Page 50 of Off Plan
“What’s your problem?” I demanded.
Mason looked away and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” I repeated. “You’re not…right. There’s something off, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
His eyes flew back to mine. “Because you know me so well, after spending a couple hours in my company? How about ‘It’s none of your fucking business,’ then. That more accurate?” He spread his hands. “I mean, Jesus, what could possibly be my problem, Fenn? Here I am, stuck on this fucking island until I find a new job, with no one to blame but myself becauseIsigned the contract sight unseen, like God’s own idiot child. I have no car down here, but hey, who cares, right? I’d have no place to go if I did, and my phone signal dies in at least three places between here and the clinic.”
“I told you it was spotty—”
“I have no air-conditioning. No cable TV. It rainsevery goddamn night, with thunder and lightning fit to wake the dead. I haven’t slept well in days because it’s so hot—”
“I fixed your air conditioner this morning—”
“I have no one to talk to! The only creature on this island I’ve really bonded with is Topaz, Mr. Wynott’s Pomeranian. The only humans whokindalike me are Lety Irvine, who speaks mostly Spanish, and Taffy, whohasto like me because it’s herjob, but who can’t make a statement without turning it into a question. I willnottalk about anything but the weather with my family or my best friend, because then I’d have to admit howegregiouslyI fucked myself by taking this job. And the one person I tried to talk to proved he might not be a serial killerbut is indeed an asshole, because he’s avoiding me like I’m diseased ever since I…” He broke off with a little hitch of breath and sank into his desk chair. “Seriously, Fenn. Just… leave me the hell alone, okay?”
I stood there, blinking down at him for a long minute.
I wished someone could explain to me why the sight of this one particular guy looking all dejected and tired and defeated did my head in. I was no Beale Goodman, going around rescuing strays, and there were many very compelling reasons why leaving Mason alone would be the best thing for both of us, the loafers on his feet being just the tip of that iceberg.
But I didn’t need to have Aunt Mary’s “sight” to know that wasn’t gonna happen.
Mason Bloom in his fancy shoes was my polar opposite in almost every way—that was a given—but there were ways in which it seemed we were very, very much alike, too. We both knew what it felt like to be stuck in a place you didn’t really choose, in a life you didn’t really choose. We both knew what it felt like to blame yourself for it.
I didn’t just want him badly, I actuallydidlike him, I realized with something like a sigh. I liked him quite a bit. Enough that I wanted to be his friend. To make sure he was okay.
So in the end, it turned out Fenn Reardon’s One and Only Life Rulewasmade to be broken, and it wasn’t exactly a surprise when my mouth started talking before my brain had a hundred percent caught up.
“Sounds like you need a beer.”
“Beer?” Mason snorted. “No. I need an exorcism, extensive therapy, and a good night’s sleep.”
“Potato, potahto, really.”
Mason snorted again, then sobered. “Why do you do that?” he demanded. “Joke with me, and then… stop? Get all pissed off, and then… stop? Act like you give a shit, and then… stop? The hot and cold is really fucking confusing, Fenn.”
I considered this. Strong irony, really, in the fact thatIwas the one leading the straight guy on, pissed at him for being confused when I was guilty of confusing him.
This wasn’t something I wanted to think about at all. It was definitely not something I wanted to think about sober.
“Well,Ineed a beer,” I said in place of an answer. I headed for the door.
“Does this place evenhavebeer?” Mason demanded. “I swear I’ve tried to find some at the grocery store, Omar’s Sundries,andthe Concha. Why doesn’t this island have a bar?”
I paused, startled, and turned to look at him. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I get beer from a brewery over on the mainland that’s better than anything they’d have at Pickles’, anyway. And,” I added, “I share it with a fortunate few.”
“Well, lucky you.” Mason sounded peevish.
I took a deep breath, let it out, and said something incredibly fucking foolish—which seemed to be my MO whenever this guy was around.
“You wanna come with, Loafers? ’Cause if you wanna talk, I’ll listen. I’m probably a better bet than the Pomeranian, at least.”
Mason jumped up to follow me so fast, his rolling chair hit the wall behind him with acrash… which just proved he was no smarter than I was.
Chapter Eight
Mason
“I’m pretty sure,”I said slowly, enunciating each word, “that hot beer and cold sunshine is…” I paused to burp delicately, like the civilized individual I was. “…the best medicine.”