“Hey… Camille.”
Gemma didn’t fail to notice that pause as if he’d had to search for the woman’s name.
“The seasonmustbe over,” she said. “Because you told me, very clearly, that we couldn’t see each other again because you don’t date during the season.”
“I’m a friend,” Gemma said quickly. “From high school.”
“Of course you are.” The woman didn’t even look Gemma’s way. “And how about Heidi? Is she a friend, too? Because she told me you took her out a few weeks ago,afterthe season started. But that can’t be right, can it?”
“Uh…”
“Don’t strain yourself looking for an excuse, Mace. One and done, that’s your motto. If only you’d show us the respect of sticking to that and not promising to call. But you like to keep us dangling, just in case you ever want to reel us in again. Why? Because you’re…” She leaned over Mason. “An asshole.”
Camille’s hand reached for Mason’s wineglass, Gemma saw what was coming and opened her mouth to warn him, but it was too late.
Camille dumped the wine down the front of Mason’s shirt. As he bit off a yelp, she turned to Gemma. Gemma’s hand shot out to steady her own wineglass, but Camille didn’t reach for it.
“Sorry to end your date this way, hon,” she said. “If anything, consider it an act of sisterly kindness. Best leave this fish in the sea, swimming with the rest of the sharks.”
Camille nodded a goodbye to Gemma and then strode off, chin high, and as Gemma watched her go, she barely suppressed theurge to applaud. You had to give the woman credit for calling a guy out for that shit. It was, however, far more awkward when the “guy” was sitting across the table, dripping wet and looking…
Looking mortified.
Gemma quickly handed Mason her napkin. “We should go.”
“No, I’ve got this.” He patted his shirt with one hand while reaching for his suit jacket with the other. “I’ll just put this on.”
“You’re not sitting here with a wet shirt, Mason.”
His jaw set. “I’ll be fine. It was a misunderstanding.”
Yeah, pretty sure the only misunderstanding was that she believed you when you said you’d call.
Gemma looked around. Everyone was staring at them.
“You wanted steak,” Mason said, yanking on his jacket. “You’re getting steak.”
“Uh, Mason?” She nodded toward someone openly lifting a phone to snap a photo. “I really think we should go.”
He glared toward the camera and rose, fists balling, and for a second, Gemma thought she’d need to leap up and stop a fight. But then he glanced her way and a guilty, almost sheepish, look crossed his face.
“May we leave?” she whispered. “Please?”
He nodded and put out a hand to help her from her chair.
CHAPTER NINE
MASON
Mason threw open the restaurant door and… it was pouring rain. Not the usual wintry drizzle, but full-on rain. Good thing Gemma brought her umbrella.
Uh, no. You told her to leave it in the car.
He yanked off his jacket and motioned for her to hold it over her head. She pretended not to see him before striding into the downpour.
Gemma was pissed. Because someone told her to leave her umbrella behind. And then told her to take off her coat on a November night. And that had only been the start of it.
What the hell had he been thinking, taking her to Maize? Taking her outat allwhile he was under this rain cloud of his own?
