I sighed. “I got you.”
***
MASON: I need to pick you up earlier than planned. My great aunt wants a ride.
I sent the text to Lauren as soon as I got home. I ordered a pizza and took a quick shower before I checked my phone and saw her response.
LAUREN: Is she the line-dancing one?
MASON: Yep. And she knows this isn’t real.
LAUREN: …
LAUREN: How?
MASON: My sister is going to kill me one day.
LAUREN: Don’t worry. I’ll write a eulogy from the perspective of a heartbroken girlfriend for your funeral. I’ll wear a face veil and everything.
MASON: Your devotion to me is inspiring. Do you say that to all the guys?
LAUREN: Sure do. It’s why I’m single. I say it to scare off the fuckboys. Apparently, it works a little too well.
I laughed as I got up to get my pizza from my front door. I wasn’t surprised at all about that—everything I knew about Lauren screamed that she was the kind of person who got what she wanted in the way she wanted it. Not in a throw-a-tantrum way, but the determined way.
If her first attempt didn’t work, she’d think up another way and try again. Rinse and repeat until she got what she wanted.
I admired that.
MASON: That’s one way to narrow the dating pool.
LAUREN: You’re the only one who’s stuck around, but you kinda have to.
MASON: People always want what they can’t have. Want me to flaunt you like girls on Instagram flaunt their asses?
LAUREN: Do you follow lots of those girls?
MASON: No. Sadly, my grandpa does, and he likes to share.
LAUREN: The leather-wearing one?
MASON: Would you be surprised if I said yes?
LAUREN: Absolutely not.
LAUREN: And no flaunting needed. I’m not a surgically enhanced chest.
MASON: I think I’m getting used to your weird comparisons because I didn’t even blink twice at that.
LAUREN: It’s one of the best things about me. I’m like a tray of brownies. You don’t get to the really good bits until you reach the middle of it.
MASON: What if I prefer the crispy edges?
LAUREN: Then we’re a fake match made in heaven. You can have the devil’s brownies, and I’ll have the soft, gooey ones in the middle.
MASON: Done.
LAUREN: Good. This is going well already. I can’t wait for our first real fight.
MASON: We had it already. Yesterday. When your cat sat on my head.
LAUREN: Don’t take it personally. Henry sits on everyone’s head. It’s like his asshole way of showing affection. He’s sitting on mine right now.
MASON: It’s his way of showing affection?
Her reply was a photo of her and, yep, Henry was sitting on top of her head. He had one paw draped down the side of her face, resting on her cheek, and his tail was curled around her jaw.
She was right. That was an asshole way of showing affection.
MASON: I see. Is that like feline spooning?
LAUREN: I don’t know. I wake up with him tucked into my side. It’s the only action I get these days.
MASON: Didn’t you mention that you’re responsible for your own orgasms?
LAUREN: Yes, but I don’t do it in front of Henry. Have you ever had a cat watch you while you masturbate?
This was officially the single weirdest conversation I’d ever had with a woman—especially one I wasn’t dating and didn’t know all that well.
Yet, here we were. Talking about cats and masturbation. Although I suppose I was the idiot who brought it up.
MASON: I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.
LAUREN: It’s the least pleasurable thing you’ll ever do. I lock him out now. There’s nothing like looking up mid-orgasm and being judged by a cat on top of your dresser.
MASON: So not only does Henry sit on people’s heads, he’s also a voyeur.
LAUREN: Basically. He’s a furry little pervert. Don’t show him your grandpa’s video, whatever you do.
MASON: There go my plans for tomorrow. I was going to come over and give him a private show.
LAUREN: If you do that and I find cat boy juice in my shoes again, I will rain hell upon your life.
MASON: I’m going to skip over the ‘cat boy juice’ thing and ask how you’re going to rain hell upon my life, because that sounds both terrifying and intriguing.
LAUREN: I’ll send you dirty pictures that are both real and fake and you’ll have to figure out which ones belong to me and which ones I stole from the internet.
LAUREN: And I’ll caption each one with a possessive fake girlfriend line so you get really turned on.
MASON: All I hear from this is that I get dirty pictures of you.
LAUREN: Do you want dirty pictures of me?
MASON: I’m a single, twenty-eight-year-old man who hasn’t had sex in months. Let me go ahead and turn you down right now.
LAUREN: I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. For that, there will be no dirty pictures.
MASON: Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?