Chapter 10

Islid onto the leather bar stool beside my friends Bridget and Mallory, "Hey, girls!"

"Kenna!" Mallory squealed. "Finally!"

"What took you so long?" Bridget asked. Her usual hip-length, copper-red hair was styled in the sleekest bob.

"What is this hair?!" I shrieked—an excited shriek, mind you. "You chopped it off!"

"Do you like it?" Bridget asked.

"I love it," I reached forward to caress my friend's locks. "You were already stunning. But this? Should I just go home now?"

"It's hot, right?" Mallory said.

"Oh, stop," Bridget blushed.

"Oh, like you don't love the attention," Mallory smirked at her.

The bartender placed our cocktails in front of us, each glass garnished with a different citrus wedge.

"Thanks for ordering," I told my friends before I took my first sip.

"We thought it was safe when you finally texted us saying you were on your way," Bridget said.

"You're a workaholic," Mallory chimed in.

I was used to hearing that word. I didn't think of myself as a workaholic. I was passionate and determined to be successful, and if that equated to being a workaholic, then so be it.

"So, catch us up," Bridget said. "What's new?"

I took a deep breath before I went into full-on vent mode. While I relayed the details of my lovely conversation with Brett, my friends' faces turned sour.

Bridget and Mallory exchanged tense glances before shaking their heads in unison.

"This is not a good idea," Bridget finally said.

"You know you will regret it if you help him," Mallory said next.

"Will I, though?" I asked. "I'll walk away with a paycheck and a happy, Brett-free life. I don't predict any regret in my future."

"You know what, you deserve a payday from him," Mallory said.

"That's my point exactly," I said. "I might as well get something out of knowing him. Otherwise, it was all for nothing."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but that guy over there keeps eye fucking me," Mallory announced.

I was more than happy to change the subject.

"Where?" I asked as I subtly glanced around the bar.

A man eye fucking Mallory was nothing new. Knowing her, she was eye fucking him right back.

"He's behind you," Mallory clarified.

I immediately swiveled in my seat.

"No, don't look now!" Mallory scream-whispered.

He waved to us from across the room, and Mallory's face lit up. Without saying a word, she stood and confidently strode across the bar towards him.

We were used to it.

"So, do you think helping Brett is a bad idea?" I asked Bridget.

"I think it is a bad idea only if you do," she told me. "You know yourself better than anyone. If you think you can find him a house and complete the transaction without any feelings or drama, then by all means, get your paycheck, girl."

"You don't think I'm over him, do you?" I asked.

"No, I know you are over him," she said. "But I also know you think you have something to prove to him when you don't."

"I do feel like I have something to prove," I admitted. "To Brett, to myself. Maybe this will be the way to let that go. My closure."

"Whatever you think is best, I support you," Bridget told me, but her eyes were fixed on a man across the room.

I was being a buzzkill and didn't want to drag my friends down with me. They deserved to have some fun.

"I'm going to head home," I told Bridget.

"No! Stay!" Bridget pleaded with me, but it was halfhearted. We both knew I wasn't in the mood.

I stood from the booth, "Go talk to Mr. Tall, Dark Handsome over there. Text me later?"

"Yes, be safe," she told me when I kissed her cheek.

Thankfully, the bar was only a few blocks away from my apartment. I might not have had a long journey home, but it was long enough to board the overthinking train. I couldn't decide what to do about Brett, but I also wouldn't allow him to live rent-free in my head until I made a decision.

"On your left," a voice behind me shouted, and I jumped.

Three men rushed by me on skateboards, one of their arms grazing mine.

"Hey, watch out!" I yelled.

How many skateboarders were in Charleston? I felt like I needed to go to the next town hall meeting and get them banned from cruising downtown. They were a total nuisance.

One of the men's silhouettes turned, and the sound of the board on concrete became louder as he approached me. I instinctively pulled my bag closer to my body.

Until I noticed it was Mason.

He spoke with profound disappointment, "You again?"

I flashed a loathsome grin at him, "This is the second time you've done this, Mason. We can't keep meeting like this."

