Chapter 9
Sarah
I laughed every time I thought about that conversation. Giving men like that a dose of their own medicine is exactly what they needed sometimes. But it was odd. Even after the conversation we had, he kept calling. Playboys didn’t do that type of shit. It was all over the news. The women he interchanged. The different flavor every week articles that broke down the new woman on his arm. What she wore. What she did for a living. Where they probably met. How long they would last.
I knew he wasn’t hunting for another woman because he was spending his free time blowing up my damn cell phone.
He was supposed to be this big, bad playboy, but all he portrayed himself to be was this desperate, insecure man.
He kept calling, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’d ignore him, and he’d leave a voice message. I’d turn off my phone, and he was texting me. And every single time he kept asking me for the same thing.
He wanted to take me out on another date.
I didn’t want to go out on another date with him. I didn’t want to waste my time trying to give him a dose of his own medicine again. Men like Mason Baker needed to be brought down a peg, that much was for sure, but I’d settle for him no longer blowing up my phone.
So, I finally picked it up and listened.
“Just let me take you out one more time. And this time, you can plan the date.”
“Excuse me? You’re asking me on a date, and you want me to coordinate it?” I asked.
“Not execute it. Paint me the perfect date, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Are you trying to redeem yourself or something?” I asked.
“Think of it as a second first impression.”
Honestly? It sounded kind of nice. After all the jerks I’d met and the bullshit I went through in high school, it would be nice to actually get the date I wanted. And it was one date, right? Mason Baker surely didn’t do the iconic third date.
Hell, we did on the first date what usually waits until the third date.
“Okay,” I said. “A second date, it is.”
“So, talk to me. About your perfect first date.”
“No, no, no, no. I’m agreeing to this under one solid principle,” I said.
“Name it, beautiful.”
“Stop fucking calling my phone. No phone calls until the day before the date to solidify things, if you need to.”
“I can do that,” he said. “How do you feel about Monday night?”
I see how he wiggled around that principle. That cheeky little bastard.
“Monday night sounds fine. You can pick me up at my place around the same time as our last date.”
“All right. So, what constitutes your perfect first date?”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I was very relieved my phone wouldn’t be ringing off the hook anymore, but I had to admit that having his attention was nice. It wasn’t like the first date was terrible. In fact, it had been wonderful. It wasn’t without its awkward and guarded moments, but welcome to the world of first dates. That’s how that shit went. He had been on my mind, but not enough to blow up his fucking phone.
However, I was intrigued by this new concept of a second date.
“I want you to take me on a cruise on the countryside in your convertible. Top down so the wind can blow through my hair.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said.
“I want you to take me to Wylie. It’s north of Dallas, sandwiched between two beautiful lakes. Make a picnic basket so we can eat in your car. We’re going to find ourselves a remote location right on the edge of the lake so we can watch the stars reflect in the still lake waters, where we eat and actually open up about ourselves.”
“Are you holding me to that or yourself to that as well?” he asked.
“Any in-depth answer you give, I’ll give an equal in-depth answer in return,” he said.
“And who is the judge of these answers?”
“I am,” I said. “Afterward, when we’re done eating and talking, we’re going to cruise back to your place with the top of your car up, holding hands.”
“Holding hands.”
“Yep,” I said. “We’ll go back to your place and sit on that same couch we sat on last time, except you’re going to make me a decent cocktail this time instead of crapping out and just opening a bottle of wine.”
“That was expensive wine.”
“Leave it closed for someone else. Cocktails and that couch. What happens from there happens,” I said.
“I think I can do that. See you Monday at seven. And I won’t even call you until I’m there. I take it you want to come out like last time?’”
“Yes. Have the door open and ready for me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
I could feel his grin through the phone, and my spine shivered with anticipation.
“See you then, playboy.”
I hung up the phone and giggled. Holy hell, that man was relentless, and I was excited about the prospect of screwing him again. If there was one thing that man did well, it was fuck. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. I needed him to think he was still working. Men who thought they were still working for it threw their all into sex.
