Game Plan (28 page)

The second shot of tequila—gone.

“She said she was coming here after Dylan’s game. I thought it was going to be her and her son. I thought…” Katie focused on the Finch family night out. “I thought it’d be a good opportunity for you to talk to her—casually, at least. Start working things out.”

Mason stared too, solely at Andie. Hair in a ponytail, skin almost free of makeup. Soft looking, irresistible, as always. Jeans that molded to her fantastic legs and ass, tits bouncing slightly in a silky sleeveless top, and shoes that had
fuck me
written all over them. Only the invitation wasn’t for him. Wouldn’t be, ever again.

Andie chose a seat facing away from him, leaving him with a view of her hair and shoulders. Not much of a fix when he’d been craving her so badly for over a week. The handful of pictures taken with his phone didn’t help, though he’d spent enough hours looking at them. Every cell in his body screamed at him to walk over there. Claim her. Punch that undeserving prick, Scott, in the face. Or drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. Anything to have her back. His, for good.

Katie grabbed his hand as he signaled the bartender with his empty tequila glass. “What’re you doing?”

“Numbing.” He sure as hell wasn’t watching this cozy scene while sober. He tipped his head back and demolished another shot of tequila. The third was hotter than the others, making him wince.

“Better now, you big baby?”

A bit more beer to ease the heat in his gut. “Much. And I don’t want to talk about babies.”

“Hmm.” Katie signaled the bartender. “One more dose of truth serum for my brother, please.”

Another shot would carve a hole through his liver. “I will if you will,” he said with a loose laugh. Katie’d never go for that deal. But holy fuck, she was nodding. Shit.

Two stubby glasses appeared on the bar. Katie picked hers up gingerly, sniffed it and curled her lip. “Ew. You first.”

“Nice try, I’m not drunk enough to fall for that one. Together, on three. One, two, three…” Don Julio the fourth hit bottom and set fire to his stomach, launching an inferno that tore up his throat, straight to his brain.

Katie’s shot, on the other hand, came up as fast as it went down. Through her nose and mouth. Eyeballs too, in the form of tears.

She sputtered and gulped the rest of her water. “Why would anybody willingly drink that stuff?”

“Pain relief.”

After scrubbing all traces of tequila from her lips, she dug through her purse for gum and popped two pieces. “And…is it working?”

Either Katie was rocking back and forth on her stool, or he was well on the way to fucked-up. “Yeah, it’s working.”

“Good. Now what’s the story behind that baby comment?”

“No story. Just thinking of the last time I drank too much tequila.” He narrowly avoided his sister’s hug. They were not revisiting the Stacey and baby era, not a chance. “I gotta hit the can.”

Fuck sympathy or pity. He splashed cold water on his face, braced himself on the edge of the counter. Getting drunk wasn’t helping him forget. If anything, it made things worse. Especially with Andie sitting across the room. He could be the one at that table with her and Dylan right now, if he hadn’t ended things.

He’d told Katie the breakup was for the best and he’d meant it. Best for Andie because he wouldn’t be in her way when she was ready to put her family back together. And she would. Seventeen years and a child together was a hell of a connection. The fact that she hadn’t gone on one single date since the separation should’ve been his first clue. But no, he’d had damn stars in his eyes. While he was busy falling in love with her, mentally picking out wedding bands and building picket fences, she was dancing around any talk of commitment. Then there were the lies by omission when it came to the subject of kids.

Looking back, it made sense. She’d had no reason to tell him her medical issues. Because she didn’t love him. She had no intention of staying with him, let alone having a baby. She hadn’t reached out once since he cut things off. Not even to bust his balls for being a prick. That told him everything he needed to know, right?

Ending it was best for him too. His damn heart couldn’t take another slice down the middle. Better to get out while it was still a slow-bleeding nick.

The restroom door squeaked as it opened. He cranked the taps on and reached for some soap. Dylan’s eyes met his in the mirror, then turned away. The boy didn’t know him from the next guy. Mason was some random stranger using the john at a restaurant, nothing more. He’d never be more. For the best or not, the fact made him want to puke.

