Mama’s Boy by Avery Flynn

Chapter Thirty-Three

Fiona

The small pale-pink box decorated with a gauzy cream-colored ribbon that someone had managed to form into an extravagant bow arrived just as Fiona got home from school, her bag stuffed with essays and tests that needed to be graded over the weekend. She dumped her backpack on the couch, dropped down onto the cushions, and stared at the box. A little white notecard the size of the Post-it Notes she used to add silly drawings to her students’ homework was tucked into the ribbon.

It’s not quite the same, but it made me think of you. See you tonight at the harbor.

D.

She undid the ribbon and lifted off the box. Inside were a dozen pastel macarons that were almost too pretty to touch. Then she inhaled, and there was no way she could leave them alone. She picked up a light-green macaron and sniffed before taking a bite. Somehow it managed to smell exactly like sugar cookies while still tasting like the light, delicate sugary-almond goodness of a macaron.

What kind of magic was that?

The kind she didn’t have time to figure out because she had exactly thirty minutes to transform from third-grade teacher to real date with fake intentions going on a boozy dinner cruise. Okay, Dixon hadn’t exactly put it that way in his texts earlier this week. He’d called it dinner on the harbor and warned her to wear comfortable shoes just in case the water was choppy. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. She spent 90 percent of her life in Keds and jokey T-shirts her third graders would appreciate. When it came to date night—even fake date night—she dressed for the Fiona who usually only lived in her head.

A half hour later and wearing her favorite royal-blue swing dress with her hair up in a mod-style ponytail, she locked her apartment door and hustled out of her building, going as fast as she could in high-heeled boots to the subway. She’d been in such a rush that it wasn’t until she reached up for her heart necklace in a barely-noticed nervous reaction as the train barreled down the tracks that she remembered she still hadn’t found it. Of all the things to lose during a roll in a tent with a guy she most certainly was only rolling with for the fun of it. Ugh. It was just one more reminder not to forget that bad things happened when she forgot her instincts were shit when it came to men.

Still in mid-self-lecture about playing it cool this time, the call that this was her stop nearly didn’t register. Adrenaline acted like an electric buzzer zapping her in the ass, and she slipped through the car’s doors just as they were about to close and hurried up the station’s stairs into the briny-scented air of the harbor. She took the first left at the end of the block and a right two blocks later at the Book Boyfriend Café, home to a blind date with a book and a brownie as well as a chocolate martini so good it was almost better than sex with Dixon Beckett.

Liar.

Fine. It was definitely better than sex with Cheating Chad the Assbag, who was a real-life sixty-second hero.

“Fiona!”

She turned at her name. Okay, another lie. She turned at the sound of the voice she’d been hearing in her late-night solo-orgasm sessions for the past week.

Dixon stood a few feet away in a dark wool suit coat, his cheeks pink from the cool wind coming off the harbor as if he’d been standing there for a while waiting for her. That, of course, was totally ridiculous. That was probably the last thing he’d do. This was all a means to an end for him—just like he was for her. One more date, one more chance to hopefully talk up Nana’s product line without him realizing exactly what she was up to.

And she was wearing her sexiest pair of underwear because she wanted to, not because she cared what he’d think about her choice in lingerie. End of story.

He waved at her, and she started toward him, her pulse quickening with each step. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a large man as he jaywalked through the slow-moving bumper-to-bumper traffic of the commute across the bridge to Waterbury. Damn. Even in a knit cap, thick black coat, and hey-I’m-walking-here energy, she knew that man. Were Dixon’s cousins always around? Her step faltered and she let out a disappointed sigh—not because she wanted to be alone with Dixon but because, okay fine, she wanted to be alone with Dixon.

She and Griff got to Dixon at about the same time.

“I was right,” Griff said as he rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “You would have gotten here in time even if we had driven over together.”

Dixon had been worried about not being late? She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. Had the tips of his ears gotten redder? It sure seemed like it. Something warm and fuzzy that felt a lot like hope slipped around her over her already warm coat like an extra layer of girl-how-many-times-do-you-have-to-make-the-same-mistake?

“So I realize I was just planning this date and not actually going on it—I know it’s a disappointment, since that means total one-on-one time with this guy, but I wanted to make sure you got this.” He handed her a business card that only had a website address on it. “I’m testing out some changes in the sauce and was hoping you’d fill out the opinion survey.”

Fiona stared at the card, trying to understand what in the world was going on.

Dixon took a step closer, blocking some of the wind coming in off the water. “Griff is an obsessed barbecue chef.”

Griff shrugged his actor-in-a-superhero-movie-wide shoulders. “The perfect long-wearing lipstick formula and the perfect vinegar-based sauce—both are just chemistry.”

She put the card in her purse, right next to her grandma’s aromatherapy hand cream that she was going to do her best to sneak in as a product sample. “For science.”

“Exactly! For science.” Griff grinned at her, and it was so sincere and almost sweet that it looked completely out of place on his MMA-fighter exterior. “Now, let’s get you two on that boat.”

“I wasn’t going to welch,” Dixon grumbled.

Griff laughed. “Nash and I take no chances.”

They walked the two blocks to the marina, their steps made faster by the frigid air, and headed in the direction of the bigger boats where the booze cruise was docked. The tip of her nose was icy even though it wasn’t even winter yet and, even buried in her pockets, her fingers were getting that probably-turning-blue feeling. Please let us get seated inside. The only other time she’d been on a harbor cruise was a girls’ night. She and Hadley had spent the summer evening out on the deck basking in the late-setting sun. There was no way a deck-side seat would be anything but chilly with the night wind this time of year.

They were almost to the booze cruise boat when Dixon and Griff stopped in front of a private yacht with a guy in a captain’s uniform standing at the end of the dock.

The man tipped his hat to them. “Welcome aboard. Everything’s ready for you inside.”

“Wait.” Fiona gripped Dixon’s arm, stopping him from going any farther. “You said this was dinner and a cruise on the harbor.”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “And Griff’s getting some free market research out of it.”

“But this isn’t on one of those boozy dinner cruise boats?” She looked over at the other boat, music spilling out from it.

“No.” Dixon put his hand on the small of her back as they walked across the dock, leaving Griff at the marina. “This is my boat.”

That’s when she noticed the name painted on the end of the yacht: Lady Lucror. Lady Win, according to the high school Latin she still sorta remembered.

Good thing it wasn’t a real date—otherwise the tingling awareness she felt from his hand even through her coat would have had her worried that her bad instincts were winning over her better judgment. The thing was that they totally were. So maybe what this situation called for was a release valve. That’s all. Nothing more, just something to lessen the pressure.