Page 13 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

“ S o, what’s going on with you and Mason?”

Shonda didn’t pause in brushing Erica’s glossy auburn hair. Truthfully, she’d been expecting the fifth degree for the last two and a half days. Honestly, it was shocking Erica had taken as long as she did. Her friend had never known a second’s restraint in her life.

“Not a thing,” Shonda replied smoothly.

“I’d turn around and call bullshit, but it hurts to move,” Erica muttered.

And it was a good thing she couldn’t see her expression, or she’d call Shonda out for a liar again.

“Take it at face value and move on,” she suggested.

Erica caught her hand and gave a gentle tug, a silent order to shift into view. Worried brown eyes met Shonda’s carefully neutral gaze.

“Shonda, it’s me. Whatever’s going on doesn’t have to go any further. Just… don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Erica insisted. “Three days ago at the hospital, you were on the verge of telling me Mason was the one. And now you’re sitting here with the soul sucked out of you.” Her voice softened with her concern. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. And if you don’t start talking, I swear, the second I’m able, I’m kicking your ass.”

Zack appeared in the doorway, to-go coffees in hand and a box of donuts under one arm. “Everything okay in here?”

“Peachy.” Shonda handed him the brush in exchange for a coffee. “I was just heading out.”

“Oh, hell no! You don’t get to leave when I can’t chase you down and yell at you,” Erica called after her.

As always, even livid, she was hilarious.

Her first real smile in two days tugged at Shonda’s mouth.

Reaching into the box, she grabbed a donut and stuffed it halfway into Erica’s gaping pie hole.

“Later,” she sang, giving a finger wave on her way out.

Erica’s sputtered outrage and Zack’s chuckle followed her.

“She’s going to murder you in her next novel, you know that, right?” Zack said, falling into step beside her.

The twinkle in his eye was unmistakable. “I don’t know if you’ve ever read her books, but one in every four murdered women bears a striking resemblance to me.”

His bark of laughter, a twin to Mason’s, had her placing a hand over her heart and rubbing.

“You okay?” he asked, gesturing to her chest.

Leave it to Mr. Perceptive.

“Heartburn,” she lied.

His brows shot up, but he let it go. Instead, he lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m throwing a surprise party for Erica tomorrow.”

Shonda choked on her next sip.

“Dude, she hates surprises. Tell her people are coming and to act surprised, or she’ll stab you in your sleep.”

The blood drained from Zack’s face, leaving him ghostly.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry!” she blurted, horrified by the faux pas.

“Can we shelve the word ‘stab’ for a bit?” he asked wryly.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she agreed, full of remorse. “Zack, I really am sorry.”

“You can make it up to me by being here tomorrow, eleven a.m. sharp.”

She grinned at how easily he manipulated her.

“I’ll be here,” she assured him. “Can I bring anything?”

“Nope. Just yourself.” Zack kissed her cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

With one hand on the door, she paused for a deep breath and to shove down the sudden wave of envy.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her, Zack.” She patted his arm, wishing she could ease his mind. “She told me you’re blaming yourself for the attacks. Don’t. You’re not responsible for all the crazies out in the world.”

He didn’t appear to believe her.

“Speaking of dastardly deeds, Mason told me about the break-ins down in St. Thomas. Any trouble since you’ve been home?” he asked.

“Dastardly deeds?” she echoed with a laugh, doing her best to ignore the surge of annoyance at Mason for sharing her business. “I can tell you’ve been hanging around an author.”

He didn’t crack a smile.

Okay, no deflecting this one.

“No, Zack. No dastardly deeds since I’ve been home. Either perpetrated by me or against me. Happy?”

With a grin, he nodded. “Tomorrow. Eleven.”

“Oh, and tell your brother I’m going to kick his ass for gossiping like an old woman,” she said with saccharine sweetness.

His grin widened. “You got it. And I can’t wait to see it.”

She stomped through the dusting of snow to her car.

“And shovel your damned sidewalk,” she called over her shoulder.

“Nag, nag, nag,” he hollered back. “Drive safe!”

Yep, Erica had definitely found herself a good one. The non-jealous part of her was genuinely thrilled for her friend.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Shonda started the engine and turned toward the grocery store. She’d wallowed long enough. If she didn’t buy cat food soon, her little fatties might start sizing her up for dinner.

Happy the store wasn’t crowded at this time of day, Shonda leisurely wandered the aisles.

Peanut butter and jelly were added to her cart, followed by chocolate and cheese puffs.

A trip down the pet aisle secured enough food to keep her beasties satisfied for at least three weeks.

She ended her tour in the wine section, contemplating the best pairing for cheese puffs and chocolate.

One contender went into the basket, and she picked up another to read the label.

A high-pitched giggle made her tense. It was familiar and as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

Rachel Westington.

Linked arm in arm with the very last man Shonda wanted to see.

Just her fucking luck.

Ducking behind a display, she crouched low.

Too late.

Mason’s jean-clad legs came into view. Dammit.

“Want to tell me why you’re hiding, love?”

She closed her eyes and counted to ten before cracking one open. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a mirage.

“I’m not,” she lied, slowly rising and wincing when her joints argued aloud. “I was studying this display.” With an arched brow, she pretended great interest in the back of the cardboard cutout.

Mason’s voice dipped, meant only for her. “You never struck me as the type to avoid confrontation.”

Her spine snapped straight. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m done here.”

Rachel eyed Shonda’s bounty, and her disdainful sneer screamed personal offense.

“Really, Sondra? Could you advertise ‘single’ any louder?” she asked in her fake upper-class accent.

