You would think ordering Chinese takeout would imply that the extravagant spending portion of our evening was over. Mason, however, was nothing if not persistent. No, it would take a lot more than takeout to disrupt his plans to "spoil me" tonight.

No sooner had he hung up with the restaurant than he grabbed the hotel phone and started ordering room service. I didn't even have time to protest. Which was probably his plan to begin with. After all, can't argue about him buying me things if he never asked in the first place.

The hitch in his little plan being that I could still argue with him after he did it.

"I thought we decided not to get room service," I commented as he hung up the phone.

"I never agreed to that."

"Mason!"

"Aw, come on, it's not like I ordered a buffet or anything," he said, crawling over to me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. "I just ordered some dessert and some nice wine to go with our meal. That's all."

"Fine wine with fried rice?" I asked flatly.

"Only the classiest of meals for my girl," he laughed.

I laughed along with him, but I couldn't help the strange and terrifying feeling I suddenly got as I heard him say those words.

My girl. My girl. It was just a joke, right? Just a little lighthearted fun. He didn't mean anything by it. Right?

I pushed that idea from my head immediately. No, of course he didn't. Honestly, he probably didn't even realize he'd said it. It was just a joke. No more serious than the idea of wine and takeout being a "classy meal." I was making a big deal out of nothing again.

Well, those self-sabotaging thoughts weren't going to get me tonight. Because they weren't my thoughts. They were the voice of Mrs. Henderson. Muffled, but persistent in her attempts to worm her way into my evening. And I wasn't going to let her.

Tonight was a night of fun, freedom, and fucking. A night to cast aside all my worries and doubts and just do whatever the fuck I wanted. Which included Mason.

I leaned back against him and ran my hand along his thigh. "You don't want to get out of these wet pants?"

"Hey, somebody's got to get the door when room service comes and, between the two of us, I'm the only one who's halfway decent," he reminded me. "Or were you planning to answer the door naked?"

"Depends, do you want me to" I teased.

"What and let a third man have the pleasure of seeing you like this? I don't fucking think so."

A knock at the door interrupted our banter. He stood up and narrowed his eyes at me playfully, giving me the "I'm watching you" gesture before heading over to answer it.

I giggled to myself as I laid back on the bed. A short amount of muffled small talk later and I heard the door close again. Mason reappeared a moment later wheeling in a cart. Shiny, silver domes glinted on top of it. A bottle of some unknown wine peeked at me from the bucket of ice it was in.

Mason leaned against the cart, smiling at me. "Making ourselves comfortable, I see."

I gave an exaggerated stretch, making sure to spread my legs slightly as I did so. "Mmm, what can I say? A bed like this is just made to be spread out on."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll definitely be spreading you later."

I rolled my eyes, motioning vaguely to the wine bucket. "Okay, pour me some of that. I'm definitely going to need alcohol if I'm going to deal with you all night."

"Ouch. Rude. And here I put all this effort into selecting the perfect wine to accompany our meal," he teased, opening the bottle. "The rule is white wine with chicken, yes?"

"I mean... technically yes. But I think that rule is moot when the chicken is battered, deep-fried, and smothered in sweet and sour sauce."

He burst into laughter at that. And, as always, his laughter couldn't help but bring a smile to my face. He chuckled a few more times and shook his head before grabbing some glasses off the cart. He poured a couple of very generous glasses before grabbing one and bringing it over to me.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held the glass out for me. "Your drink, Ma'am."

"Oh, thank you," I said playfully, taking it from him. "And might I ask what fine selection you have chosen for us this evening?"

"Ah, for tonight, I decided classic would be best. A nice Pinot Grigio," he commented, gesturing grandly. "A bit dry, but should suit our overly sweet-and-soured meal quite nicely. The more refined palate among us may also taste subtle notes of white peaches and green pears."

I was more than prepared to comment about his melodramatic sommelier impression when something he said suddenly caught my attention. And not in a good way.

"Wait, did you say green pears?"

He shrugged vaguely. "Honestly, couldn't tell you. All wine tastes like wine to me. That's what the menu description said though."

My heart sank slightly. What was I going to do? "Notes" or not, pear was pear. The last thing I wanted was to risk some kind of allergic reaction tonight of all nights. But I didn't want to tell him that either.

Joking or not, I'm sure he did put some thought into the wine he had ordered for us tonight. It almost seemed rude not to have any. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was upset him.

"What? Changed your mind? I thought you 'needed alcohol to deal with me tonight,'" he teased.

And, as it always did, his playful smile and teasing tone helped to melt away my worries.

Right. This was Mason. Not Phil. He'd never have such a pathetically fragile reaction to something like me having an allergy. And, honestly, I was ashamed of myself for even thinking for a second that he would.

Still, I couldn't help but lower my eyes to the bed as I handed the glass back to him. "Actually, I don't think I can drink this..."

"Huh? Why? What's wrong?" He asked, genuinely confused. "More of a sweet wine girl?"

I smiled a bit, finally summoning the nerve to look up at him. "I am, but that's not it. I'm allergic to pears, actually."

His eyes went a bit wide at the statement. "Shit, really? I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"No, no. It's fine. I mean, it's not like I ever told you or anything."

"Yeah, but I never exactly asked you either." He let out a frustrated sigh. "Which is completely on me. I mean, come on Mason, eating out with any new person the first thing you should do is ask about their allergies."

I'd been with Phil for so long now, I guess I'd gotten used to his never-take-accountability tantrums. They didn't even phase me anymore. However, it seemed that in all that time, I'd also forgotten that there was a whole other end to that spectrum.

