Two Thousand Miles (8 page)

I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I held the light
. Mason carefully leaned over the side of the boat and studied the bank’s muddy edge. Suddenly, he drove the spiked end of the gig hard into the earth, jarring me.

“
Aw yeah,” Mason cooed, admiring his catch. “That’s a big sucker right there. Bull frog. They have the meatiest legs.”

I glared at him.

“You wanna try?” he asked, ignoring the annoyed look on my face.

“Not really.”

“I think you should try it,” he said, expertly swapping the spotlight in my hand for the gig pole. Mason slid behind me, putting one arm around my waist, and hugged his body against mine. He shined the light on the bank, then whispered in my ear, “Okay, now look at the bank; they blend in pretty good. When you see one—strike fast. You can do it,” Mason soothed.

It was surprising how
easily he’d been able to get me to do what he wanted without really trying. All it had taken was a little sweet talk. Mason took his hands off of me and made a quiet step back; the light danced around the bank, but eventually focused on a frog parked near the top. I gripped the gig, my hand beginning to sweat; I swallowed hard, leaned forward, and stabbed the frog almost as skillfully as Mason had.

“Hey, I got it,” I chirped, spinning around with the wilted frog dangling
from the end of the pole and losing my balance in the process. Slanting backward, I dropped the pole and fell off the boat onto the muddy bank. Mason laughed.

I clawed at the murky ground, filling my hands with mud and slung the clumps at him. The first one hit the side of the boat, but the second one landed with a hard smack against Mason’s chest.

“
Ow,” he complained.

“How funny was that,
asshat
?” I called.

“
Asshat!” he shrieked.

“Yeah, any guy who takes a girl frog
giggin’ on their first date and laughs when she falls out of the boat is a fucking asshat!” I barked, slipping around as I tried to get to my feet. 

Mason was laughing so hard his whole body shook
, which only made me madder.

“Are you going to help me up or not?” I roared.

“I’m sorry, Kat,” he said, reaching over the side of the boat. He got me up then took me in his arms and lifted me back into the boat. He may have been sorry, but he was still slightly laughing, and I didn’t like it. I wiggled out of his arms and plopped down on a nearby seat, my muddy hands and feet looking like ape appendages. Mason bent down in front of me. I turned my head away from him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Are you okay?”

I shrugged, not looking at him. He sat next to me and casually picked up the frog gig and inspected my catch.
“At least, you got a good frog out of it.” I shrugged again, still not looking at him.

“Alright now
dammit, pouty time is over,” Mason declared, sounding a little pouty himself. I cracked a smile. “That’s better. Now come here,” he said, holding his hand out for me. I gleefully slapped my muddy hand against his. Mason intertwined our fingers on both hands and then held them up.

“See, now it looks like I fell in, too.” 

“Have you seen my back?” I spun around to show him the mucky backside of his shirt.

“That’s an easy fix, Cali girl.”

Mason spun me around and put his hands under the shirt, “Arms up,” he said, and carefully lifted it off of me. He took out a hose with a sprayer attachment, sat me down, and washed off my feet. Then we took turns cleaning our hands. After rinsing mine, I slung as much water off as I could and then pulled my hands down Mason’s chest, wetting his shirt.  

“Okay, now we’re even
,” he said. 

“We’re hardly even, but I’m going to let it go,” I said.

Mason smiled and ran his wet hands up and down my arms. From shoulder to wrist. My mouth pursed, but I let him get away with it.

“Better sport about the water than the frog
giggin’”, he said. “Does that mean you forgive me for bringing you out here on our supposed first date?”

“Oh, so are you
going to say this isn’t a date?” I gasped.

“I didn’t ask you to go on a date with me,” he lightly
defended.

“You asked me to go eat with you.”

“Where was the word
date
in that sentence? ‘Cause I didn’t hear it,” he stated.

“Then what was the point of dragging me all over town tonight?”

“I was tryin’ to be nice,” he said. “Friendly.” The corner of his mouth crept up, forming a crooked smile. I shook my head. “You can say whatever you want, Mason, but I know you didn’t put me on the back of your motorcycle, buy me dinner, and bring me out here at 11:30 at night because you want to be friends.”

Mason smiled, the look on his face proving he wasn’t going to give up the ruse.

“Okay, maybe you were just being friendly,” I conceded.

“I’m a friendly kind of guy,”
Mason said, his arms open wide.

“Alright,
friend
,” I smirked. “We should probably pack up this pitiful catch and go.”

“Alright,” he
agreed, his tongue in his cheek.

I followed Mason up the stone path to his truck, wishing I had something to cover up
with. I’d left his muddy T-shirt on the boat and was only wearing a bikini. I didn’t have a bombshell type body or anything, but I felt it was better than average, and knowing it was barely covered suddenly made me uncomfortable. I stood with my arms wrapped around my waist.

Mason let the
truck’s tailgate down and dropped the two bullfrogs into a small cooler then whipped his shirt over his head and held it out for me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“What are friends for?” he asked, shutting the tailgate. I felt like shooting him a bird, but didn’t. I didn’t want him to think I was bothered by his
friend
act, or any of the other shit he’d pulled that afternoon. I put the shirt on and got in the truck. I sat as close to the passenger-side door as I could. I wanted to be as far away from Mason as possible, which was why I almost fell out of the truck when he opened my door.

“I’m
goin’ inside to get a shirt,” he said.

“Inside where?”

“The house—my grandparents live here. That’s their boat we were just out on.”

