Mismatched in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters) by L.E. Rico

Author:L.E. Rico
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sports Romance; Small Town & Rural Fiction; Two-Hour Romance Short Reads; Women's Humorous Fiction; Romantic Comedy; Family Life Fiction; Contemporary Women's Fiction; Minnesota; Whiskey Sisters; L.E. Rico; Bliss; Entangled Publishing; Sweet Romance; Clean Romance; Popular romance; Series romance; Short romance; Mayhem; Small Town Romance; RomCom; Midwest; Opposites Attract Romance; Winter romance; Bartender; Blame it on the Bet; Mischief and Mayhem; Mistletoe & Mayhem; Mismatched in Mayhem
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Bliss)
Published: 2019-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Mason

It shouldn’t be this hard. I shouldn’t have this much trouble getting over someone I haven’t known for even an entire month. I shouldn’t be thinking about her nonstop. I shouldn’t be losing sleep, wondering where she is and what she’s doing. And, is she thinking about me, too? God, I hope so. Because if she doesn’t then none of it matters anyway. I shouldn’t be…falling.

And, yet, here I am. Falling. And fast.

I take a swig from the bottle of beer sitting next to me on the small dining table in my apartment, stopping to examine the label as I set it down. Stella Artois. That would work. That could easily be the name of a “Whiskey Sister” or some other branch of the O’Halloran family tree.

I sigh. I should be working on my thesis but here I am, considering potential…am I? Maybe…potential baby names. Stella Artois Stevens. I like it. I like it a lot. And I suspect Walker might like it, too. That is, if I could get her to consider marrying me and having my kids—a daughter in particular. But first, I need to convince her to return my calls, of which there have been many. So many, in fact, that her mailbox is full and not taking any more. I suspect she’s blocking my texts, too. I’ve considered just showing up at the pub, but that would only give the paparazzi something to talk about.

I slam my fist down hard on the table, rattling the beer, and curse loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, I’m sure. There’s no reason that this has to be a thing. It has nothing to do with my mother. Nobody gives a flying fig who Mason Stevens is, unless he happens to be connected to someone like Cassandra Cartwright. And I haven’t been connected to her in nearly a year. There’s no reason Walker should have been dragged into this mess. It was just a perfect storm of coincidence and bad timing. Very, very bad timing.

I glance at my stupid, constantly dying cell phone and consider just getting in the car and going down to the store to buy another one. But now, it’s not just about the convenience factor. It’s about some stupid superstitious, irrational, totally nonscientific notion that it would be bad juju to jettison the phone with her very first text on it. And her very first voice mail to me. The one I’ve listened to a hundred times. What if they got lost in the transfer?

Uh-uh. Not gonna risk it.

I’ve even been desperate enough to consider asking Emmet to call her on my behalf, but decide that I can’t, no matter how desperate I am to get in touch with Walker. I love my brother too much to use him like that. So I leave the ball where it’s been firmly entrenched for the last few days, in Walker O’Halloran’s court. But she’s not showing any signs of picking it up anytime soon.

Flowers, balloons, chocolate,

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