Mason was completely blaming himself for this. Which didn't really seem fair either. After all, it's not like he was the husband I'd told my allergies to a dozen times. We'd only been out a handful of times. And even then, it was mostly for sex. It's not exactly like the subject ever had a reason to make itself known. Especially given the unusual circumstances.

"Hey, it's not like you forced it on me, " I reassured him, nudging him gently with my shoulder. "Besides, it's not exactly a common allergy either. It'd be one thing if it was a peanut allergy or something, but who the hell is allergic to pears?"

A small smile broke onto his lips. "Still, I shouldn't have tried ordering for you without checking to see if you had any restrictions first. So, sorry for that."

"I promise it is not a big deal."

"Well, it is to me," he said, standing and walking over to the nightstand. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear. "So, before I make another evening-disrupting mistake, do you have any other allergies?"

As opposed as I was to him wasting even more money on me tonight, I couldn't deny that I was touched by the gesture. Technically, I could have just avoided drinking the wine he got and everything would have been fine. Honestly, I would have been more than happy to just raid the minibar for a soda or something. But he seemed bound and determined to make sure I had a luxurious night tonight. Even if it went as far as ordering another overpriced bottle of hotel wine. And I couldn't remember the last time someone had put that much thought into anything related to me.

"Some cheap brands of laundry detergent," I said, shrugging, "but I highly doubt they're putting that in the alcohol here."

"What? But then how do they get the champagne so bubbly?" He teased.

I scarcely had time to roll my eyes before he was back on the phone with room service. He glanced over the wine list one more time before mumbling something I couldn't quite hear into the phone.

As he hung up, his eyes landed on the wine glass he'd set there. He picked it up and raised it to his lips before pausing suddenly. Slowly, he lowered the glass back down and walked over to the cart.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I was just realizing that I probably shouldn't drink this either," he chuckled, setting it back on the cart. "After all, you just said you're allergic to it."

"Might be allergic to it," I clarified. "I'm not exactly sure how much of a reaction 'notes of pear' would or wouldn't cause."

"Well, I'm not sure either," he said, plopping down next to me on the bed. "And I'm not sure about you, but I have some pretty solid plans to put my mouth on you later tonight. So, in the interest of making sure you enjoy that, I think it's probably safer if neither of us has any of it."

I snickered a bit at the statement. "Solid plans, huh? And what if I'm not interested in those plans?"

"Pretty sure you wouldn't have asked me out tonight if you weren't," he said with a wink. "But, if you're really not into it, then that's fine too. We could just hang out. Eat our food, get wasted, see if there are any good movies available on-demand."

"Are you always this flexible with the women you bring to hotel rooms? Or am I just special?" I teased.

"Well, usually they're the flexible ones-"

I grabbed a pillow off the bed and tossed it at him. He held up his hands defensively and laughed. However, a knock at the door interrupted us before I had the chance to get in a second blow.

He chuckled as he stood up. "Hold your fire. We have a visitor. You can beat me senseless when I get back."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," I grumbled, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.

He rolled his eyes before heading to the door. As he disappeared from sight, I finally let my smile slip through.

I was just kidding with him about not doing anything else sexual tonight, but there was something comforting about the knowledge that he didn't expect anything from me tonight. Or, at least, didn't expect anything else from me tonight.

Mason rounded the corner a little while later with an ice bucket in one arm and a couple of plastic bags hanging off the other. He held the arm with the bags up triumphantly.

"Good news! Two for one at the door," he explained, setting the bucket on the cart. "The food got here about ten seconds before room service did."

"Good, I'm starving," I said, my mouth already watering at the familiar scents of garlic and soy sauce.

"On that note, we also have zero plates," he commented, unpacking the bags. "So I hope you're ready to get classy with some plastic forks and folded paper takeout containers."

"The meal of kings."

He snickered as he grabbed a couple of takeout boxes and brought one over to me. "Class," of course, immediately went out the window as soon as the food hit my hands. With absolutely no reservations whatsoever, I started digging in like I hadn't eaten in days.

I probably would have continued on like that for a while if a small chuckle hadn't caught my attention. As I glanced over at Mason a napkin greeted me instead.

"That color looks good on you. You should get some lipgloss in that shade," he teased.

"Eh, why bother?" I shrugged, taking the napkin from him and wiping the sweet and sour sauce from my mouth. "This one is free. Plus, it tastes better anyway."

I turned and tossed the used napkin into the trashcan, ready to get back to my less-than-dignified method of eating. However, as I turned back around, I was met with Mason. A mischievous look on his face.

He smiled as he reached up and grabbed my chin. He pulled me in gently, pressing his lips to mine.

I'm not sure if it was the suddenness of it all or if my brain was still too hungry to process what was happening, but my mind was a complete blank. His tongue trailed along my lower lip, sending shivers down my spine and straight between my legs. As he pulled back, there was lust mixed in with the mischief in his eyes. He licked his lips hungrily.

"You're right. It does taste better," he commented.

And that was it. Without any further comment or explanation, he shifted back to his spot and picked up his food to eat again.

I stared at him, dumbstruck. What the fuck was that? He glanced up at me, still busy chewing whatever he'd just put in his mouth, and gave me a wink.

As the blood rushed to my cheeks I quickly turned back to my food. Oh, so it was games he wanted to play, huh? Well, fine. Then let the games begin. I just hoped he knew what he was getting himself into. Because when I played, I always played to win.