CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mason
I took the package out the mailbox and turned it over. It wasn’t big, just the size of a shoebox. And it had to be from my mom, judging from the little heart stickers stuck all over with a note to the mailman: “Fragile! Family cookbook inside.”
Come on, Rhonda. You’ve never even met the girl, no need to act like a Hallmark commercial.
But it was fine. And sure enough, as I unwrapped the package, a volume of heirloom recipes appeared. The pages were stained, and I swear the book itself smelled like pasta sauce, tomato-y and rich. But it was all good.
An envelope dropped out as well with my name written across the front in my mom’s loopy scrawl. I sighed. Another note filled with Rhonda’s usual gossip about nothing in particular. There were x’s and o’s all over, you’d think my mom was twelve and not sixty-five.
But my fingers opened the note.
Dear Son, she began.
Here it is. I’m finally sending the cookbook I’ve been promising for a while now. Isn’t it just precious? Your Great Aunt Ida Mae left it to me, and the time has come for you to take possession of this wonderful heirloom.
Or more accurately, do you want to give it to your special lady? Son, you’ve been so happy lately, I can hear it in your voice. Life isn’t just about making money, the loving is what matters most. And anyone who can make my one and only darling boy feel the bonds of affection is already part of the family.
Xoxo,
Your mother who can’t wait to see you.
I shook my head in disbelief. This was so over the top. “Bonds of affection”? “My darling boy”? Rhonda was at it again, watching too many movies on Lifetime. So I pitched the note into the trash, shaking my head. Beth didn’t have to see Rhonda’s crazy words, it was too much, too soon.
But all the same, I fully intended on presenting the heirloom to my best girl. Because she deserved it. She’d love it. The brunette would coo and mewl, looking up into my eyes with a heart full and open, filled with emotion.
And Beth deserved it. She was a worthy keeper of this bit of family history, just like she was the keeper of my heart.
The keeper of my heart?
Was I going crazy?
Was I the one in the Lifetime movie?
But no, it was definitely true.
Beth had penetrated my defenses, turned me into a big puppy dog when I wasn’t watching. And now the sweet brunette was my everything, her words guiding my days, her body invading my nights.
So with impatient fingers, I pressed the button for the penthouse. Shit, I couldn’t wait to see her. I couldn’t wait to rest my eyes on that curvy figure, to see her face flush with pleasure as I presented her with the gift. It was better than diamonds, better than a closet stuffed with designer clothes. This cookbook was a piece of my heritage and history, and Beth would treasure it for sure, holding it close to her breast.
Banging the front door open, my voice rang out.
“Hey, sweet thing. I got a present for you. It came in the mail.”
Silence greeted me, but that was no big deal. The apartment is huge, maybe she was in the back somewhere. Plus, Beth often does my laundry even though I’ve told her again and again that it’s not necessary.
“I have a cleaning lady,” I growled one day as she folded my underwear. “No need to dirty your pretty little hands.”
But my girl had shaken her head.
“No, it’s okay Mason. I don’t mind. I like touching these things, they make me feel like you’re here with me,” she’d confessed, cheeks coloring softly. And what could I do but kiss her then? Hold the female tight and infuse the touch with everything that I felt, all the goodness she brought into the world.
So maybe Beth was in the back right now, doing some laundry as the machines pounded away. God knows those things are loud, practically causing earthquakes.
Nonchalant, I strode through the empty rooms, scanning for my girl.
“Beth? Beth?” I called again.
But oddly, there was no reply. Okay, my apartment’s big, but it’s not that big. This is New York after all, and there are no truly huge spreads. So what the hell? But the kitchen was empty. The stove cold. Everything neatly put away, even though the brunette usually cooks. I looked at my watch, puzzled. It was just after six. Where could she be?
“Baby?” I rumbled again, my voice echoing through the space. “Baby?”
With my mom’s present still in hand, I headed for the bedroom, loosening my tie and grinning with anticipation. God, she was in here for sure, just waiting for me to make an entrance. And my dick jerked in anticipation.
Because last time, Beth had been waiting on her hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow, legs spread wide open as her fingers played with those sweet pink folds. And when I made an entrance, the brunette swung around to look at me, all hungry eyes and hotly heaving tits.
“Mason?” had been her throaty cry. “Mason, now!”
Of course, I obliged. I was all over that her like white on rice, dicking the female good. But today, the bed was empty. The drapes were wide open and the New York skyline glittered outside the glass, cold and calculating. Hmm. Odd.
But then I noticed it. A trail of scattered clothes, half folded, leading to the walk-in closet.
What the hell?
Cold sweat popped out on my forehead. Something was wrong. It had to be. Beth was neat and organized. She’d never leave things lying around like some slob.
Did something happen to her? Holy shit, maybe the female had passed out. Maybe she was pregnant and fainted while putting away the clothes.
Immediately, I bolted, calling her name and thrusting the closet door open.
But that’s when reality struck.
Because the situation was unmistakable.
The bottom drawer of the dresser was jerked out, still halfway open. More clothes were heaped messily in random piles.
But it the notebooks that made the blood drain from my face. They were scattered all over the flor, colorful and half-open, laying with their spines bent.
Photos of Beth looked up at me, naked and spread out on the couch on my office, panting heavily as she took her first dick.
Photos of other women, pink and flush, in a variety of poses.
Beth must have found them.
Fuck!
Why had I been such a dumb shit?
I should have locked this crap up. I should have burned it. But the truth is, it’d slipped my mind. These last two months have been so freakin’ amazing that I forgot all about the fucking fuck book until last night’s meeting. Shit shit shit!
And now Beth had found it.
I was so screwed, my hand scrabbling for my cell.
The phone bleated, calling my best girl.
Pick up, baby. Pick up, I commanded mentally. Please pick up.
But the phone rang and rang, before shunting to voicemail. I tried again. She didn’t pick up. She wouldn’t pick up.
My knees felt weak and I literally staggered then, bracing myself against the closet wall. Thump-THUMP! Thump-THUMP! My heart pounded like a giant taiko drum. Holy shit, I was having chest pains, my life exploding in front of me.
Because Judgment Day had come, but I wasn’t ready.
I’d hoped to push the discovery off by years, maybe even decades. Twenty years from now, after Beth and I were married with kids, the whole fuck book concept wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be a joke more than anything, a reminder of my bachelor past. Something that we’d laugh about when we were old and gray, seated companionably in rocking chairs on the porch.
But shit!
It’d all gone off the rails.
My fingers dug spastically into the wood of the door frame, splinters digging into my skin.
She’d found it, and now it was over.
All over.
And like some sick joke, a photo of my beautiful girl lay on the floor, taunting me.
Her face, sighing with ecstasy, legs spread as I held that creamy vag open.
“Hymen Pic #4,” it was labeled in clear black letters. “A+.”
And the damning evidence was like a coffin door slamming shut.
Because Beth was gone now.
After seeing that, who wouldn’t be?
I couldn’t blame her.
I could only blame myself.