And that’s what I wanted.
Some fucking good sex like we had last time.
I was a bit nervous again, but this time I was more excited than nervous. I knew exactly what was going to happen, and it was going to be romantic. He thought he was just doing all these things to get me in bed, but I was able to concoct the one date I’d never been privy to.
A simple, romantic, vulnerable evening between two people.
We wouldn’t be under the scrutiny of the press, no one would be trying to take pictures of us, and we could get his fucking wallet out of the way. He thought he could lavish me with expensive things and that would be enough. I wanted to drop that defense and see the person who was behind that wallet of his.
The person he attempted to hide from the world.
I gathered my things and went to meet up with Emma. I promised her we would do dinner tonight, but when I got to the restaurant, she was in a rough mood. I checked to make sure I wasn’t late before I ordered my food and drink, and it took her ten minutes to finally take a deep breath and speak what was on her mind.
“My fucking brother never showed up for dinner the other night,” she said.
“Well, I was about to ask you what was wrong, but there it is,” I said.
“He promised this time. He told me he’d fucking be there, and he stood me up again.”
“You mean the brother that’s been absent from your life for essentially all of it?” I asked.
“Yeah. That one.”
“Why are you even trying? He wasn’t in your life when you were born. You didn’t grow up with him. Sure, you share the same DNA—”
“Half DNA,” she said.
“Whatever. The point is, why are you suddenly reaching out to him now?”
Honestly, I was glad for the diversion. It meant I didn’t have to divulge the fact that I was going out with this guy again. This was exactly the kind of shit she tried to steer me away from, and I knew she would chastise me and say something to make me back out of it. I was actually excited about this date, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. I was ready to see how Mason would interpret what I’d told him I wanted, and I was secretly buzzing with delight in my seat.
“Because he’s family,” she said. “You don’t turn your back on family.”
“Unless they turn their backs on you,” I said.
“Sarah, your situation was different.”
“Not really,” I said. “My dad chose drugs over me, and my mom chose him over me. They abandoned me, so I never went back. I don’t reach out to them. I don’t talk to them. I sure as hell don’t try to schedule dinners with them. Has this mysterious brother given any indication to you that he wants to reconcile or whatever it is you’re trying to do?”
“Half-brother,” she said.
“Whatever, Emma. Answer the question.”
“Why are you being so harsh?” she asked.
“Because you’re my best friend and someone’s pissed you off. That automatically means two things. I’m going to protect you, and I’m going to kill him. Does Amazon have two-day shipping on lye and body bags?”
My question made her chuckle, and that was all I needed.
“There she is,” I said as I reached for her hand. “Emma, look at me.”
Our food was set in front of us as her eyes slowly panned over to see me for the first time since I’d sat down across from her.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” I said. “Not by a longshot. Take it as a sign and let him come to you. Trust me, the men that you least expect that treatment from are usually the ones to cave.”
“Uh huh,” she said.
Fuck, I’d said too much.
“It seems you’re talking from experience,” she said, grinning. “Does this have anything to do with the date guy?”
“The date guy,” I said. “Really?”
“Well, I don’t have a name. You gonna give up his name yet?”
“Just a few more days and then maybe,” I said, grinning.
“Sarah? What are you planning?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m not planning anything, yikes. I’m just not ready to say his name yet.”
“Whatever. Just don’t get too attached, though I know you’re not saying anything because you’re going out on a second date with him.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Tomorrow.”
“How the fuck could you possibly know that?”
“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I knew it. I’m your best friend. I know everything. Don’t fucking get attached, Sarah Williams. I’m tired of scraping you off the floor because you pick shitty men,” she said.
“I won’t, all right? Fuck.”
“You better. You’ve been very relaxed these past two days. It looks good on you. And when you are ready to indulge, I want all the sordid details.”
“Trust me,” I said, “when I’m ready to give them, you’re going to die when I tell you who it is.