Page 4 of Take Me
I mean,Ididn’t date other people.
It’s anyone’s guess what Annabelle’s game plan was.
Over dinner last night, she let me down gently.“It’s not you, it’s me.”She looked deep in my eyes, twisting the knife in my gut.“I just don’t think we should keep flogging this dead horse.”
“Are vets allowed to say that?”I forced my face to form a smile.“Or wait—was that a sex euphemism?”
“Mason.”The sympathy in her eyes made it worse.“Could you be serious for one second?”
“Okay, seriously—can we keep having sex?”
The answer was no, in case anyone’s wondering.
My sister’s soft voice pulls me back to her kitchen.“Are you positive you’re all right?”She sets a glass on the counter for milk.Probably worried I’ll drink from the carton, which—okay, fair.
“I’m great.”I dump milk in the glass and chug it like beer, refilling again before she can protest.“How long do we have until Harper gets home?”
Lucy looks fretful but doesn’t push.“Another thirty minutes, maybe.I should have texted to say she was running late, but we had this wedding crisis and?—”
“Let’s fix it.”Shoving the milk in the fridge, I head back to the table.“Move aside, ladies.The calligraphy master is here.”I snatch the pen and a candle, turning the label to face me.With a flourish, I execute the perfect curlicue B beforerides.“Boom!”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding.”Erika leans in to peer at my work.The others are talking, not paying attention to us.“That’s really good.”
“Hot, right?”Here goes the inappropriate joke.Gotta have one, right?“Chicks dig a guy with a big, thick, eight-inch long…calligraphy pen.”
Erika hands me another candle.“I saw that scrawled on the bathroom wall.”
“In calligraphy, right?”
“Duh.”She watches me ink another bold B.“I’ve also got bad news for you if you think that’s what eight inches looks like.”
Burn.I dig that about Erika.
“I prefer cans as my unit of measure—comes with the territory, owning a brewery.”
Cass and Zoe look curious, but Erika rolls her eyes.She’s heard this one before.
“Cans?”Zoe asks.
“Yep.”I grin and get another eyeroll from Erika.“My junk isn’t huge—only the size of a beer can—but man, is it long.”
“Gross.”All three of them say it, but Erika’s the only one delivering the word like a compliment.
The other two turn back around, but Erika watches me ink letters on the candles.“How did a guy with biceps like hams get so good at delicate lettering?”
“Mom taught us.”I’m secretly pleased she’s admiring my arms.“Before she ran away from home, I mean.”Whoops, didn’t mean to get grim.“I’ve always been the best at it.”
“No lie,” Lucy says, sitting back down.“How many straight men do you know who own a successful business, can deadlift kegs without breaking a sweat, and can also dothis?”
I do a show-offy twirl with the pen and move to the next candle.Erika picks up the one I’ve just finished.
“I’ve never been good at stuff like this.”She nibbles a bitten-down fingernail.“I tried to write Neil a love letter when he was in Baghdad.I got this pretty pink pen and lavender oil to spray on the paper.Spent hours trying to make my writing look cute.”
“Yeah?”I can’t picture Erika spritzing perfume on a letter.“How’d it go?”
“He had to call and ask what it said.”She laughs, but it sounds kinda shaky.“Couldn’t read my writing.”
Neil is her ex, by the way.The dickhead who dumped her on the dance floor at Zoe and Cal’s reception.In that two-second lull in The Replacements’ song “Can’t Hardly Wait,” the whole fucking room heard Neil Eastman blurt, “We need to break up.”
