Page 41 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
“AshLynn?”
When she doesn’t respond again, I get up and head to the bathroom, knocking loudly on the door.
“What?!” she screeches like an angry monkey.
“You didn’t answer, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Of course I am. I didn’t answer because I didn’t feel the need to talk to you.”
Why did I expect any different?
“Okay, well it’s just under an hour before we need to meet them, I’m going to take a drive around the island. Want me to swing back by to get you?”
“No. I’m riding with my parents.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you there then.”
“Yep.”
“Good talk,” I mutter to myself.
I take a stroll around the hotel grounds before heading to the valet station for my car. The weather is clear and in the high 70s. In other words, perfect. The valet station is not busy, which I find surprising given it should be about checkout time, and he has my car to me in minutes. I tip him a twenty and put the top down on the convertible before heading out.
The day calls for classic rock. I find a playlist and put it on shuffle mode and head out. “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC cycles on first. I turn it up, happy that I splurged for the upgraded stereo system with this rental, because some guitar riffs call for loud with bass.
The sun is shining and peeking through the trees at random intervals, everything is green, and the rain from last night makes it smell clean. This is my favorite part about Washington State, just after the rain when the air feels pure, the sky is the lightest blue, and it feels like nothing can go wrong with a day that begins like this.
“Feel Like Making Love” by Bad Company plays next. I sing along with the chorus and think of Willow. A flash fantasy runs through my mind with me singing this song to her. Her wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her body against mine, gyrating her hips, my hands on her ass squeezing those delectable globes.
I’ve made it about a third of the way around the island when my phone rings. I answer it through the Bluetooth connection in the car. It’s my buddy Jake whose party I was just at in Leavenworth.
“Yo,” I answer.
“Dude,” he replies. “Where the hell are you?”
“Bainbridge. Why?”
“Wanted to make sure that girl you gave a ride to wasn’t a serial killer.”
“Ha, funny.”
“I thought so.”
“Not a serial killer, no. But you won’t believe what’s happened.” I proceed to tell him the entire story as I’m driving. Not surprisingly, he laughs at most of it. Especially the part where I’m on my way to have brunch with her parents atthe club.
“It’s not funny,” I say laughing. Because even I know it’s kind of funny. “I have no idea how the fuck I got myself in this situation.”
“The sister, the one you like, she’s going to be at brunch too?”
“Yeah, man. What are the chances she’ll want to go out with me after she finds out this was all a lie?”
“I’m going to say slim, but I can ask Lisa if you want a female opinion,” he says of his wife.
“No, don’t tell her. She’ll give me shit about this for the rest of my life.”
“Too late, man. I tell that woman everything.”
“You’re a dick.”
