Show and a Bottle

LAUREN

I spotted Mason’s car in the driveway when I got home. That was odd. He should’ve been at work.

I walked into the house, expecting to find him in the living room. But it was empty. I checked his study next, but no luck. Then, I heard voices coming from the library.

Without thinking, I walked right in. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at me. Mason wasn’t alone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I saw your car outside. I’ll let you get back to your meeting.” I quickly retreated, closing the door behind me. I felt like such an idiot. I had no idea he held meetings at home.

As I started down the hallway, I heard a door open and close, followed by soft footsteps.

“Lauren.”

I turned around to see Mason approaching. I held my breath as he stopped in front of me, his hands casually tucked in his pockets.

“Hey, I’m sorry for barging in like that,” I said, forcing a smile. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

There was a pause. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, he took his hands out of his pockets.

“It’s fine. I left work early today. We were just wrapping up when you came in.”

“Oh.” I tried to keep my response short, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied.

“Still, I’m sorry. I’ll knock next time.”

He shrugged, which I took as acceptance. Then he asked, “How was your interview? Did it go well?”

I was about to answer when his phone beeped. He glanced at it, then back at me.

“I need to get back to my meeting. I’ll find you when I’m done,” he said, his voice low and soothing. He brushed a stray hair from my face, his touch light as a feather.

“Okay.”

I retreated to my room to shower and change. Afterward, I made myself a snack and settled into Mason’s favorite chair in the living room.

An hour and a half later, Mason walked in. I was scrolling through job listings on my phone.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” I didn’t look up, but I could feel him sit across from me. When I finally looked up, he was leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs stretched out.

“How was the interview?” he asked, his gaze steady.

I grimaced, remembering the disaster it had been. He picked up on it immediately.

“That bad? I take it you didn’t get the job.”

“Oh, I did.”

“Then why do you look like you need a stiff drink?”

I put my phone down and met his gaze.

“I didn’t take the job,” I admitted.

His expression didn’t change. “I thought you wanted a job, Lauren. You seemed excited about it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what happened at the interview?”

I was about to brush it off, but one look at his intense gray eyes made me change my mind.

“They didn’t want me. They wanted Mason Campbell.”

He looked confused, so I elaborated.

“Athena set up the interview for me. But she listed me as Lauren Campbell, not Lauren Hart.”

“She has a habit of overstepping,” he said, his eyes half-closed.

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Yes, well, when the boss found out I was your wife, he offered me the job on the spot. He didn’t even look at my resume!”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I take it that bruised your ego?”

“It did! I was so excited about this job, and you ruined it for me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t do anything, Lauren.”

I groaned. “I know, but blaming you makes me feel a little better. I really thought I was going to have a job.”

I was so frustrated I wanted to scream, but I knew that would just give Mason more ammunition.

“What’s the name of the company?” he asked, his jaw clenched.

I studied his face, looking for a hint of a joke or a threat. But all I saw was Mason, focused and steady as always.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“That’s none of your business.”

I stood firm, arms crossed. “Then I won’t tell you.”

“That’s fine.”

His face held that constant smirk. I could never quite decipher what it meant.

“I can just ask Coop, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m his boss.”

“Oh, really? Well, I’m his boss’s wife,” I retorted.

He just laughed. “That doesn’t change a thing.” His eyes lazily watched me, and even this small action set my stomach on fire.

“I need a drink!” I stood up, slipping away from him towards the bar. “If I’m going to be jobless, I need to drown my sorrows in booze.”

“You do realize how pathetic that sounds, right?” He called after me. I turned just in time to see him smile at me. I expected it to be condescending, but it wasn’t.

His voice was just a tad softer than usual.

“Who cares what you think?” I said, hoping my tone conveyed my indifference.

Life is a drag when you have nothing to do. When your friends are too busy to answer your calls or texts, that’s when you realize how lonely the world can be.

I was on my second slice of pizza, leaning against my bed’s headboard, half-watching the TV show.

I wasn’t really paying attention because I was mostly trying to come up with a plan B.

None of the jobs I’d applied for had called me for an interview yet, and I was starting to think they never would.

And here I was, sitting on my bed, drowning my sorrows in pizza and soda. The more I ate, the more I realized that hunger was only a small part of why I was feeling so down about myself.

Someone knocked on the door once, then twice, and without looking up, I invited them in.

I didn’t look at the door, but the scent of his cologne told me who was in my room.

I looked up into his eyes that held mine. Something in me ignited at the intimacy of our gaze, but I swallowed the flame so far down it could only tickle my toes.

“I wanted to see how you were.” He sat down in the single chair and gave me a cold stare. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fantastic.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

I shrugged. “Not everyone can lie as well as you.”

“I don’t lie.” His voice held a sharp note before he glanced at the TV. “I thought I’d find you being dramatic as usual.”

