When I'm Gone (Rosemary Beach #11)(18)

“I’ll be available tomorrow evening. Call me when it’s over. I want to hear everything.”

The fact that he cared so much made my little crush pulse and grow even more. Having a crush on someone like Mase Manning was ridiculous. He probably had a world of women with crushes on him. He was helping me, and it would make him uncomfortable to know how I felt.

“OK. I’ll call,” I assured him.

“Good. I’ve got to go. I’m having dinner at my parents’. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night.”

“OK, ’bye,” I replied.

Dropping my phone into my lap, I felt like clapping and squealing. But instead, I got up and went to enjoy some lasagna.

Astor Munroe was not what I had been expecting. When I thought of a professor, I imagined a man with silver in his hair and possibly glasses. Maybe even a little potbelly under his button-up starched shirt.

What I hadn’t expected was a man of about thirty-five, with a tall, lanky body, wearing a pair of blue jeans, Nike tennis shoes, and a short-sleeved polo shirt. He wasn’t handsome, exactly, but then, I was comparing him with Mase, and that wasn’t exactly fair. I wouldn’t want to be compared with Harlow. They were the beautiful people. So I shouldn’t do that to Dr. Munroe.

His soft brown eyes were kind. He didn’t make me nervous at all. The moment I walked into his office, he stood up and, with an easy smile, invited me to have a seat. After every question and request, he assured me that it was all to help me learn. It was obvious that he was excited about the challenge I presented to him. He shared the story of his father’s struggle, and I was in awe of how, at twenty-one years old, Dr. Munroe had taught his father to conquer something he had been dealing with his whole life.

But when I got up to leave, he made a comment I didn’t understand. I thought about it on the cab ride back home, while the female driver chatted on about her grandkids and how good her chicken and dumplings were.

When I had thanked him for fitting me into his schedule so quickly, he had said I had Mr. Manning to thank for that.

Question was, what did that mean? Had Mase done something to get him to act so swiftly? And if so, what?

Mase

Next time someone knocked on my door, I was going to check out the window first before opening it. I had been waiting for Reese’s call when I’d made the mistake of answering a knock at the door. Cordelia, my friend with benefits, came strutting in wearing her skintight jeans and a halter crop top. Her boots clicked on the hardwood floor, and she smirked at me as she moved toward my bedroom.

“You haven’t called, and I need a good f*ck,” she hollered over her shoulder, before pulling the halter top off and tossing it at me with a laugh.

My cock didn’t even twitch. Shit.

I had hoped this . . . thing I was feeling about Reese wasn’t more than just a friendship thing. But f*ck me, all I could see was what was wrong with Cordelia. For starters, her belly button was pierced. I used to think that was sexy, but now it seemed she was trying too hard. And her hips didn’t flare. When she swayed those nonexistent hips, there was no nice roundness to her ass. It was hardly there.

This wasn’t going to work. I’d been friends with Cordelia for years. Two years ago, we had gotten drunk and slept together, so instead of making things awkward, we’d agreed that it was OK. We’d scratch each other’s itch when we needed to. Only once had we put a halt to it, when she’d gotten serious for about four months with a guy who turned out to be married. She’d ended it, and we’d gone back to our old ways.

I didn’t date often. I wasn’t available enough for females. They were needy, and after a couple of failed relationships, I had decided that sex with Cordelia was the fix I needed. But things seemed off now. Something had changed.

And it was me.

Dammit. I didn’t have time for this.

“You should have called,” I told her, tossing her halter top back at her.

She didn’t grab it but let it fall to the ground at her feet. The confused frown on her face didn’t bode well. “I never call. I just show up. Same for you,” she reminded me.

“I’m waiting for a phone call. It’s important. I can’t tonight.”

She cupped her tits in her hands and pinched the pink nipples. “You telling me a phone call is better than this?”

I knew women well enough not to tell her the truth. So I shrugged. “Tonight’s not gonna work. I’m not sure when will work. I’ve got a busy week ahead of me.” In case these feelings that were screwing with my head where Reese was concerned faded, I didn’t want to end things with Cordelia. She was a friend, too.

She reached down and snatched up her top and jerked it back on. “Fine. Be an ass. I won’t be back, so if you want it, you have to come and get it,” she said angrily.

Oh, man. This wasn’t why I screwed around with her. Cordelia didn’t do drama. She was easy to handle. This was drama. I hated drama.

“Sorry, Cord. I really am. But I have a lot going on right now. It’s just not a good time for me. Mentally, I’m not in the game.”

She glared at me and slammed the door behind her.

With any luck, she’d sleep on this and be over it tomorrow. I liked Cordelia. I just never liked her for more than a friend. The sex thing was just better than jacking off alone. I needed to apologize to her, but for now, I was glad she’d left without too much of a fuss.