Mason dried his hands on a paper towel. He should leave, but instead pulled out his cell, pretending to read and answer a text. Dylan moved from the urinals to the sinks. The kid looked like his mom. Same eyes, same complexion. Whatever DNA Scott had contributed, it didn’t come through in Dylan’s appearance. Hopefully the boy didn’t inherit his father’s tendency to be a controlling asshole. Not that Mason had acted much better.

He ended the fake text conversation and followed Dylan out of the restroom. Mason made his way back to the bar, but kept one eye on Andie’s son as Dylan returned to the table. He wasn’t the only person watching Dylan. And Dylan wasn’t the only person being watched.

“Andie’s ex just made me,” Mason said as he sat next to Katie. He slid a credit card across the bar. “I’ll pay so we can leave.”

Now that the lone bartender had custody of Mason’s plastic, servers and customers streamed to the bar. So much for settling his tab and getting the hell out of there. Katie’s attention was on her cell phone. His shifted between the Finches’ table and the bartender holding his MasterCard hostage. The buzz from the tequila shots wasn’t holding, leaving him twitchy to make an exit before Andie noticed him. Looking her in the eye might kill him.

“Son of a bitch.”

Katie glanced up at his snarled words and followed the line of his glare. Scott had his hand on Andie’s and Andie wasn’t pulling away. The snake’s eyes met Mason’s briefly. A smile slithered into place on Scott’s face—one obviously directed at Mason, not his beautiful ex.

“Slimy little fucker.” Where was the bartender with his tab? He scribbled on the bill when it arrived, snagged his card, stormed toward the door. “She deserves better than a snooty, uptight little jackhole who doesn’t appreciate her.”

“I agree,” Katie said, trotting to keep up with him. “But you chose to let her go, and now you have to, you know, let her go.”

He paused for a last look before pushing through the door. Andie was laughing with her son, wearing a smile of pure happiness. Because he was a selfish bastard, Mason stared until she sensed the weight of it and looked his way. He expected her face to change when she saw him—hostility, indifference—maybe both, maybe worse. And it did change. For a few seconds her eyes lit up, the smile changing to one just for him. How the hell was he supposed to let go of that?

Chapter Seventeen

Scott parked his Mercedes rather than let it idle. “I’d like to come in for a few minutes—there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

She’d had about all she could take of Scott’s advances and assumptions tonight. Now he wanted to come in and talk? Dylan hung half in and half out of the backseat, waiting for her answer. She nodded. The best she could do, and only for Dylan’s sake. Thank god she had wine.

“I’m really tired, Scott.” Particularly, of him. She waited for the click of Dylan’s door closing upstairs. “Your three minutes start now.”

“Mind if I pour myself a drink?”

“Yes, I mind very much. Go home and drink. Go anywhere, for that matter.” She was being cruel, but she couldn’t stop. “I don’t want you here. Not tonight, not next week, not five years from now. We. Are. Over.”

“I’m having a Glenfiddich—join me?”

Unbelievable. She gaped as he helped himself to a tulip glass and the bottle of eighteen-year-old single malt scotch. Marked as to-do—reorganize the cupboards before Scott’s next visit.

“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Three fingers’ worth of amber flowed into the glass. He swirled and sniffed, savoring, disregarding her time limit completely. Entirely out of character, he tossed the entire contents back in two swallows. “You look ready to blow a gasket. Good. You won’t have to work up to it when I say what I came in to say.”

She threw her hands up. Honestly, what more could there be?

“I’m responsible for your breakup with Dr. Lang.”

Okay, that. “What?” She waved him off when he started to speak. “No, let me guess. You told Mason how I’m still subconsciously in love with you and he agreed to dump me so you and I could find our way back to each other.”

“You’re in the ballpark.”

“I don’t believe you. Mason wouldn’t fall for a load of crap like that.”

“Because you frequently badmouthed me?”

“No, but maybe I should have.” She snatched the bottle off the island before he could pour another. He absolutely was
not
crashing on her couch, nor was he leaving his car in the driveway overnight. “Go home, Scott.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Too bad—I am.” Bottle in hand, she marched away, only to have Scott spin her around before making it out of the kitchen. The shock of such a spontaneous, physical response from her passionless former husband left her momentarily speechless.