“What do you think?” My tone was relaxed, even soft, and I pulled off the I-don’t-give-a-damn look so well that if he didn’t know me better, he might have been fooled.

“I think this is sadder.”

I dropped the slice of pizza back into the box and slid off the bed, trying to walk to the door. He caught my arm and turned me to face him.

His face was serious, his handsome mouth set in a moody line.

“I didn’t come here to annoy each other,” he murmured. “Honestly, I’m here to alleviate your—”

“Boredom?” I asked, raising my eyebrows when he couldn’t find the right word.

“I guess so?”

I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m watching an American show called ~Brooklyn Nine-Nine~. Want to join me?”

“To watch an American show?” He hesitated, then shrugged a little. “Sure, Lauren, why not?”

“Can you handle it? It’s not your type of show, you know?” I let that hang in the air between us for a moment, then continued. “You can always back out.”

“I don’t waste my time watching pointless shows that won’t benefit me.” His voice held a hint of dryness.

He turned me around to walk back to the bed and gently removed his hand from my arm.

“Color me surprised.” I crawled under the covers, watching him sit back down in the chair, crossing his legs. “So you watch the news? Football?”

“No.”

“Cooking shows? Reality TV?”

“I read the paper,” he murmured, and if he was lying, he was damn good at it.

“Who reads the paper?”

He smirked and shrugged.

“Come sit here.” I patted the bed next to me. He looked at me suspiciously, as if he expected me to pounce, and I almost laughed.

Holding his intense gaze, he asked, “Why?”

“Unless you don’t trust yourself.”

I could tell he was struggling to suppress his annoyance when he replied, “Just watch your show, Lauren.”

“Come here,” I tried again.

There was no reason to push, no reason to want him to sit with me on the bed and watch a show with me, but I wanted him to.

He took a moment to study my face, taking me in like he always did. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

I grinned and nodded. “I promise I’ll be a good little girl.”

His silver eyes sparkled down at me. Mason gave me a lazy smile. “There’s nothing honorable about what you just said.”

I gave a small laugh in return.

I watched him walk over to the bed, wondering how the hell I managed to get him to watch something and sit next to me.

He didn’t even put up a fight.

Was he finally warming up to me?

Could we actually become friends?

I scooted over to make more room for him, and he watched me with an unreadable expression before he sat down on the bed, his legs still on the floor.

Well, I never expected him to get under the covers with me.

We started watching ~Brooklyn Nine-Nine~, a show that Beth and I used to watch when we had nothing else to do.

At every funny scene, I would laugh hard, and I was actually having a good time with him, even though he would just stare at me like I was crazy every time I burst out laughing.

“Don’t you think it’s even a little bit funny?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“You know what you need?” I shifted to my knees, my back now blocking the TV screen. “You need to lighten up. I’ve got just the thing.”

I hopped off the bed and made my way to the fridge. I pulled out a bottle of hard liquor that I’d bought ages ago but never opened.

“Voila!” I held up the bottle, wiggling my eyebrows for effect. “What do you say?”

He sighed, crossing one leg over the other. “I’d say I’d be pretty pissed if one of my bottles went missing.”

My smile faltered.

“I’m just messing with you. For someone who loves a good joke, you sure can’t take one.”

“Or maybe it’s because you can be such an ass sometimes, and I can’t tell when you’re joking.”

He rolled his eyes, not for the first time that day.

“So, how about a couple of drinks, Mr. Campbell?” I wiggled my eyebrows again, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth. “Are you game?”

“I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“It’s just two drinks! Don’t be a buzzkill.”

He watched me for a moment before standing up and closing the distance between us. His steps were slow and deliberate, as if giving me a chance to run. But I didn’t. I stood my ground, even when he was standing right in front of me.

“Two drinks could easily turn into more, and before you know it, the bottle’s empty and I’m right where you want me.”

He was so close now, his eyes locked on mine. Then he glanced at the bottle, took it from my hand.

“Vulnerable. At your mercy,” he finished, his breath warm and minty against my face.

He turned to walk away, bottle in hand.

“How long have you been planning that little speech?” I asked, amusement in my voice.

He paused, turning back to face me.

“Since the moment I saw you pull out the bottle?”

I moved closer, my arm slipping around his neck, my fingers threading through his hair. Mason looked down at me, his eyes dark and intense, searching mine. His gaze always seemed to strip away everything but the heat that filled the air between us in moments like this. It was something I both hated and craved.

In the softest, huskiest voice I could manage, I said, “I don’t need to get you drunk to get what I want.”

He pressed his lips together, as if my words were too much for him. And maybe they were. I knew I was playing with fire, but I wanted to feel the burn.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then snapped them open, glaring at me. He grabbed my arm, once, hard, then let it drop, pushing me away. He stepped back, putting some much-needed distance between us.

I looked up at him, taking in his expression. There was something there I didn’t quite understand. But as I started to smile, I knew we were both falling into a hole we’d dug for ourselves.