’t an end. Maybe it’s a beginning.
I shake my head. No. I didn’t come to New York to lose my head. If I do this tonight, if I embrace my inner bad girl and fucking go for it, I’m doing so with open eyes. Mason’s not lifetime material, and that’s fine. It’s more than fine, if being with him is anything like that kiss.
I tap out a response and hit send before I can rethink it.
I’m awake. Be there in twenty.
The second Mason opens his door, I start rambling.
“Is this a real emergency, or are you flirting with me?” I ask, the words out of my mouth before I think them all the way through, obviously. Because I need to make sure we’re on the same page before we go any further.
Mason stares at me for a long moment, a small smile tugging at his lip while I blush. He shuts the door behind me and then leans against it, watching me.
“I meant”—I rush to cover my discomfort—“if you want to sleep with me, then I need to know that. I can’t have you sending all these weird cryptic texts if you’re not actually flirting.”
Mason tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and stares at me. “No?” he asks. “I thought you liked my texts.”
“I do,” I admit. “I mean, I did. But then you got weird. How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”
His lip twitches. “You told me you needed ‘work-life balance’ and turned down my request to spend time with you after hours. I thought that was you telling me you didn’t want this. That you weren’t interested.”
“Well, I don’t,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “I’m not.”