“I provoked him, I admit. Easy to do with a man whose heart is on his sleeve. He was so straightforward about his intentions—I didn’t like it. You were
my
wife for seventeen years. So I goaded him some more, convinced him that you’re having a midlife crisis. I kept chipping away until I could see him doubting the depth of your feelings, and then…” He released her, his arms falling to his sides. “I’m so ashamed, Andie.”

For Scott to feel ashamed, more so, to admit it…acid churned in her stomach. “Why? What did you
do
?
”

“He wants a future with you, including children—he said as much. So I told him about your miscarriages. I led him to believe you’re incapable of fulfilling that desire.”

Sweat beaded along her hairline. Her armpits were sticky and damp, yet goose bumps popped out all over her arms.

“You…you…” There weren’t words to adequately describe the hatred and disgust roiling inside her right now.

“Tonight at the restaurant, when you saw him standing there…the way you looked at him, it was all over your face…you love him. It’s not a hormonal fling.”

“I want you to leave,” she said between clenched teeth.

“You have my permission to tell him what I did, how I manipulated him. That I lied about your fertility troubles. Tell him…everything.” He went to the door, finally, pausing once more before walking through it. “I did it out of love, And. I was trying to do what’s best for you.”

“I don’t want that kind of love.” Tears stung her eyes. “I never did.”

* * * * *

Half the night had gone to crying, the other half to thinking until her head hurt. The last time she saw on the clock was five-something. Thank god for twelve-year-olds who got their own breakfast. Dylan had shoved a note under her bedroom door around eight, telling her which friend’s house he’d gone to and when he’d be home. Awesome kid, that one.

In a way, Scott’s manipulations were a good thing. If she’d stayed with Mason, she would’ve gotten pregnant, either intentionally or accidentally. And she was forty. Healthy and fit enough to have a baby, but way past being chained to a nursing and napping schedule. A newborn wouldn’t let her sleep until eight-thirty.

Of course, the newborn’s father would. He’d be the type to help with the feedings and fussiness, no doubt about it. Given his occupation, he’d probably change poopie diapers without scrunching his nose. Dammit.

She sprawled on the couch and took a large, fortifying swallow of coffee. Okay, Mason would be a wonderful dad. And truthfully, she’d give up extra sleep for the joys of motherhood any day of the week. But there was the other thing Scott’s manipulations had brought to the surface. Mason had major issues working through problems. The first time he’d cut and run had been partially her fault. The night she’d lied to test his feelings. Ugh, what a mistake.

This, though? Breaking up with her via a note on her doorstep because of shit Scott told him… He hadn’t even attempted talking to her. Hadn’t bothered to ask if any of it were true. Instead, he’d turned tail and headed for the hills. More silent treatment. Different from Scott’s, but just as controlling. Last night she’d told Scott she didn’t want his kind of love. If running at the first sign of trouble was Mason’s M.O., she didn’t want
his
kind of love, either.

She pulled her cell into her lap and sent Lasha a text.
Love sucks. Pancakes required.

A reply came back immediately.
Told you so. Be there in twenty.

She was loosely presentable when the doorbell rang. Lasha wouldn’t care about the dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Neither would The Pancake House. Andie threw her purse over her shoulder and pulled the door.

“Oh. Scott.” She blocked the opening. With her wedge-heeled sandals, his stature and the step, she looked down on him. Bitchy as it was, she enjoyed it.

“Expecting Mason, I assume.”

“Stop making assumptions about me and we’ll both be happier people. I’m waiting for Lasha. Dylan isn’t here, so, goodbye.”

“I should have called first.”

“And yet you didn’t.”

“I didn’t think you’d take my call.”

“Another assumption.” Though probably true.

“I took some things I shouldn’t have when we separated. It’s time I return them, since I’ve accepted that…we’re over.”

“Right now?”

“It’s just a few things. They’re in the car—I could use a hand, if you have a minute.”

“Fine.” She huffed after him. Anything to expedite his departure.

“I’ll get the box in the trunk. You take what’s in the backseat.”

The dark-tinted window was partially open. A black nose pressed against the narrow crack, sniffing wildly. Andie’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen Minx in almost a year, for Minx’s sake, and Scott knew that. What kind of game was this?