“It’s Shonda , as you well remember. And you can kiss m?—”

“Actually,” Mason cut in smoothly, stepping in behind her.

“Shonda and I are here together.” He dropped his basket into her cart and wrapped one arm snugly around her waist. “She sent me to get the salad fixings for dinner tonight.” He tucked his head next to hers to get a better view of her choices.

“You forgot the popcorn for our movie, love, but thanks for remembering the cheese puffs. My favorite, as you well know.”

Yes, he’d laid it on thick, but convincingly enough to annoy Rachel.

“You turned me down… for her ?”

Never one to gloat, Shonda nevertheless gave her a smug smile. “Sucks for you, doesn’t it, Regina?”

“Rachel!” her nemesis snapped before storming off, her stilettos clacking a furious rhythm.

After letting herself enjoy the solid feel of Mason’s arms for a heartbeat longer, Shonda got hold of herself.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, drawing away.

“She’s a bitch,” he countered with a shrug. “And she’s been sniffing around since high school. You did me a favor.”

“Fair enough.” She handed him his basket with a small pang. “Here.”

Instead of taking it, he draped himself across the cart’s handle. “Cheese puffs really are my favorite. I can grab some beer, and we can head to your place.”

The suggestion in his voice awakened an unwelcome response inside her. One she should’ve built defenses against. But she hadn’t.

His troublemaker grin flashed, promising sin and regret in equal measure. But it was his cool satisfaction, his assumption she’d cave, that firmed her resolve. For once, her brain and heart were in perfect accord, preparing a defense against him.

“Sorry. I’m catching up on work stuff,” she said.

She set his basket on the ground and yanked the shopping cart at the opposite end, causing him to stumble. It was difficult to determine if his frown was one of disbelief because his charm didn’t work or because she’d knocked him off balance.

“Besides, I’m done with casual fucks,” she added with a stone-hard stare.

Splendid as far as exit lines went, but her timing was straight-up cursed.

Rachel’s grating giggle froze them in place, and they shared a horrified glance.

Shonda rotated, meeting her triumphant gaze.

“I was halfway out the door before I realized Mason had to be toying with you,” Rachel said, voice dripping with sugar and a hint of pity. “He likes to make me jealous.”

Was this really her life? Dealing with ex-hometown cheerleaders fueled by pettiness and spite? Why couldn’t this suck-ass week just end already? And why couldn’t she just leave without saying a word?

Yeah, not going to happen.

“Oh, honey, get a clue,” Shonda said, pulling no punches. “The man breaks out in hives within a foot of you.”

Mic drop! Now that was a splendid exit line!

Giving herself a mental fist bump, she grabbed a bottle of wine from beside Rachel’s head and swept away, patting herself on the back when Mason’s laughter echoed behind her.

In the checkout line, Shonda kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring the buzzing along her nerve endings announcing Mason’s proximity. His scent, Eau de Damn Him , sealed the deal.

She was one customer away from freedom when the cashier’s light blinked off.

A price check delay.

Naturally.

A second later, he pressed in behind her.

Unless she wanted to mow down the eighty-year-old in front of her, she was cornered.

“I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, but you smell amazing,” Mason murmured, lips against her ear.

A delightful shiver danced along her spine.

She threw an elbow toward his stomach and missed.

“No means no, asshole,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’ll let you sniff me,” he teased. “I know it’s your favorite thing.”

True, but she’d rather lick a porcupine than admit it.

“Your line is getting old.”

“So is you calling me an asshole,” he countered.

She lobbed the verbal tennis ball back. “If the shoe fits.”

“I thought you liked the size of my… shoe.”

“Dear God, do these stupid lines actually work on women?” she asked with a glare.

“They worked on you well enough.”

“I thought I was going to die in a plane crash. Here”—she slammed the cheese puff package against his chest—“your cheesy pickup lines need work.” The bag burst, and the stunned expression on his orange-powdered face was too much.

She giggled.

Unable to help herself, she raised her cellphone and snapped a picture. Taking a second to capture the forming thundercloud.

“Give me the damn phone,” he growled.

“Nope!” She laughed and tucked it safely into her bra.

“Shonda, you are?—”

“Next!” the cashier called.

“Gotta run,” she said. “And don’t worry, Mason. Those cheesy puffs you love are on me. Well…” Her gaze dipped pointedly to his shirt. “Technically, they’re on you , but I’ll pay for them.”

Epic! And she grinned all the way to her car.

Groceries loaded and keys in hand, she reached for the ignition.

Her door flew open, and Mason yanked her out.

“Stop man-handling me,” she snapped. “I don’t like it.”

“We need to talk.”

“The hell we do.”

As he dragged her toward the warmth of the shop, an explosion rocked the air and slammed her into his back, sending them both sprawling on the ground. Instinct took over, and he rolled, shielding her head with his arms. They lay unmoving for a few minutes until the initial shock wore off.

Once the ringing in her ears faded, she shoved at his chest.

Mason’s movements were stiff as he pushed to his feet and held out a hand to her.

“Are you okay?” she asked, checking him for injury.

“I’ll live,” he replied darkly, brushing dirt from his jeans. “Really, Shonda, stop. I slammed my knee on the way down, but it’s fine. But your car, though…”

“My car?”

She whirled just in time to see her white Maxima fully engulfed in flames.

“What the fuck?” she cried, unable to wrap her head around the loss or why it would explode. “Do you think it was a faulty wire? Why would a car just blow up?”

“It wouldn’t,” he said grimly.