The Mason Dixon Line (A Horizons Novel) (10 page)

“No. I meant what I said. I don’t have
casual sex.”

She sat up, the pleasure of the last
minutes draining from her body in a rush. Was he kidding? “Then what the hell
was that?” she demanded, with a gesture that might have meant the woods, the
walk, or whatever. “That seemed like sex to me.”

He shrugged, his cheeks reddening. “That
was just making you feel good. I wanted to do it. I don’t want to have sex.”

She glared pointedly at the noticeable
bulge at the front of his pants. “Um, I don’t think you’ve consulted your dick
about this decision. It seems to have a different opinion.”

“That’s why I don’t listen to it,” he said,
looking amused and miserable at the same time. “Look, no offense. I don’t have
casual sex. If I was going to have casual sex with anyone in the world, trust
me. It would be you.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? She
should have expected that, she supposed. Shoving him away, she rose to her
feet. “That’s good to know that I’m your go-to choice for a meaningless screw.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sounded like it.” She retrieved her bra
from the ground, shaking free a few dead leaves and shoving it in her pocket. What
a disaster. Humiliation heated her face. She should have known it would end
like this. Why had she let the jerk touch her? She stalked off, not caring if
he followed or not.

He did, his long stride easily keeping pace
with hers.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.
I have a principle at stake here. I don’t sleep with people outside of a
relationship.”

“I see. You’re morally above casual sex,
but it’s okay for me. Because sex couldn’t possibly mean anything to me.” Her
eyes burned, but she’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing
her cry. Why should she be upset? She was shallow. She cared too much about
things
. She had casual sex sometimes. She
hadn’t hidden any of that from him. Why should she mind that he believed her?

Because sometimes, he seemed like maybe he
saw something in her that was deeper, more worthy, than what everybody else saw
in Carolyn Hart, the ex-cheerleader who’d peaked way too soon. Something she
didn’t even see in herself.

But, nope. He saw in her what the guys in
Short Dogs saw: A hot, not-too-bright piece of ass who would be fun for a
one-night stand but not anything else.

The only difference between those jerks and
Mason was that he thought himself too holy to indulge.

“Carolyn, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry,
sometimes I don’t say things the way I mean them. I mean, I say things I don’t
mean. Oh, to hell with it.” He ran one hand through his hair. “Look, can you
stop for a minute?” He put a hand on her arm and she stopped, whirling to face
him.

She crossed her arms. “What?”

He sighed. “I learned a long time ago that
when I have sex with a woman, I get attached. I know it’s not very manly or
whatever. Guys are supposed to be able to screw and run without ever looking
back, but I can’t. That’s the way I am and I can’t change. I don’t want to get
involved with you and start to have feelings for you. There was this girl. We
used to watch
Game of Thrones
together, and it was great, and then we had sex, and everything went to hell.”
He paused and looked at her, hopeless. “I just don’t want that to happen again.”

“It won’t. I don’t even like
Game of Thrones
.” She tilted her head to
one side and narrowed her eyes as if considering his words. “But I think I
understand now. If you
were
the kind
of guy to screw and run, I’d be an ideal girl for you. But since you’re not,
you want nothing to do with me.”

“You’re putting the worst possible
interpretation on everything I say. Be honest. Even you have to admit that we’re
not exactly relationship material. I’m a geek artist and you’re . . . not.” He
finished with a sigh.

He was right. She knew he was right. So why
did the assumption that her sexual favors were freely given, that she couldn’t
possibly feel anything for him, hurt so much? After all, she
didn’t
feel anything for him.

Or did she?

Besides their sizzling attraction, she felt
a certain grudging fondness for him, an admiration for the obstacles he’d
overcome. But that kind of thing was no basis for a relationship. Was it?

She took a deep breath, hoping it would
lift the heavy weight in her chest.

“You’re right,” she surprised both of them
by saying, meeting his eyes again. “You’re not cut out for casual sex, so you
shouldn’t do it. I might be okay with it, but if you’re not, you shouldn’t
force yourself into it.”

