But when I got up to leave, he made a comment I didn’t understand. I thought about it on the cab ride back home, while the female driver chatted on about her grandkids and how good her chicken and dumplings were.
When I had thanked him for fitting me into his schedule so quickly, he had said I had Mr. Manning to thank for that.
Question was, what did that mean? Had Mase done something to get him to act so swiftly? And if so, what?
Mase
Next time someone knocked on my door, I was going to check out the window first before opening it. I had been waiting for Reese’s call when I’d made the mistake of answering a knock at the door. Cordelia, my friend with benefits, came strutting in wearing her skintight jeans and a halter crop top. Her boots clicked on the hardwood floor, and she smirked at me as she moved toward my bedroom.
“You haven’t called, and I need a good fuck,” she hollered over her shoulder, before pulling the halter top off and tossing it at me with a laugh.
My cock didn’t even twitch. Shit.
I had hoped this . . . thing I was feeling about Reese wasn’t more than just a friendship thing. But fuck me, all I could see was what was wrong with Cordelia. For starters, her belly button was pierced. I used to think that was sexy, but now it seemed she was trying too hard. And her hips didn’t flare. When she swayed those nonexistent hips, there was no nice roundness to her ass. It was hardly there.
This wasn’t going to work. I’d been friends with Cordelia for years. Two years ago, we had gotten drunk and slept together, so instead of making things awkward, we’d agreed that it was OK. We’d scratch each other’s itch when we needed to. Only once had we put a halt to it, when she’d gotten serious for about four months with a guy who turned out to be married. She’d ended it, and we’d gone back to our old ways.
I didn’t date often. I wasn’t available enough for females. They were needy, and after a couple of failed relationships, I had decided that sex with Cordelia was the fix I needed. But things seemed off now. Something had changed.
And it was me.
Dammit. I didn’t have time for this.
“You should have called,” I told her, tossing her halter top back at her.
She didn’t grab it but let it fall to the ground at her feet. The confused frown on her face didn’t bode well. “I never call. I just show up. Same for you,” she reminded me.
“I’m waiting for a phone call. It’s important. I can’t tonight.”
She cupped her tits in her hands and pinched the pink nipples. “You telling me a phone call is better than this?”
I knew women well enough not to tell her the truth. So I shrugged. “Tonight’s not gonna work. I’m not sure when will work. I’ve got a busy week ahead of me.” In case these feelings that were screwing with my head where Reese was concerned faded, I didn’t want to end things with Cordelia. She was a friend, too.
She reached down and snatched up her top and jerked it back on. “Fine. Be an ass. I won’t be back, so if you want it, you have to come and get it,” she said angrily.
Oh, man. This wasn’t why I screwed around with her. Cordelia didn’t do drama. She was easy to handle. This was drama. I hated drama.
“Sorry, Cord. I really am. But I have a lot going on right now. It’s just not a good time for me. Mentally, I’m not in the game.”
She glared at me and slammed the door behind her.
With any luck, she’d sleep on this and be over it tomorrow. I liked Cordelia. I just never liked her for more than a friend. The sex thing was just better than jacking off alone. I needed to apologize to her, but for now, I was glad she’d left without too much of a fuss.
My phone rang. Suddenly, I didn’t care about Cordelia anymore.
“Hey,” I said, as I held the phone to my ear, anxious to hear Reese tell me about her meeting.
“I hope it’s not too late. There was a wreck on Thirty-One A, and traffic was backed up.” Her soft voice warmed me through the phone.
“No, it’s not too late. Who drove you?”
“I took a cab. There’s a lady Jimmy knows who lives near Panama City. She’s been working this strip of the beach for about twenty years. We don’t have many taxis around here.”
She had been with a lady. That made me feel better. A strange man driving her would have made her uncomfortable. I hadn’t thought about that. I kept forgetting that she didn’t have a car. Wait . . . “Reese, can you drive?” If she couldn’t read, she never would have passed her written test to get a license.
“No,” she answered.
Another thing that had hindered her life. “Next time I’m in town, I’m taking you out on a back road and giving you lessons. We’ll study the written test, too.”
She was silent a moment. I wondered if she was scared to get behind a wheel. Then I finally heard her shuffle around. “OK. I’d like that.”
I would, too. “Tell me about your meeting.”
“Dr. Munroe was nice. He’s very excited about helping me. I took some tests, and I’m definitely dyslexic. That’s it. That’s all that’s wrong with me. He said my teachers or my parents should have caught it when I was a kid, but somehow it was overlooked or misdiagnosed . . .” She trailed off. I didn’t want her thoughts going there. Someone had told her she was stupid, and I knew her parents were part of that.
“When do you start working with him?”