Crashed (Mason Brothers 2)

“If there’s someone you’re interested in, talk to her. Take chances. Take risks. Be that man.” Donna smiled at me. “You never know what will happen.”

“Except I do,” I said. “I do know. I’ll get turned down and pitied. And I’ll feel worse than I did before. I can’t go down that road again.” The road I’d been on after the accident was the darkest place I’d ever been, and it had taken me years to recover. “It isn’t somewhere I can go.”

Donna looked at me for a long minute, her expression serious. She opened her mouth as if to say something. Then her expression cleared and she smiled again.

“Okay, then,” she said. “I guess I’ll try the herbs.”

Eight

Tessa

* * *

It was hot. The worst heat wave in Michigan in ten years—the Internet said so—and the air conditioning in my grandmother’s house was broken. I had found a small, 1980’s-era oscillating fan in the basement, and I’d plugged it in next to the bed, but the whisper of air it gave off wasn’t doing much to cool me off, even at nearly midnight.

Yet another night without sleep. I might become delirious.

I lay on top of my grandmother’s bedspread, wearing only a tank top and a pair of panties, staring miserably at the ceiling and sweating. I had a busy day tomorrow: an interview at one of the bars I’d applied at and, incredibly, a modeling casting call. I’d found an ad for an open call for a catalog. I wasn’t used to open calls anymore, but without an agent I had no choice but to try it. I needed to do what I did best: show up, wear underwear, and smile.

But without any sleep, I’d look terrible. I sighed and flopped over on the bed, trying to get closer to the fan.

Next to my pillow, my cell phone rang. It was Andrew Mason.

“Hello?” I said in surprise as I answered it.

“Your light is on,” Andrew said. “Why is your light on?”

That voice. It instantly calmed my nerves and gave me that familiar shiver at the same time. “I can’t sleep,” I said.

“Why not?”

I rolled onto my back again. “It’s hot,” I panted.

He was quiet for so long I wondered if he’d hung up.

“Andrew?” I said.

He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

I realized what I’d said and how I’d said it. “Sorry. Did that sound sexual?”

“It’s fine,” Andrew said. “Totally fine. Is your air conditioning broken?”

“Yes. I called four different companies, but this is the worst heat wave in a decade and they’re all booked solid. The earliest I could get someone to fix it is next week.”

“That sucks. Do you have a fan?”

“Yes. It does nothing. I might not live until next week, in which case you’ll be rid of me. Why are you awake so late?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t sleep.”

For the first time, I realized we weren’t arguing, bantering, or—whatever it was we had done before. We were just talking, his voice low in my ear. I felt some of my nerves relax. “Are you in bed?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. It’s a stupid question, I guess. I’m just curious about you. Your life.”

“It isn’t very interesting,” Andrew said. “Ask me anything you want to know.”