Was it her imagination, or did he look a
little hurt now? “And
obviously
we’re
not relationship material.” She forced a dry laugh out through stiff lips. “Obviously.”
She’d expected him to be glad she saw it his way, but he said nothing, finally
dropping his gaze to stare at the worn-out toe of his canvas sneaker.

“Yeah. So, we better get back, huh.”

“Yeah. I guess.” She set a fast pace all
the way back to the cabin. If she kept ahead of him, he couldn’t see the
shattered look on her face.

#

Carolyn scowled at her laptop. She’d been
working on the text for the story all morning, and it wasn’t going well. When
she could write, she wrote dreck. When she couldn’t write, she stared off into
space, lost in memories of yesterday in the woods.

“Dammit.”

“Problems?” Mason looked up from his
drawing. Seated at the other end of the kitchen table, his papers and pencils
spread around him, he’d been working as long as she had, but had much more to
show for it.

Apparently she was the only one tangled up
in her own memories.

She rose and went to fill the teakettle.
Maybe a hot cup of Earl Grey would sharpen her wits.

“This draft I wrote isn’t working. I can’t
seem to say what I want it to say, not in the length requirements anyway. My
first draft is about twice as long as what we need.”

“It’s easier sometimes to get all your
thoughts down, no matter how they ramble, and then cut them down to size later.”

She looked at a sunny spot on the rug where
Barney curled, basking in the sun. She retrieved a head of lettuce from the
fridge, pulled off an outer leaf, and placed it on the carpet in front of him. “Maybe
we ought to name our main character Barney,” she said. “You know, in honor of
the real thing.”

He paused sketching for a moment and looked
at her. “Okay by me.” He was giving her a funny look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She tore the leaf to shreds and put it on
the carpet in front of the chameleon. After a moment, he sprang at a piece of
leaf and downed it in a few snaps of his jaw, his unblinking eyes serene.

“I never would have imagined you would like
a reptile.”

“He’s cute.” She nudged the pile of
shredded leaves closer. “Even if he does eat nasty things.” She refused to feed
him his meal worms. Those were gross. If she had her way, she’d make Barney a vegan.

She watched until Barney had had his fill, and
then gathered the leftover scraps of lettuce and tossed them in the kitchen
sink. Sated, Barney lowered his head to resume basking in the warm spot on the
carpet.

She leaned against the stove while she
waited for the water to heat. Mason’s tall frame bent over the table at an
almost awkward angle, yet he looked completely at home. Completely relaxed. He
was doing what he was meant to do and loving it.

His hair was out of order and his clothes
were rumpled. All he paid attention to was his drawing. And it was so weirdly
sexy because it all sprang from his passionate intensity.

What would he be like if he ever turned
that single-minded devotion to a woman?

Not any woman in particular, of course.
Just some woman.

He’d been pretty intensely focused on her
in the woods the other day. The memory of his kiss, his scent, the heat and
pressure of his body against hers swept over her, and for a minute, she couldn’t
breathe.

“So what seems to be the trouble with your
draft?” he asked, never lifting his pencil from the paper.

She snapped back and gave her head a little
shake to clear it. What had he asked about? Oh, yeah, the draft. “Jacob Fane.”

“Who?” The pencil paused for a moment in
confusion, and then resumed.

“I can’t stop thinking about a student of
mine, Jacob Fane. How he’s going to feel when he reads this book. What will it
say to him?” She described Jacob and his pushy mother.

“She sounds charming,” he said with a wry
twist.

“Yeah, she is. But I’m worried about the
message we send him.”

“How so?” Now he did put his pencil down,
his dark eyes on her.

“This story is about being adaptable.
Having to change to a world you don’t necessarily fit into perfectly.
Special-needs kids have things about them that others don’t understand, and
expecting the world to change to suit them is a non-starter.”

“All true.”

“Yet I don’t want to make the kids think
that something is wrong with them. I don’t think that, regardless of what you
think.”

Mason didn’t take his eyes off hers. “I
know you don’t think that. I didn’t know you very well when I said that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She felt warm
all of a sudden. Probably the steam rising from the teakettle. “It’s like with
Jacob. He’s incredibly bright, but his mother is constantly pushing him to go
further, faster. If he’s four years ahead of grade level, she’s got to push him
to five. She’s bugging us to let him skip a grade, which is stupid. Horizons
lets kids study across grade levels when they need more of a challenge, or when
they’re behind, but we try to keep kids in with their age group. If a kid with
problems winds up being the smallest, youngest kid in with a bunch of older
kids who have their own problems, there’s always trouble.”

