Picked(23)

Staring out to the street for the tenth time, I tried to calm my nerves.

I loved listening to the sound of my mother’s heels walking across the hardwood floors. I think she did it to look sexy for my dad. She only put them on when it was time for him. I think he must have liked them. Did Becker like heels? Did all guys like heels?

My feet remained planted. I watched Mason get out of the black car and open Becker’s door. My plummeting heart wouldn’t let my body move. He didn’t look like I’d pictured him. His game character looked bigger on the screen than what I was picturing. I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. Looking around, I grabbed my borrowed handbag and my phone. I had all intentions of cleaning up, I just didn’t get around to it. Sunday was a lazy day. I’d do it Sunday before the work week started.

“Hi,” I said, slipping through the small opening. “Snowball. He doesn’t really like strangers,” I lied.

“You look even more beautiful than I pictured.”

“You look smaller.” Okay. I was making a conscious effort to shut the fuck up. Answer with yes, no, or thank you. Smaller? Oh my god, Cass.

Becker laughed, directing his hand toward the car.

“That’s not what I meant,” I countered. Shut up, Cass. “I mean, you’re tall, just not very bulky.” That’s it. I needed a chastity belt for my mouth. One that wouldn’t allow stupid to fall out.

Becker stopped, just before opening my door. “I’m going to let you off the hook and just say thank you.”

“That’s very kind of you.” I smiled, tilting my head. He smiled, too, and opened my door. “Good evening, Mason.” I nodded before getting in.

“Good evening, Cass.” He smiled warmly, remembering my name.

The time passed quickly with laughter and conversation. The distance and amount of time it was taking us to get there didn’t go unnoticed. I was having fun. I could almost see why girls swooned over him. He was charming, funny, smart, and very quick witted. Mason was, too. I laughed at the two of them telling a story of trying to shoo a chipmunk out of the garage.

Mason laughed, telling how Becker screamed like a little girl when he swept the little creature out with a broom.

“Did you see the look on that thing? He was out for blood,” Becker argued, trying to protect his manhood.

I thought it was cute. I didn’t want to like him like that. It was an investigation about the three brides I was sure wasn’t there due to being forced. Becker wouldn’t do that. I could tell that already, and he was perfect. They probably did like being there. I mean, he had money, he had the looks, he had the cars, the help, the house, and he was so nice. I didn’t think he was an arrogant playboy at all.

“Where are we going?” I asked in a quiet voice when Mason stopped to type in a code.

“My house. We’re having dinner on the rooftop.”

“Of your house?”

“Yes. It’s as lovely as it was last night after dark. The stars are way more exciting than the city lights.”

“I’m not sure I should go to your house. I mean I don’t even know you. What if you don’t let me leave?” Another laugh.

“I promise to let you leave. Mason?” Becker turned, wanting help.

“I promise to make sure Becker lets you leave. I’ll even personally drive you to your door.”

How was I supposed to say no to that? And the food, there would be divine tasting food. I couldn’t say no to that, either. Walking into the house, I smiled, it was just like the game. Becker showed me around, avoiding the north end of the house. It literally felt like two houses. The one on the south side was Becker’s, I was sure, complete with a gym and a very manly sitting room with brown leather furniture sporting an African theme.

“What’s over there?” I asked, curious. The girls were over there. I knew it.

Becker looked at me cautiously with a smirk. “Separate living quarters,” he replied, leading me to the upper deck. He was right, the view was magnificent. Beautiful aged trees surrounded the estate, like he’d chosen the middle of an enchanted forest and built his house.

Mason was the one to pour our wine. I wondered what his role there was. Was he like his assistant, his right-hand man, or was he just the help, plain and simple? I didn’t think so. They joked around too much for that. I bet they were friends.

We laughed and joked about me being clumsy. I explained how it was in my best interest not to have anything hot, sharp, or that took bullets. I confessed at how unorganized I was, omitting the part where I didn’t really have a place for anything. Why did the can food need to be in a cabinet when the countertop worked just as well? Why fold clothes and put them in a drawer? The laundry basket does the same thing.