Page 26 of Masquerade Mistake
“Have fun getting him to bed.” I raise my perfectly shaped eyebrow at her, and she matches the look back at me.
“Who says we’re going to bed? Speaking of all-nighters, you need to leave. Goodbye.”
I shake my head, biting my smile as I watch Finn already going through the bag she’s left on the table. I’m about to say something, but Maren clears her throat and points to the door.
“I’m going!” I laugh. I give Finn a sideways hug, and am at least satisfied that he leans into me. Then I grab my night bag and head out.
Chapter 11
With her gothic paintings, black furniture, and dim lighting, Maren’s apartment is basically an extension of her. There’s a giant poster of Joan Jett on one wall, and another with Shirley Manson of Garbage and Hayley Williams of Paramore. Several electric guitars hang like art across another wall, and her acoustic guitar is leaning against her futon as if she just got done playing it. Knowing her, she probably got in a quick jam session before heading my way.
There’s also a weird smell here, faint but totally present. I asked Maren about it once, and she said it was probably coming from the air conditioner wall unit, which she only used on the hottest days.
But beyond that, the place was pretty cool. It was also totally Maren.
I realize I can’t let Ethan in here. There’s nothing that looks like me here. If he comes here, he’s going to think I’m some edgy musician. It’s not a bad thing. It’s probably way more interesting than the person I really am. But while we’re trying to get to know each other, it would be stupid to offer up a false representation of who I am.
As if having him meet me at Maren’s house isn’t false enough…. But whatever, he’ll be here in twenty minutes, and I have no backup plan.
Me: Text me when you get here and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.
I sit on Maren’s low-rise couch and wait, checking my phone every ten seconds. Minutes pass by, then ten. It seems longer as I keep checking, so I get up and walk around her apartment, pretending to ignore my phone. But then I run back to check it again. No answer. I’m about to take another living room-to-kitchen stroll when my phone finally dings, and I pounce on it.
Ethan: I’m here.
I grab my purse and rush out the door, then drop my keys as I fumble with the lock.
“Calm down,” I whisper to myself as I glance over my shoulder. Below the balcony I can see Ethan’s car idling in the parking lot and my stomach does a slow, nervous roll. I lock the door, checking it a few times just to be sure it’s secure. When I take the stairs, it’s with slow, steady steps, using the time to get a hold of my nerves. Ethan leans against his car as I reach ground level, and I take in his dark jeans slung over his hips, his button-up shirt that shows off his tattooed arms and biceps, and the way his grin leans to one side as he watches my every move.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek, his hand resting around my waist. My nerves remain, but something warm washes over me. Something comfortable. It’s all so natural, as if we’ve done this a million times before. And yet, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this. I inhale his cologne, a woodsy mixture of leather and pine. When he pulls back, I look in his dark eyes and can’t help but smile.
“You do too,” I say, then I shake my head. “I mean handsome. You look handsome, really good.”
“Thank you.” He doesn’t laugh out loud, but I see the humor radiating in his eyes. “So, I have a plan for tonight’s date,” he says, his hand at my lower back as we walk to the passenger side. He opens the door for me, and I slide into my seat. “But before we get to that, you get to pick the restaurant. Also, I’m paying and that’s final.” He closes the door before I can say anything, and I shoot him a mock glare as he trots to the driver’s side.
“You can’t pay. You paid last time, and I was supposed to pay this time.”
Ethan buckles in and then rests his arm over my seat as he leans toward me.
“Right now, I’m doing everything I can to win you over. Are you really going to take that away from me?”
A small, niggling voice reminds me that he’s probably a player. And yet, the earnest look in his eyes seems authentic. It’s just a meal, and I do get to pick, so…
“Fine,” I say. “Corner of Fourth and Sunset. You’ll have to park a block away, so I hope you brought your walking shoes.”
“Please tell me you’re not thinking of–”
“Chicago Dogs. Yup. I hope you brought enough cash, because I plan to get two.”
He gives me some serious side eye, then he puts the car in gear.
“Lucky for you, I just picked up my tips for the week. You can have as many hot dogs as you can fit in that tiny body of yours.”
He pulls out of the lot, fiddling with the radio at the same time until country music fills the car. I laugh, then realize he’s serious.
“I did not take you for a country guy,” I say.
“Really now. What did you take me for?”