“Sounds like she’s trying to compensate for
the challenges he has by playing up his strengths. Lots of people with
disabilities do that.”

“Exactly!” Mason could be so insightful
sometimes. “Are you speaking from experience here?”

“Maybe.” A smile played around his lips. “But
getting back to Jacob. I think the metaphor still works with the chameleon. A
chameleon changes the color of his skin. It’s external. But it doesn’t change
who he is. His nature is still the same: He’s a chameleon. He’s only changed
his skin to blend in on a superficial level.”

“Huh.” That made sense. She could do that. “You
know a lot about this stuff.”

He shrugged and went back to his drawing. “I’ve
been weird my whole life. You get used to it.”

Behind her, the teakettle shrieked. She
turned her back on Mason and poured hot water in her mug, letting him get back
to drawing. As the tea stained the water, she wondered about Mason. He seemed
to have forgotten about what happened between them, focusing entirely on his
work. She almost envied him his hyperfocus.

Clearly she needed to do the same. She’d
throw herself into this draft, write the best book she could, and it would take
her mind completely off of Mason Dixon.

It would.

“Park in the garage next to the hotel. Gwen
rented a ballroom on the ground floor.”

Rush hour traffic had slowed them down, but
they’d made it to the hotel garage in downtown Indy with minutes to spare. They’d
swung by Gwen’s house first. Mason had waited in the car outside, engine
running, while Carolyn went inside to borrow a suit for him.

She’d emerged fifteen minutes later with a
garment bag and a bad attitude, thanks to Gwen, who’d asked endless catty
questions about what kind of loser couldn’t afford his own suit. After several
minutes of bitching, Gwen had loaned her a pair of charcoal dress pants and a
white shirt, along with a casual gray jacket.

Her irritation with her sister must have
showed on her face. “What’s the matter?” Mason said.

“My sister’s a witch, but I knew that
already.” He hadn’t asked any more questions after that. Next they’d stopped at
Carolyn’s place so that they could get dressed.

The arrested look on his face when she’d
emerged from her bedroom in her white column gown and strappy sandals had been
almost worth dealing with Gwen’s shit.

She hadn’t had time to savor it, though,
because he hadn’t looked too shabby himself. The shirt was a bit snug across
the chest and the pants could have been an inch longer, but overall, the
clothes fit him well.

“You look nice,” she’d said softly.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you, for coming with me. I owe you
one for this.”

“How are you going to repay me?” That
sounded like a flirt, but his face gave nothing away. With any other guy, she
would have flirted back, teasing him about repaying him with sexual favors, but
not him.

Not now. What was he even thinking, making
a comment like that after what happened between them, especially after he’d as
good as ignored her since?

If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he
didn’t know what the hell he wanted.

They parked on the third level and then
headed off to find the elevators. “How do you think Barney’s doing?” They’d
left him with a fresh supply of water and food, but still. She worried about
him.

“Oh, he’s fine. I only feed him every other
day anyway. He’ll be great for a few hours.” He shook his head and gave her a
speculative look. “I never would have imagined you’d worry about a lizard.”

“What? He’s a living thing, isn’t he?”

“So are spiders, but I bet you still squish
them when they show up in your bathtub.”

“Wrong. I put them in a jar and take them
outside.”

He laughed. “You have hidden depths.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, but
secretly, his words delighted her. “There’s a dinner and dancing afterward, but
we don’t have to stay for all of that.” They made their way to the bank of
elevators and took the first one that arrived.

In the hotel lobby, a vast space decorated
in warm-toned marble and modern art, they followed the signs to the Vienna
ballroom.

“This place is unbelievable,” Mason said.

“Yeah. Gwen doesn’t do things halfway.” The
Vienna was huge, bigger than she’d remembered from the last wedding she’d
attended here. For the dinner service, tables had been set up around the
perimeter of the ballroom, with a section of parquet in the middle left open
for dancing. The room blazed with candles on every table, and the gilt-papered
walls were festooned with stands of fresh flowers every few feet. Servers
circled, filling wine glasses. In one corner, a jazz band played an
instrumental standard, some song she knew but couldn't name. “Come on. We’ll
say hi to my parents and then find our table.”

