Rules Of Engagement

39

Glancing at Maddie, he says, “Madison, why don’t you go back to the table? Your entrée has arrived. It’ll be getting cold.”

“Good idea. Bye, Mason.” She turns and flees.

Someone being chased by a tiger couldn’t run any faster.

When she’s gone, Bobby’s veneer of civility vanishes. With cold disdain, he says, “She’s too good to see what you are, but I see you loud and clear, friend.”

I actually appreciate this. At least when the gloves come off, we can talk man to man. I despise all that bullshit polite small talk required in normal social interactions.

“‘See you loud and clear’ doesn’t make any f*****g sense, genius.”

His cheeks turn ruddy. “Pardon me, but I refuse to have a battle of the wits with an unarmed opponent.”

“Good one. How long you been waiting to use that in a conversation?” “Just stay away from her,” he says more loudly.

“Tried that. It lasted exactly twenty-one hours.”

“Then try harder.”

I take a step toward him. My voice comes out deadly soft. “Or what?” I see him fighting himself not to step back, and I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Until he says, “You don’t deserve a woman like Madison.” This f*****g asshole. “Agreed.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. But it only takes him a second to dust himself off and get right back up on his high horse.

“Even if she had a momentary lapse of judgment and consorted with the likes of you, it would be temporary. She’d come to her senses and dump you back into the gutter where you belong. Your notoriety can’t hide the fact that you’re nothing but trash. You’re beneath her.” The class card. I really love that one.

I heard a lot of it when I was growing up. It used to make me feel ashamed. Dirty, like I carried my poverty on my skin so everyone could see my ugly layer of grime.

Now it doesn’t make me feel ashamed so much as it makes me feel like breaking something.

Shaking with fury, I take another step toward him. This time he does take a step back. His eyes widen in fear.

I snarl, “The only reason you’re not lying in a pool of your own blood right now, you pretentious little prick, is because I know Maddie wouldn’t want me to hurt you. But let me tell you this: if you upset her again, if I find out if you’ve made her even a tiny bit miffed, I’ll make it my personal mission to f**k you up so bad you won’t ever be able to upset anyone about anything ever again.”

I walk away from him before I slam my fist into his nose and head out to find something else to slam it into.

19

MADDIE

B

y the time Bobby returns to the table, my post-Mason nuclear glow has worn off, and I feel like lying down somewhere cool, quiet, and dark where I won’t be disturbed.

The morgue, for instance.

I almost kissed him.

No—strike that. I almost threw myself at him and ripped off all his clothes with my teeth.

I honestly have no idea what came over me. Nothing like it has ever happened to me before. One moment I was so mad I could spit, the next my panties were on fire and the two of us were starring in our own personal porno inside my head.

And he was doing the dirtiest things to me. The filthiest.

Things I couldn’t even tell my pastor about because he would probably drop dead on the spot.

“You didn’t have to wait for me to start eating.” Smiling, Bobby takes his seat and drapes his napkin over his lap. He picks up his knife and fork and methodically starts to deconstruct his order of chicken tacos.

There are few things he finds more distasteful than eating with his hands.

I pick up my fork, too, and pretend to remember how to use it.

“I’m going to walk away now.”

“Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.”

Infuriating. That’s the word for Mason. He’s bossy, grouchy, mystifying, moody, and utterly infuriating.

And gorgeous.

And complex.

And protective.

And masculine, in the best sense of the word. If I were stranded on a desert island, he’d be the one I’d want with me. I have no doubt he’d know how to hunt for food and make a fire and build us shelter from the rain, all while fending off wild animals with tools he made with his own hands. Or, if he didn’t know how to do any of that, he’d easily figure it out.

Because he’s that guy. Shaky with social graces. Solid where it really counts.

Or maybe I’m romanticizing him again.

Realizing Bobby has asked me a question, I focus on him and push my thoughts of Mason aside.

“Excuse me?”

Bobby’s pleasant smile doesn’t falter. “I was just asking if you’ve known Mason Spark for long.”

“Not really.”

He waits for me to provide more detail, utensils hovering over his plate. Because of the nondisclosure agreement, I can’t tell him how we really met, so instead I try deflection. “How are your tacos?”

“I haven’t tried them yet.” He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, then says, “Interesting guy. He’s not at all what I thought he’d be like.”

I know I don’t have to ask. Even if I tried to change the subject again, his opinion will be forthcoming in five, four, three, two—

“Much nicer that his reputation suggests.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Though it seems his reputation with the ladies is spot on.”

I have to take a sip of water to calm my nerves before I speak. “There’s nothing going on between us.”