Page 48 of Sapphire Spring

I am sober.

I am going to find out what expression Naser Kazemi makesright before he’s kissed.

He’d left his cell phone on the counter during his run. Therewas a text waiting for him.

From Chadwick. His gut clenched. This hour on a Saturdaymorning wasn’t usually Chadwick’s prime time. He’d sent a picture of a woman Masondidn’t recognize. She was sleeping, and she was naked. And the only reasonMason knew this is because in one part of the frame Chadwick’s hand drew backthe comforter from her body. He’d deflected most of Chadwick’s texts all weekwith tap backs and insincere LOLs, but this one was over the line.

Mason winced, fingers taping before he could stop them.

Did that young lady give her consent for that photo?

Mason had finished half a cup of coffee before the responsecame.

Fag.

Chadwick threw the term around all the time, always as aninsult, and often at Mason. This time, it landed hard. Mason felt his jaw tenseas he glared at the screen.

He mulled over a dozen different responses, ranging from theself-righteous to the confessional. In the end, he set the phone aside andstarted upstairs. Maybe not denying the label was honest enough. For now.

He was almost in the shower when he remembered Chadwick’sstrange request from a week ago. There’d been so much drama since, he’dforgotten entirely about the affidavit. It helped that Chadwick had nevergotten back to him with the date in his former employee’s complaint.

Which was odd.

Had he managed to smooth the whole thing over? Doubtful,given Chadwick’s raging ego and his passing understanding of the legal system.

Or had he realized Mason wasn’t going to lie for him?

If it was the latter, the realization wasn’t enough to destroytheir friendship, given the casual and jokey texts Chadwick had been sendingall week. As he stood under the cleansing spray, Mason found that factstrangely disappointing.

A few hours later, Mason was dressed and sitting onShirley’s balcony for their regular one-on-one. They were taking turns readingparagraphs from theBig Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. So far, theirmorning sessions had been a wonderful chance to discover he wasn’t alone whenit came to twisted and self-deceptive ways of thinking about drinking. When hisphone chimed with a text, he shot to his feet. “Be right back. Two seconds.Promise.”

She sighed. He’d been distracted all morning, often losinghis place in their readings, and twice she’d called him on it. Now he wasracing through her textile- and ceramics-filled house toward the streetoutside.

His old fraternity brother Jake Donaldson was standing infront of Mason’s garage door, next to the used blue Lexus sedan he’d emailedMason pictures of the day before. After UCLA, Jake had gone into his dad’sluxury car business, and he was currently shaking his bald head in what lookedlike numb denial over their rushed transaction.

“You’re either out of yourdamnmind or going broke. Which is it,Worther?” Theyshared a half bear hug.

“Neither.” Mason tapped the hood of his new car with hisknuckles.

“Did you check your account? Funds should have landedyesterday.”

“I did and they did and we’re good.” Mason yanked his keyfob from his pocket and opened the garage door. They both watched withreverence as sunlight spread across the shiny silver exterior of his FerrariRoma.FormerFerrari Roma. He’d already pulled the keys off his chain,and as Jake just kept shaking his head, Mason pressed them into one of hishands, forcing the man’s reluctant fingers to close around them.

Jake entered the garage. “This is like the Beethoven’ssymphony of cars and you’re replacing it with James Taylor.”

“Nothing wrong with James Taylor.”

“Look, if you’ve got kids on the way and you need abackseat, I can get you something way nicer than a sedan.”

Mason didn’t need something nicer. He needed the cash. Hedid the math again in his head because the totals pleased him. The Ferrari wasstill so new Jake was barely taking a markdown on it, and he’d had it checkedfor beach damage that week and it had come up clean. The Lexus sedan, on theother hand, was used. He was losing only $40,000 to the trade-in. That easilygave him the $100,000 he’d promised Naser he’d invest. On top of that, another$90,000 that was all his. Which meant, more specifically, not his dad’s. ByWortherfamily standards, it was hardly a fortune, but mostpeople would kill for it. He planned to sock it away. It felt like thebeginning of something. Real savings.

Independence.

“Seriously, dude. Remember Laurie Walsh, the econ major Idated? She’s working bankruptcy law now. I can call her if you’re in trouble.”

“I’m not in trouble. Priorities are changing, that’s all.”

“Howdy, gentlemen.” Shirley’s voice startled them both.

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