She led him through the crowd, saying hello
to people she knew and ignoring curious glances at her date. She spotted her
mom at a table near the bandstand. She took Mason’s hand, but only to make their
fake date more realistic. She wasn’t doing it because she needed any courage to
face her family, of course. “Here are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is my friend
Mason.”

She leaned in to kiss her mother’s cheek. “You
look beautiful.”

It was true. Her mom looked perfectly put
together in a metallic gown with a short fitted jacket, her tinted champagne
blonde hair in an updo and her nails recently manicured. Her dad looked
handsome in his formal jacket as well, probably because her mom had taken
charge and told him what to wear. She hugged Carolyn warmly. “Have a seat,
darling. You’re at our table.”

As they settled into their seats on the
opposite side of the table, her mother cast a glance over her dress. “I haven’t
seen that gown before. Is it new?”

“No, mom, it’s not new.” Had that been some
kind of dig about her spending? On the other hand, maybe it was polite
conversation. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

“Gwen and Todd will be along shortly. They’re
wrapping up some last-minute details.”

Fabulous. She’d known she’d probably be
stuck talking to Gwen for much of the night, but that didn’t mean she had to
like it. She pasted on a smile for her dad’s sake and took a long sip of the
pinot grigio the silent waiter had poured.

“And who is this young man?” Her father gave
Mason a genial smile that didn’t hide a sharp once-over.

“He and I are working together on a
children’s book for Horizons. I’m writing the text and he’s illustrating it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, honey. I always
wished you’d stayed in that writing program. You had some real talent.” Her
mother shook her head. “Such a shame when you dropped out.”

She’d heard the speech from her mom so
often, with “bartending,” “web design,” or “chef” filling in the blank for “writing.”
“I don’t really think I was cut out to be a writer. But Mason’s a wonderful
artist. You should see his stuff.” She smiled at Mason. He looked marvelous
tonight, his strong shoulders filling out Todd’s borrowed jacket.

“You’re a starving artist, eh?” Her father’s
look sharpened. Just like that, her neck stiffened, but Mason only shrugged.

“Something like that.”

His half-smile gave away his thoughts: He
was picturing her dad in full hobo gear from his TV commercials. “Old Pete
needs the money!”

She leaned in close, catching a whiff of
his aftershave and fighting the desire to press her lips against the skin right
above his pressed white collar. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t you dare
bring it up.”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “But can I just
say? Judging by the looks of this place, I don’t think Old Pete actually needed
the money.”

She muffled a snicker and feigned innocence
at her mother’s sharp glance.

Mason kept up a stream of conversation,
talking with her father about both of their careers, and showing impressive
restraint in not mentioning her dad’s tacky ads. Minutes later, the servers
brought their food.

Mason dug in with relish, but Carolyn only
picked at hers. After a few minutes, Gwen and her husband Todd joined them.

“Sorry,” Gwen said as she took her seat. “So
many last-minute details to take care of.”

Of course. This event had been her
brainchild.

“Gwen, honey, I told you before, this big
to-do wasn’t necessary. I hate to see you putting yourself out so much.” Her
mother’s tone said the opposite. If Carolyn knew anything about her mother, it
was that she loved a big to-do.

“No trouble, mom. It’s worth it to
celebrate your big day.”

Carolyn agreed, so why did she find herself
so annoyed when Gwen said it?

The rest of the meal passed in conversation
about her dad’s dealership and Todd’s law firm. Her mother told an anecdote
about her volunteer work at a food bank, and Carolyn ate in silence, glad the
spotlight had turned off of her.

“There’s an open bar at the other end of
the ballroom,” Todd said as the meal came to an end. “Anybody want to join me
for a drink?”

“I will.” Mason pushed his chair back. “Anyone
else want anything?” No one did, so the two men walked away together, seeming
cordial.

She’d always liked her brother-in-law, and
frankly wondered sometimes what he saw in her sister.

