Page 69 of Please Hate Me

“The bathroom is straight back at the end of the hall.” I told Mason.

She nodded once before vanishing into the still-dark hallway. The subtle sway of her hips made me smile in spite of myself, butI quickly swallowed the feeling. I needed to get the shop set up before she inevitably bothered me again.

I turned on every light, wiped the glass counter filled with replacement piercings, and headed back to my cubicle, where the speaker system was located. My staff were good people, but they all had shitty taste in music. As the owner, I had a right not to be tormented on my property. I still couldn’t play whatever I wanted, though—most of my customers weren’t keen on listening to screaming all day. I put on one of the default playlists I had made for the shop, and “Star Shopping” by Lil Peep started playing.

With the music taken care of, I settled into the small desk in the corner and pulled out my drawing tablet. I didn’t have an appointment, or even a staff member, scheduled to come in for over an hour, but I was behind on my sketches. I had a client coming in later who wanted a portrait of her pet rainbow boa curled around her forearm, and I had yet to even look at a picture of the snake. I pulled up the photo she’d sent and got to work drawing the tattoo.

My stylus glided across the screen, leaving behind trails that were slowly coming together to form the suggestion of a snake. Just as I found my rhythm, I was disrupted by a delicate shuffling against my hardwood floor. I peered over my shoulder to see Mason standing in the doorway. One hand rested on the wall, and the other on her stomach. For fuck’s sake, she needed new clothes—the black fabric around her stomach looked like it was digging into her. Maybe if I texted Sophia, she’d take a break from working her life away to take Mason shopping.

Mason’s inharmonious gaze met mine, and warmth spread to my cheeks.

I cleared my throat and placed my tablet to the side, swiveling my chair to give her my full attention. My traitorous heart needed to learn how to stop racing when she was around. Thistwisted version of Mason and I would never be a thing, not in a million years.

“Hey,” she said.

I gave her a two-finger wave to let her know I was listening.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to walk home.”

I scoffed. “Uh, no? It’d take you hours to walk all the way back.”

Mason’s lips thinned, and she held up her phone. “I tried to call for a cab, but there aren’t any in the area.”

Yeah, because one of the most recognizable celebrities in the world getting in a random person’s car was agreatidea.

“Just drive my Jeep back. It’s not doing me any good sitting there.”

She looked down and picked at a callus on her thumb. God, it was so frustrating to have a conversation with this meek little ghost of Mason-fucking-Albright. If she disagreed, why couldn’t she just tell me to shut the fuck up like she always used to?

“That’s your car,” she argued.

“You bought it for me in the first place, and I literally can’t drive it home without glasses.”

She looked back up as she bit her lower lip.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, trying to keep the annoyance from showing on my face. “I’d feel better knowing you have a safe way home… both of you.”

There was a spark in her eyes that threatened to make me melt. I distracted myself by pulling out my keyring and picking at the metal, forcing it open far enough to slide the Jeep’s fob out of the circle. I held the device out to her.

“Please?” I asked.

Mason hesitated before bridging the gap between us. Eventually, her fingers rested on mine. I knew she just wanted the keys, but I couldn’t force myself to let go.

“Why don’t you sit for a few minutes?” I swallowed. “Especially if baby girl is using your bladder like a trampoline. It’d be a shame if you pissed yourself in my car.”

A fleeting smile tugged at her lips, and I pointed to my tattoo chair. It was made of plush leather, and every part could be adjusted, which was great for clients with all-day appointments.

“It’s really comfortable,” I offered.

Her fingers tensed around the key fob, and I expected her to shoot me down. After a moment, she withdrew her hand.

“A few minutes won’t hurt.” Her voice was soft as she began walking toward the chair. Once again, the small wiggle to her steps had me smiling against my will.

“Isn’t it too soon for you to be waddling?” I teased as I adjusted the chair for her.

Her fingers brushed against the armrest as her attention wandered around the room. I wondered which of my sketches was lucky enough to hold her attention. It would be a hell of a publicity boost if I tattooed a pop star—after the baby was here, of course.

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