Chapter 17

Mason and I sat on my hardwood floor, surrounded by mismatched cushions and pillows. We each grabbed a slice of the extra-large pizza, practically drooling with anticipation. The wonderfully pungent scent of garlic filled the room as we bit into the gooey cheese and golden crust.

"You're really going to go to your ex's housewarming party?" he asked between bites.

My mouth was full, so all I could do was nod.

He set his half-eaten slice back in the box and wiped his mouth. "There's no talking you out of it, is there?"

I shook my head.

"Okay then," he said. "Good luck with that."

I glanced down at the contrast of our shoes—his well-worn black skate shoes with gum soles and my too-bright, purple fuzzy slippers.

The sight made me smile.

For a grumpy skater boy, he sure was a good listener.

"Thanks for hanging out with me tonight," I told him.

"It's been interesting," he said. "You'll have to let me know how it all turns out."

That's when it came to me—a not-quite-terrible but also not-so-great idea.

"Oh my goodness," I clapped my hands together. "I have an idea."

Mason, however, was not bubbling with excitement. "What is it?" he asked.

"Okay, so I know this is a ridiculous idea fueled by a bad day and wine, but what if you came with me to the party?"

His bright blue eyes widened as his curly hair shook with his head. "No way. Not happening."

"I'm allowed a plus one," I pointed to the fine print on the invitation. "It says so right here."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but hell no."

"Please!" I begged him.

"I'm not getting involved in your drama," he said. "I don't do drama."

"Well, now that we're friends…" I gave him a sly smile.

"I invited drama into my life the moment I befriended you?" he asked.

"Exactly!"

He let out a deep sigh and ran his hand through his messy tufts of hair, letting the dark curly locks slip between his fingers.

"You know it's a terrible idea, right?" he asked.

"No, it's not!" I insisted.

I lifted the pizza box lid and watched the last slices shift to one side. Sighing, I closed it and rose from the floor. I settled onto my couch, curling my legs beneath me.

"Okay, give me one reason why you should go," Mason said as he joined me.

I shrugged, "I might be able to network at the party. It could bring me future clients."

"I'm sure you know plenty of guys who would have no problem escorting you."

"Yeah," I huffed, "but they would want to escort me. I need someone with zero interest in me who can be my wingman."

He lifted one eyebrow. "How am I wingman material?"

"Well, how you look at me," I explained, "is completely respectful. You aren't checking me out, like, at all. You haven't used a single line on me in the five times I've seen you. And, I mean, you seem pretty safe, you know, for a skateboarder."

His deep laugh echoed through my bones. "I seem pretty safe?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What if I say yes?" he asked. "What's in it for me?"

"I'll be eternally indebted to you."

"That's a strong offer."

"Oh!" I squealed. "And you'll be my new best friend!"

"Oh, well then, why didn't you say so," he said. "So, what, I would be pretending to be your date?"

"Exactly," I said.

"Real talk, it's a fucking terrible idea. If he finds out, you won't live it down."

"He's not going to find out," I promised him. "I'm an amazing actress."

"Okay."

"Okay, like, okay, you'll do it?"

"Okay, like, okay, I'll do it," he repeated, mocking my high-pitched tone.

"That's not how I sound." I crossed my arms.

He ignored me. "I can't promise I'm an amazing actor, though."

"After that impression of me, I do have my doubts. You'll just have to follow my lead," I told him. "Shake on it?"

With a weary glance in my direction, he extended his hand to me. His calloused thumb rubbed against my skin as his hand engulfed mine.

"Yay!" I squealed as I jumped off the couch. My body launched into a spontaneous dance, and my hips swayed effortlessly to the infectious beat in my head like no one was watching.

But someone was watching.

I abruptly stopped my carefree dancing when I remembered Mason sitting on my plush couch.

"Sorry," I said, my skin blushing. "I'm so used to being alone in my apartment."

"Oh, don't stop on my account," he said.

I plopped back down on the couch. "This is the best plan I've ever had!"

"If you say so," he said, but he didn't seem as sure. "When is the party again?"

"One month from tomorrow," I said.

Mason moved closer, our knees touching as we peered at the script lettering of the invitation.

He scowled, "That's the tackiest shit I've ever seen."

"I thought I was being cruel, but it's so tacky, right?"

"I can confirm," he nodded, "you are not just being a hater."

"Ugh, thank you! You do not know how much I needed to hear that right now."

"Who has a formal invitation for a housewarming party?" he asked.

I laughed at the look of disgust he wore on his face.

"Do you think we can do this?" I asked.

"Not at all," he admitted.

"Mason! You're supposed to be a more supportive friend than that," I whined. "Try again."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I think you're doing this for all the wrong reasons. A friend tells you the fucking truth, whether you want to hear it or not, is on you."

"Why do you think I'm doing this?" I whispered.

"Because you're not over it," he replied. "I don't know what the it is. It could be the security of a relationship, the sex, the attention, the comfort. You'll have to figure that out on your own."

I made a wrong-answer buzzer sound, and his blue eyes widened.

"Why does everyone think I'm not over it?" I asked. "I'm the one who ended the relationship!"

"That doesn't automatically guarantee you're over it," he said.

"Can't a girl just want to remain professional, go to her ex-boyfriend's housewarming party, and move on with her life?" I asked. "Yes, I might want to prove something to him, but it's not what you think."

"Okay," he said. "I believe you."

"Do you really?" I asked.

"I'm starting to."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," Mason repeated. "Well, I should get going." He stood and reached for his nearby sweatshirt, pulling it over his head. He shook out his hair before he carried our wine glasses to my kitchen sink.

"I feel like I'm getting more out of this friendship than you are," I told him. "You just spent two hours listening to me complain. It seems to be a common occurrence for us. You must think I'm the worst."

"I don't need anything from you to be your friend, Kenna," he clarified. "Hell, it's been fun?"

"You could say that," I laughed. "Are you going to ride your skateboard home?"

He nodded, his trusty companion already in his grip.

"Even though it's, like, a block away?"

He nodded again, this time with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"What if there's a rock on the sidewalk, and you don't see it, and you fall, and your head bursts open?" I asked.

"Really?" His eyebrows scrunched up.

"I don't know how it works," I half-shrugged.

"There are lights on the road for a reason," he laughed.

"Can I give you a hug?" I asked. "I feel like I need to give you a hug." I couldn't help myself. I was a hugger.

"I'm not big on hugs," he said.

"That's fine!" I said. "Totally fine. I respect that."

He hesitated for a second, then stepped forward and awkwardly enveloped me in his arms. His hug was brief but surprisingly warm.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"As a clam."

"See ya later," he said before leaving my apartment.