“So where did you find this one?” Gwen
leaned in to ask the question as they moved barely out of earshot. “That tacky
bar you hang out in?”

She bit her lip and prayed for patience. “I
told you, we’re working on a book together.”

“So? You still could have met him in a bar.”

“Yeah, because I meet all my work
collaborators in a bar.” Carolyn rolled her eyes. Todd supported her sister and
Gwen hadn’t worked in years. She kept saying she’d be a stay-at-home mom and then
procrastinating having an actual kid. She knew crap about working and taking
care of herself. Even less than Carolyn did, and that was saying something.

“Is that all he is? A coworker? You seemed
to be checking out the way he looked in his borrowed clothes.”

“How would you know unless you were too?” Carolyn
shot back.

“Now you two, stop it.” Her mother sounded
tired. Carolyn wasn’t surprised. She’d broken up enough spats between the two
of them over the years to last her a lifetime.

Carolyn took another sip of her wine and
shot a discreet glance at the diamond-studded watch Dad had given her for
Christmas a few years ago. When could they get out of here?

After a few minutes, Todd and Mason
returned, each holding a shot glass.

“I didn’t know you drank whiskey,” Carolyn
said.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know
about me.” Mason leaned in close to speak softly in her ear as he took his seat,
and electric heat shot down her spine at his unexpected nearness.

“So Gwen tells me you two are working on a
book?” Todd said.

“That’s right. I’m writing the text and
Mason is doing the illustrations.”

“What kind of a living do you make as an
artist?” her dad wanted to know.

She almost choked and took a swallow of
wine to clear her throat. “Dad, what a nosy question! That’s none of your
business.”

“I manage to keep food on the table most
days.” Luckily Mason seemed unperturbed. “I freelance for the big comic
companies and do my own stuff on the side. I get by.”

“Get by? That’s not going to be good enough
for my little girl. Keeping her happy requires a lot more than three square
meals a day. I ought to know. My bank account’s been suffering ever since she
was born.”

“Dad,” she said in a warning tone. “Mason’s
my date for the evening. That’s it. He doesn’t need to hear my life story.”

“I think any man who takes you on ought to
know what he’s getting into.”

She counted to three in her head before
answering. “Who said he’s ‘taking me on’? We’re working on a project together
and he’s my date tonight.”

Her father shook his head. “Huh. Maybe. But
let me tell you something in case you’re getting thoughts about my daughter. Hart
women don’t come cheap. Never have, never will. Just want to make sure you’re
up to the job.”

“Dad!” Heat swept up her face. “Would you
stop it please?” She wanted to crawl under the table and hide. He’d done some
version of this talk with most of her boyfriends, but never this bad, probably
because most of her boyfriends had been well-heeled like her family.

Her father wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t
true, so why was she so mortified?

Because she heard it through Mason’s ears
now, and it sounded awful. Her father made her out to be every bit the spoiled,
shallow princess Mason thought her, and she couldn’t stand it.

“Oh, come now,” Gwen said with a tinkling
laugh. “How should I say it?” She fiddled with the diamond choker at the base
of her slender throat. “Everyone here knows you have become accustomed to a
lifestyle that your current occupation doesn’t allow you to afford. Funny, but there’s
a reason why people who wipe noses and run the photocopier for a living don’t
usually buy a lot of Michael Kors.”

“Gwen,” Todd said, his voice a warning. God
love him. He tried to rein in his wife’s bitchy behavior, but there was only so
much one man could do.

“What?” Gwen flashed her lashes. “I’m only
speaking the truth. Everyone here knows it. We’re family, right?”

Carolyn put down her fork. She’d hoped to
avoid this kind of thing by bringing a date. Apparently she’d miscalculated. She
nodded at their elaborate surroundings.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you exactly
live the simple life. Or was all this stuff free?”

“Oh, I like luxury,” Gwen said. “The
difference is, I can afford it. I’m not calling daddy every other week to ask
him to bail me out.”

“That’s enough,” her father said sharply. “I
didn’t bring this up so I could hear you two fight.”

“Why did you bring it up?” Mason asked, and
butterflies stirred in her stomach. She knew him well enough to recognize the
edge of challenge in his voice.