house.”
Mason settled on the other end. “Did I catch you in between shopping days?”
“Not exactly,” Sara admitted. “I didn’t really expect to come home tonight.”
“Because you thought you’d be in jail,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but Sara felt compelled to explain anyway.
Sara shrugged as she folded her legs underneath her. She reached over and grabbed her plate. “The accommodations may be lousy, but you have to admit the place does cut down on your grocery bill.”
Mason narrowed his eyes. “Not that you would know anything about that.”
“I’ve heard enough to know.” She took a swig of beer. It was decent, but now seeing that it might be one of her last ones, she suddenly wished she would have sprung for the good stuff. “Trust me.”
“So, you’re really not a thief,” he said.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Actually, it is.”
Sara bobbled her head as she pulled together her first taco. He wasn’t the first to make the assumption. He wouldn’t be the last.
“For you and everybody else it seems,” she said. “Too bad it happens to be the truth.”
Mason’s brows rose slightly. He leaned away from the table and closer to her. “Including this Malcolm guy?”
“Yeah, including Malcolm.”
“So, if you’re not a thief, what do you do for a living?”
“I work in a cafe.”
He arched a brow. “Not as a cook, I’m guessing.”
“I make coffee,” Sara said with a soft laugh. For someone that made his living seducing secrets out of people, Mason was ridiculously easy to see through. “And I know what you’re doing. We have a bet. So, quit stalling and try your carnitas.”
He made a show of letting his face fall, but he couldn’t quite seem to scrub away his smile. “That obvious?”
“Yeah,” she said, grinning right along with him.
He reached over and started peeling back the foil from his paper plate. He glanced down at piles of meat, cheese, and fresh salsa, before raising a skeptical brow.
“I’m scared,” he said jokingly, picking one up. “Hold my hand?”
“Coward.” Sara held her breath as he finally closed his eyes and raised one of the soft corn tortillas to his mouth. “Well? And don’t you dare lie.”
His jaw stopped moving. His eyes popped open. “These are the best damned tacos I have ever tasted.”
Sara threw her hands straight up in victory. “Told you.”
Mason grabbed the cold glass bottle at his side. His brow crinkled as he took a sip. “And that is a seriously mediocre beer.”
Sara couldn’t hold back the giggle that bubbled up in her throat. “But we didn’t place any wagers on the beer.”
“Fair enough,” he said, already stuffing another bite into his mouth.
“So, you’ll stop pumping me for information?”
“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll just go a different route. One you can’t resist.”
Sara cocked her head to the side. “Oh, really?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Already know you’re a gambler, and you were kind enough to show me what you care about,” he said, lifting his plate. “So, I guess now it’s my turn to bet you.”
His tone was playful, but Sara guessed his intentions were anything but. So, why couldn’t she stop her silly grin? “Go on.”
“I’ll answer a question from you, then you’ll answer one of mine. We’ll go back and forth. The first to balk forfeits their last taco.”
Sara’s brows shot up. “You want to play taco chicken?”
“I guess I do.” Little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he gazed into hers. “Do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know,” Sara said. “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”
“I’m not the one who uses a fake name.”
“It’s not fake,” she said. “Hope is my middle name. I use it in lots of situations where people might judge me for being a Baumgartner.”
“Nice of your parents to give you such an easy alias.”
“They didn’t mean to,” she said before