Page 17 of His to Teach
“There’s my girl,” he says, standing and pulling me in to kiss my cheek. “I was starting to get worried about you.”
“I’m right on time,” I tell him, patting his shoulder affectionately. “We don’t all show up for every appointment ten minutes early.”
He pulls out my chair for me then tweaks my ponytail as I sit. “It wouldn’t be a bad habit for you to get into, Harpy.”
I make a face at the nickname as he takes his seat across from me. “Especially,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, “now that you’re entering this stage of your life. Everything counts now, sweets. The impression you make on your professors andyour peers could lead to references and contacts that will serve you the rest of your career.”
Jesus, this must be some kind of record. I haven’t even touched my water glass yet and I’m already getting a classic Mason Cain lecture. He usually at leastpretendsto go through the pleasantries first.
“I’m doing well, Mase,” I say pointedly. “Thanks for asking.”
He grins at me, the sheepish expression familiar. “You’re right, I’m sorry. How are you?”
Though I’m glad to have won the point, I immediately regret forcing his question. Because I can’t really answer him honestly.I’m all confused about my sexual desires and horny as hell, Mason, how are you?That obviously won’t fly. So I shake out my napkin and place it on my lap, allowing me to avoid his eyes as I say, “I’m fine. Emma and I are all settled in the new place.”
“You like the building?”
He chose the building. I would have preferred to be closer to campus, but Mason overruled me in favor of what he considers to be a safer neighborhood. But since he insists on paying my share of the rent, I can’t really complain.
And that, right there, is the problem with us. Mason is still treating me like the thirteen-year-old girl he had taken home after Mom’s funeral. And I never feel like I can press the issue because I’m so far in his debt, so obligated, I would feel spoiled for ever complaining.
“How’s Emma?” he asks. “Getting settled in at work?”
Like me, my best friend is getting ready to start her master’s degree at Denby. But where mine is in sociology, Emma’s study is in the far more exciting field of marketing. In addition to her classes this year, she’ll be working for a swanky party-planning firm in the city.
“She was just getting the hang of things when she got sick,” I explain, reaching for my water goblet. “Now she’s been out for the last three days.”
His face immediately transforms into worry. “She’s sick? What’s wrong with her? Should you be staying there? Has she seen a doctor?”
I reach over and place my hand over his. This is one protective urge I completely understand. We both tend to be a little over the top when it comes to illness.
“I made sure she went to the doctor as soon as her temperature spiked. She has pneumonia but she’s been on antibiotics so the doctor says there’s no chance of her being contagious.”
He doesn’t look appeased. “I don’t know, Harp. Maybe you should come and stay with me just in case. You don’t want to be catching anything right before the term starts.”
“Mason, come on. I’m not going to leave my best friend when she’s sick.”
Before he can argue anymore—and he’s definitely planning to argue a lot more—a waiter arrives to take our order. I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet, but there’s really no need. I always get the same thing. “I’ll have the shrimp and grits,” I tell the waiter. “And a to-go order of the mascarpone pancakes after we’re finished. Can you put them on a separate check?”
Mason rolls his eyes. “A separate check won’t be necessary. I can get Emma’s pancakes.” He places his usual order—the croque monsieur for him—and then surprises me by telling the waiter someone else will be joining us.
“I’m sure he’ll start with a Bloody Mary, so make that two.” He looks over at me, eyebrows raised. “And a mimosa?”
I nod in agreement and the waiter adds the drinks to our order before hurrying off into the bustle of the restaurant.
“Someone is joining us?”
He grins, like he’s about to bestow a great treat. “Do you remember me talking about my friend, Chase?”
I nod. Apparently, an old college buddy—they both went to Denby, too— of Mason’s is teaching at my university. I’d never met him before. My brother was always very careful to keep his social life far from me. Couldn’t have the little girl knowing he drank beer with his buddies.
I assume, based on Mason’s age, that this friend of his must be an associate professor, so I haven’t made much of an effort to pay attention when he’s brought it up. An associate professor in a different department is hardly likely to be very helpful towards my academic ambitions.
I’m sure Mason just wants him to keep an eye on me—not an arrangement I’m at all interested in.
“Chase has a few hours free today so I invited him to join us. I figured he could give you some good inside information before you go in for orientation.”
Wonderful. This is just what I need. If the man is a friend of Mason’s he’s probably every bit as uptight as my brother. The odds of me enduring a double lecture before the meal is over seem high.
