“I hate that motherfucker, and that was before I knew I actually had a reason to. So I want in on whatever you plan to do.”
“I don’t have a plan. But we might need to hire someone else.”
“For what?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know yet. We’ll make up a job if we have to.”
She cocked her eyebrow again. “Damsel in distress?”
He flipped her off. She returned the gesture and then turned to leave.
“Sonia.”
She spun around. “What?” She said it with her characteristic whine.
“The conversation we just had—”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. The whole vag thing. Did that make you uncomfortable?”
“I’m the one who said it.”
He nodded absently. “I know. I just, sometimes you and I . . . we say things.”
“We’re friends, Mack. There’s a difference.”
“You’re sure? I need you to tell me if I’ve ever done or said anything that has made you uncomfortable, because that was never my intent. I mean, I know intent doesn’t matter, impact does, but—”
“Mack,” she said, her voice as somber as he’d ever heard it. “You are nothing like Royce Preston. You’re probably the best guy I know, and if you ever tell anyone I said that, I will hurt you.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
“Want me to shut this when I leave?”
He nodded again.
She saluted and walked out. Mack stared at her empty chair for a moment. You are probably the best guy I know. So why did he feel like such a shit? He swiveled in his chair to avoid both the question and the answer.
He grabbed his phone and dialed his mom’s number. She answered at the last minute, out of breath. “Hey, just a second, okay?”
Her voice was muffled as she apparently pulled the phone away from her ear to speak to someone. He made out the words, “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”
“Who was that?” he asked when she came back on the line.
“A florist.”
Mack’s own radar went on alert. “Who sent you flowers?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked at the card.”
She was being cagey. He hated it when she was cagey. “Why don’t you look and tell me.”
“You know, Braden, I appreciate how much you look out for me, but just because I’m your mother doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to some privacy.”
He bristled under the admonishment and the use of his first name. His family were the only people who used it. “Did you get the plane ticket?”
“Yes. Thank you, honey.”
“I’ll send you several more listings that my real estate guy found that I think you’ll like.”
“Sounds . . . great. How many?”
“Six I think.”
“I’m sure they’re . . . great.”
She was being cagey again. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“You sound weird.”
“Just tired. Listen, I gotta run. Call you tomorrow?”
“Um, okay. Check your email for the listings.”
“Yep. Love you, sweetie.”
And she hung up. What the hell? Mack pulled the phone away and stared at the blank screen. His mother had just hung up on him. And had gotten flowers from someone.
There was a quick knock at his door, and Sonia poked her head inside.
“Chin hair?”
For fuck’s sake.
Nearly every table at the university coffee shop was occupied when Liv and Mack walked in shortly before four. Professors chatted with students. College kids huddled around laptops and textbooks. A handful of bleary-eyed students clutched steaming lattes as if praying for salvation.
“Smells like slow-roasted hangover in here,” Mack said, settling his hand on her back as they walked in.
Liv jumped at his touch, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He pointed to a table by the window. “We can watch the entire place from over there.”
Liv scanned the large open space as she sat. “I don’t see her yet.”
“You want something to drink?”
“Yes, God. I need caffeine.” She pulled her wallet from her purse, but he held up his hand.
“I got it. What do you want?”
“I can buy my own coffee.”
“I’m sure you can, but this one’s on me.”
She jutted her jaw to the side and thought about continuing the argument. But he would just argue back, and she was too drained. “Vanilla latte. Big. Thank you.”
He nodded. “Be right back.”
She followed him with her eyes to the counter, where he flashed a smile that had the young barista blushing and stammering in two seconds flat. He returned to the table a few minutes later, carrying two cardboard cups—one with a phone number scribbled on the side.