Rules Of Engagement

12

7

MASON

K

ill me. Just kill me now.

I could literally hear Maddie’s disgust in the pause after I blurted out that dumbass line about not being allergic to cats. I mean, it’s true. I’m not allergic to

anything except the sight of Tom Brady. But I didn’t mean for it to come out so pervy.

I sounded like a total molester. Hey, little girl, want some candy?

Which is probably on account of the dream I had about her last night, but I’m not thinking about that.

I can’t think about it. My d**k might explode.

I had to get up and take a cold shower, if you can believe that. f*****g ridiculous. Like I’m some horny teenager.

And then she called! She f*****g called me! I’m standing in my bathroom with a towel around my waist when the phone rang. And who does it turn out to be?

Her.

Maddie McRae.

The smart-mouthed librarian with an unnatural obsession with the color pink.

Who, because the universe has a really f*****g dark sense of humor, is apparently celibate.

“I’m not having s*x with anyone!” she hollered, like something as basic as s*x is beneath her. Like she tried it once and found it super gross. Too sticky, probably. Too messy. But my d**k took it as a personal challenge and stood up at attention. Again.

So now I’ve got a boner that could cut steel and a raging desire to see Maddie naked underneath me, unraveling at the seams.

Which will never happen, because I believe in one night stands and she believes in happily-everafters, and even if somehow the stars aligned and I had the opportunity to f**k her, I wouldn’t.

I’ve already ruined too much in my life. I don’t have to ruin her, too.

On the other end of the phone, she clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is unsteady.

“Um…I…part of our service is relationship coaching.”

I repeat doubtfully, “Relationship coaching.”

“Yes. Either pre-commitment with a couple who are considering marriage or with singles who’ve had trouble with past relationships and want to develop strategies to build better relationships in the future.”

If I hear the word “relationship” one more time, I might die.

When I don’t say anything, she continues. “People who are serious about having a successful life partnership can work with a coach to move faster toward that goal. I can help you identify your strengths and weakness in dealing with women.”

I laugh, because seriously. This is getting silly now. “Oh, trust me, Pink, I know exactly what my strength with women is.”

After a short pause, she says something that throws me for a complete f*****g loop.

“You’re much more than what’s between your legs, Mason. You have a lot to offer.”

I open my mouth, then shut it. Then I turn my back on the bathroom mirror because I can’t stand that look on my face. That stunned, baby deer look.

I had that look on my face a lot when I was a kid.

It only ever meant one thing: weakness.

“You don’t have to give me fake flattery,” I snap, pacing into my closet. I whip off the towel and throw it onto the floor. “You’ve already got my f*****g money.”

“Yes, I do,” she snaps back. “And if you curse at me one more time, I’ll shred it and send it all back to you in a big black garbage bag so you know exactly how impressed I am by it.” She huffs.

I hate myself that I think it sounds adorable.

I spend a minute glaring at my clothes hanging in row after row in this stupid closet that’s so big it could double as a spare bedroom, until I realize she’s waiting for me to say something.

I shock myself by making that something an apology.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” My voice is low and gruff, but sincere. Holding my breath, I wait for her to reply.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft. Then, after a pause: “As your coach, I have to tell you that that was excellent. Taking responsibility and apologizing when you’ve done something to upset your partner is a really healthy way to communicate.”

I’m so mind f****d by the quiet appreciation in her voice that I don’t know how to respond. So, unfortunately, I revert to baseline—asshole mode.

“I haven’t agreed to this coaching thing. And you’re not my partner.”

The minute it’s out, I know it’s all wrong. Too loud, too mean, too insulting. Her silence is frosty. But I can’t take it back, and it’s probably for the best anyway.

She should know who she’s dealing with.

But she surprises me again. In an untroubled tone, she says, “No, you haven’t agreed, but you will. And then I will be your partner, though strictly in a business sense. So I’ll tell you up front what my expectations are. First and foremost, you must always be honest with me. Good or bad, just let me have it. I can’t help you if I don’t know how you really feel.”

“Let me stop you right there. I don’t do feelings, okay? As far as I’m concerned, that’s a fourletter word.”

She totally ignores me. “Secondly, I expect you to listen to my suggestions. You don’t have to agree with them, but I want you to at least give them serious consideration.” “Like what?” I challenge.