“Okay.”

“Come with me.”

“No,” I said, not looking at him.

“Kat.”

“What?”

“Come with me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Come with me,” he said again.

That Abbott-and-Costello-
esque routine could have gone on the rest of the night, so I slid out of the truck and went with him. I pulled away when he tried to hold my hand. He laughed, but I found nothing funny. He was playing games, and it was pissing me off.

Mason unlocked
the pedestrian door next to a garage bay and flipped on the light. The space inside wasn’t at all what I expected.

“I stay here sometimes,” Mason said. “They finished this room for me when I was nine, I think.
Because my parents worked, I stayed here with my grandparents a lot during the summer.”

The room looked lived in, not like his room at his parent’s house.

“We’ve upgraded it over the years, but the LSU stuff has been here since the beginning. My grandfather is an alumnus. My dad, too. So, me going there is kind of important to them.”

“Is that why you’re going?”

“Partly, I guess.”

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

“LSU,” he grinned.

Of
course
.

“Do you need help picking out a shirt?” I asked. He hadn’t bothered with putting one on yet.

“I think I can figure it out.”

“You
wanna hurry it up?” I asked, one hand on my hip. “It would be the
friendly
thing to do.”

Mason
stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Alright,” he said and pulled a purple and gold T-shirt from the dresser.

“I’ll be outside,” I said
, and walked out. Mason followed, turning out the light and locking the door behind him. I stood on the concrete patio, overlooking the backyard with my back to Mason; my arms folded tightly across my chest.

“Kat,” Mason said
, softly. I turned to look at him, hoping he would do or say something sweet. The moonlight sparked his silhouette; his features barely visible to me, but still I saw him, how beautiful he was. My heart fluttered in anticipation.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I muttered, disappointed.

Mason and I pulled up at the Broussard’s around
12:30. “Stay put,” he said, when I tried to open my door. He came around and opened it for me. “Thanks, friend,” I said. Mason plucked me off the step rail and sat me down, landing my bare feet in the dirt covered front yard.

“You stink,”
Mason announced. I pushed away from him. “I wonder why,” I smirked.

“Stinky
asshat,” he whispered, his face straight as a razor.

“Yeah, well, you don’t smell all that awesome either,” I said.

“But I look amazing and that’s what counts,” he said, raising his eyebrows, fluffing his hair. I laughed, and then I heard Shelby laugh. Her laugh was unmistakable. It was surprisingly hearty for someone so willowy. I looked around to see if she was spying on us from a window or something.

“They’re around back,” Mason said.
I hoped
they
didn’t include Dixie. I really didn’t feel like dealing with her. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to.

Dana, Bit, Shelby and Russ were sitting on the couches beneath the covered porch talking
to a guy I didn’t recognize.

“
Dugas!” he shouted at Mason and almost laughed. “Garrett, what’s goin’ on, man?” Mason said in that figurative way guys talk to each other. “Not much, man. Good to see ya,” Garrett said, and then they did that one-arm guy hug thing and patted each other on the back.

Garrett looked at me. “You must be the girl they stuck with my old room,” he said. His voice was deep, and he didn’t look like his siblings. He was blond and brown eyed
, and I could see why the girls in town were anxious to spend a night with him. Garrett and I shook hands. “I’m Kat,” I said.

“Good to see
ya, Kat. I’m Garrett. Or G—depends who’s talkin’ to me.”

“Y’all come on over and have a beer with us,” Dana called.

“Yeah, it’d be cool to catch up,” Garrett told Mason.

Shelby passed Mason
and me a beer, and we sat down with them. I sat next to Dana. Mason sat beside Garrett.

“So, I showed up at Dixie’s this afternoon just after you two left. She’s still crazy as hell,” Garrett laughed.

“Yeah, she’s not taking our breakup well,”
Mason said.

“She never does, man. What is it, the fifth or sixth t
ime since I was here last?”

Wow, and I thought there had only been one
breakup
.

Mason’s eyes cut to me. I looked away and turned up my beer.

“She’s
really
not happy about you,” Garrett said, nodding at me. “I can see why though. You’ve got her beat in the looks department hands down.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment
? Either way, it was rude. I smirk-smiled at him and took another drink of my beer, suddenly anxious to get the hell out of there.

“Garrett!” Dana chided.

“I’m sorry Momma. That wasn’t nice. I’m tired and probably a little drunk. I apologize,” Garrett said to me.

I could tell by the look on Mason’s face that he wished he hadn’t drank any beer because it meant he’d have
to spend the night, which made me wonder where the hell everybody was going to sleep, or more importantly, me. Where was I going to sleep? It seemed Garrett had arrived too late to be scooped up by some girl for the night, so he’d want his old bed. I’d probably wind up on the pullout in Bit and Shelby’s room or on the living room couch. At that point, I didn’t care which; I was ready to call it a night.

“Did you and Mason have a good time?” Dana leaned in and asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. Parts of the night had been fun—the parts where he’d cut the bullshit, that is. Little did I know, there would be more to come.

I stood up. “I’m going to go to bed. It was nice meeting you
, Garrett.”

“You too, Kat.
And again, I’m sorry about my big mouth. I’m bunkin’ with my sisters tonight so it won’t put you out.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, only to be polite because I really didn’t want to be put out.

“You’re our guest. I’ve slept face down on that pullout plenty. That room was mine before it was theirs.” Garrett reached out to shake my hand. “Fresh start tomorrow?” he asked.