Mr. President

I have to walk up to them. It's now or never.

I have to somehow let Mason know that I need to talk to him. It's important. I swallow my nerves and approach them.

Lorna is the first one to notice me.

"Becca, what a pleasant surprise," she says, flashing me a smile that is anything but friendly. It's like a viper ready to strike.

Mason looks up, and gives me a casual wave. There's nothing in his eyes or body language that suggests he's excited to see me, and it leaves me confused. Did he not receive the dozen or so text messages from me? Or has he somehow decided that he wants nothing to do with me?

My stomach sinks.

Maybe Lorna has finally succeeded in getting inside of his head?

It's hard to tell. And it's driving me crazy. I have so much I need to ask him, but I can't ask him with Lorna around.

"Would you like to join us?" she asks, motioning toward the empty seat at the table. As she says this, she slides her hand affectionately on top of Mason's and he doesn't pull away.

Perhaps I'm right.

Maybe she has finally gotten to him.

186

Mason

Great. Just fucking great.

The one person—the one woman—who I really didn't want to see here at this moment is now sitting in front of me.

She's been texting and calling me relentlessly, and I can't fucking face her. As of right now, I don't know what to say. I've been avoiding her for a reason.

Lorna points to the empty seat at our table and then slides her cold, thin hand on top of mine. It's supposed to be an act of affection to get under Becca's skin, but instead it gets under mine. I want to recoil, but I can't. Her touch repulses me. You have no idea to what end.

"Would you like to join us?" Lorna asks Becca.

Please say no, please say no, please say no, I beg to myself. It's a mantra I somehow hope she can subliminally pick up, but of course I know that's wishful thinking.

I look at Becca's face and I can see a range of emotions flash through her eyes. She's fighting the urge to leave, but she ultimately decides to stay.

"I think I have an extra few minutes to spare," she says.

Fuck. Of course she's deciding to stick around.

She looks at me, trying to decipher what's going on, but I refuse to hold her gaze. I can't stomach looking at her right now. I've ignored her for this long, what's another day, right? Except that every minute at this table seems to stretch out for a fucking eternity.

I bring my glass to my lips and take a drink of my tea. Before you shake your head, I'm not going soft. I'll be hitting the scotch soon enough, don't you worry, but for now, I'm taking it easy.

"So, what brings you two here?" Becca asks us, her brows knitted. She's trying to act casual.

Lorna turns to me and smiles. She brings her hand to my neck and gives it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. I can't help but picture her hand as a baby anaconda slithering around my shoulders and threatening to squeeze the life out of me at any moment.

"We're having a romantic night out," Lorna replies.

I nearly choke on my tea. Romantic? Is that what she calls this? That's a laugh. But of course Becca doesn't know any better. She's having a hard time wrapping her head around all of this, and honestly, I don't blame her.

It's 360 degree change from the last time we spoke.

It's true that I've been playing along, but this meal, together with Lorna, is far from romantic.