Page 20 of Summer Lessons
She frowned. “Where’s his father?”
Mason shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Well….” She pursed her lips. “Some people….” And now she scowled. “No. I shall be blunt. My daughters-in-law are very strong-willed and very vocal—and as difficult as that is sometimes, I am relieved. It means my sons are strong men and can handle a woman’s strength.”
Mason nodded sagely. “With you as their mother, I have no doubt.”
“Thank you, sir. But not all women use their strength. Some women assume that to be weak is to be ‘good.’” She quirked her eyebrows in lieu of quotation marks. “You understand what I mean? ‘Good’?”
Mason had to laugh. “Mrs. Bradford, I think you have the wrong person to ask that. I lived in the principal’s office. I had to change schools after the first time I made out with a boy. There was nothing about me that was ‘good’—except my mother, who insisted that my heart was better than anything that came out of my mouth.”
And that stern face softened again. “I think you know exactly what I’m saying, then, sir. Some people use weakness as a way to exert their will. It’s one of the reasons I joined the military—I was not that woman. Some women didn’t have a choice—some women were beaten for showing strength, some ridiculed. Those women often… they use manipulation to get what they want. Perhaps this young man’s mother does not want to be alone.”
Mason sort of gaped at her, because it really could be as simple as that. “But… when does he get his own life?”
“That could be a very serious problem,” she said soberly. “Are you sure you wish to continue this association?”
“Yes,” Mason said, nodding slowly. “Yes, I think I do.” He smiled briefly, and then they launched into the series of—ugh!—meetings that made up the rest of their day, but he spent all of his spare attention questioning what made him say that.
He thought at first that he was remembering the blow job when he said it. But that wasn’t what he was remembering at all.
He was remembering that unspoken plea in Jefferson’s eyes to just… just say yes. Just let the blow job happen. Just commit to another date just like this one.
To just, please, don’t leave him alone.
Schwing!
SURE ENOUGH,Jefferson showed up to the golf course at the asscrack of dawn wearing cargo shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Mason had been waiting for him in the car, and he pulled out a thick hooded sweatshirt that saidStanfordon the front and threw it at him as he approached.
“There’s a dress code?” Jefferson asked, sounding a little hurt. His car had barely made it into the parking lot—Mason wouldn’t have asked him someplace that made him dress up.
“No, but you make me cold looking at you. There’s gloves in the pocket, and a stocking cap too.”
Jefferson started putting on clothes while Mason reached into the car and pulled out two large lattes and a small pastry bag. “Here,” he said when Jefferson looked warmer. “Hold that while I get the clubs out of the trunk.”
“I don’t have my own clubs….” And it was like this was the first time he’d thought about it.
“Don’t worry—you’re only an inch or two shorter than Carpenter. It’s nice to have your own fitted clubs, and you can rent them if you don’t, but he’s got a really nice set. Standard loft, standard flex—they should be fine for a beginner.”
Jefferson looked at the clubs curiously as Mason set the bags down behind the car to slam the trunk. “They don’t look like golf clubs on TV.”
Mason laughed a little. “That’s because the new shit is technological as hell. It’s actually scary. I had to do research—I’m talking, like,weeksof research to order my last set. I felt stupid, right? Because I just wanted toplay.”
“Then why all the research?” Jefferson handed Mason his coffee so they could each grab their clubs and trolley them in. Mason took the coffee and noticed that Jefferson had downed his and was starting on the pastry bag with limited ceremony. Hungry. He was hungry and didn’t remember a damned sweatshirt or gloves when it was thirty degrees outside.
Mason wondered if the level of worry in his stomach was worth the possibility of sex, but he didn’t have an answer for that, so he answered Jefferson’s question instead.
“’Cause they’re sort of spendy,” he said, avoiding the issue. Fact was, his set of clubs cost more than Jefferson’s car was worth.Carpenter’sclubs cost the down payment, at least, on Mason’s own car.
Jefferson had only been a little wrong when he’d said golf was a sport for rich douche bags. Mostly about the douche bags—or at least that’s what Mason was hoping.
He really tried not to be a douche bag.
“Well, they look like some sort of weapon fromStar Trek. I mean, if they’re spendy too, these things should be able to take a dump for you, you think?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said mildly, “I sort of prefer to take my own dumps. Gives me time to think.”
Jefferson laughed. “Yeah, I read in the bathroom. Freaks Mom out—she thinks I’m wanking off.”