"Trust me, the pleasure is not mine," he said. "What are you doing out here alone this late?"

It was barely nine o'clock.

"What do you care?" I asked while I continued to walk, not stopping to chat.

"You're right. I don't," he said, hopping on his board and skating away.

But he didn't get far.

I watched from a distance as he leaned against the lamppost at the street corner ahead of me, his eyes fixed on me with curiosity.

As I approached, he straightened himself and pushed away from the lamppost.

"Are you walking far?" he asked.

"Nope, almost there."

"Oh," he glanced at my building, clearly recalling our first meeting. "Yeah."

"As long as I don't get mowed down by a skateboarder, I'll be fine."

"Right."

"Are you and your buddies out causing mayhem?" I asked.

"Most businesses are closed," he explained, "and some parking garages are clearing out. It's the best time to skate."

"Ah, so you can avoid getting kicked out of spots," I said, "makes sense."

After what felt like an eternity, the flashing red hand on the pedestrian signal finally gave way to a solid white figure. With urgency, I quickened my pace and stepped confidently onto the street.

Mason was glued to my side.

"Where did your buddies go?" I asked. "Do they always just skate off without you?"

"They're headed to our next spot," he explained. "I don't need them holding my hand to get there."

"I see," I said as we approached the hair salon below my apartment.

"Well, I'm going to—" Mason began.

"Oh no!" I screamed.

Mason turned towards me with concern etched on his face, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," I said, but my growling stomach told him I was lying.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," I admitted, "and forgot to go to the store today."

He looked stunned. "That's why you were just screaming at the top of your lungs?"

"Sorry," I said. "I can be a bit dramatic when I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since this morning. Honestly, I can't stop thinking about a Cheesy Gordita Crunch."

"Taco Bell?" He studied me for a moment before he cocked his head and sighed. "Do you want me to take you to Taco Bell?"

My smile widened at his question, but I tried to hide it. "No, no. I'm sure I have some popcorn or something in my pantry. I'll be fine!"

"Popcorn is not dinner, Kenna," he said.

"I thought you were going to skate?"

"I haven't eaten dinner yet either," he shrugged. "I need to fuel up."

"Where do you live?"

"One block away from you," he answered.

"Why have I never seen you skating around here before?" I asked. "I've lived here for two years."

"I just moved in," he explained.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"I mean, I don't usually accept offers to go to Taco Bell with strangers," I teased. "But I think a Cheesy Gordita Crunch is worth risking my life."

He didn't respond. Instead, he motioned for me to follow him down the street. We approached a Jeep Cherokee, its glossy black exterior gleaming under the streetlamp. I slid into the car, inhaling the lingering scent of cologne.

Mason's hands gripped the steering wheel, his long fingers tapping along to the screaming metal music I could barely hear from his speakers while he drove.

Did he think he couldn't turn up the music because I was in the car? I didn't listen to heavy metal, but itwas his car.

Taco Bell's neon purple sign illuminated the night sky before us, and my stomach growled with hunger. I clapped my hands together, unable to contain my excitement as we pulled into the drive-through line.

Taco Bell was my guilty pleasure.

"Do you always get this excited over tacos?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered. "Life is more fun when you get excited over the little things."

He shrugged.

"A Cheesy Gordita Crunch, and what else?" Mason asked as we approached the order box.

"A Mexican Pizza!" I clapped my hands again, "and a medium Baja Blast."

He placed my order along with two quesadillas and a Baja Blast for himself.

"Please drive forward," the employee told us.

"My treat!" I told him as we pulled up to the window.

Five minutes later, I fumbled with the seatbelt and stepped out of Mason's Jeep. My greasy bag of Taco Bell was in one hand, and an icy cold Baja Blast in the other.

"Did you want to come upstairs to eat?" I asked.

"Nah," was all he said. No explanation.

I figured it was a stupid question since a) he said he lived right around the corner, and b) he had plans to skate with his friends.

"Thanks for the ride," I offered him a sweet smile.

"Thanks for the Taco Bell," he replied.

"Well, see ya."

"See ya," was all he said before he pulled away.