Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I forget to breathe as he leans in close, his palms planting on the glass windows at my sides.
“This is how it’s gonna happen,” he whispers. “Brunch, bathing suits, beach, bonfire.”
I swallow, pulling in a lungful of air as I drop my head back, dizziness settling over me—a result of his nearness. “Is that right?” I manage to say.
Mason presses his body to mine, his smirk shamelessly mischievous. He opens his mouth, and mine parts, and then he pushes off, yanking open the back door and disappearing inside.
I’m stuck where I stand a moment longer, and I don’t miss the raspy chuckle he lets out.
God, he knows what he’s doing to me.
What the hell is he doing to me?
My nerve endings are firing, and I’m antsy all over, and I just woke up. I feel like I could run for miles, and I hate running. It’s a last resort or something I force myself to do when cardio is in order.
There are other forms of cardio, girl.
Oh my god. My face flames at my own thoughts, and then of course, Mason’s face appears again, Deaton in his arms, sans car seat. He lifts a brow, but there’s a knowing grin tugging at his lips.
I spin on my heels and head for the door, pretending his laughter doesn’t reach deep down inside me. He passes me the keys, and I fumble with the lock, half paying attention to what I’m doing, half caught up in the conversation he’s having with my son.
“And after that awful flavorless oatmeal stuff you somehow drank quicker than the bottle, we’re putting on your new Buzz trunks. I think you’ll like ’em. I’m more a Woody kind of guy myself, but…maybe that’s a conversation for when you’re older.”
“Oh my god!” I laugh, whipping around to face him and nearly stumbling over the threshold of the door.
Mason throws his head back, laughing. “I knew you were eavesdropping.”
“You’re right behind me.” I playfully roll my eyes, stepping into the house.
“True, but it took you about five tries to open the door. Reminded me of one night over summer when me and the others came home drunk. Pretty sure I fell off the porch trying to open it.” He chuckles, then stops midthought. “Or maybe that was Chase.”
Now I’m laughing, shaking my head before tossing myself onto the couch. “Okay, who’s making breakfast?”
“The fact that I burned the toast last time means I say we both figure it out together.”
“I can cut fruit. Fry bacon or make pancakes without screwing them up? Not so much.”
“Hmm.” He drops onto his back on the carpet, setting Deaton on his chest and holding him up so he can stretch his legs and pretend to stand. He smiles up at him, moving him around like he’s dancing. “How about scrambled eggs with cheese in a tortilla? We can’t fuck that up too bad, right?”
I roll onto my side, propping my head up as I watch the two of them.
Mason is just so natural with him. He doesn’t get frustrated or hurry to hand him back. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. When he fusses, Mason comes running, reaching for him and carrying him off. When he’s hungry, Mason asks if there’s a bottle, wanting to feed him himself. When he’s tired, he tucks him to his chest and walks back and forth until his little eyes close, and even then, he doesn’t put him down. He sits down, keeping him tucked against his chest.
Against his heart…
Mason looks up at me, and I blink a few times, realizing he’s waiting for a response, but I forgot the question. “What?”
He chuckles, lifting Deaton into the air and laughing when he squeals and smiles wide. A long drop of drool falls, and Mason jumps, but it still catches him in the neck.
I laugh, rolling over, and he reaches over, gripping me by the hoodie.
“Oh, this is funny, huh?” he teases, tugging me from the couch until I’m bumping into his side. He drops Deaton onto my chest, then bends his neck, running it along my cheek.
I squeal, wiping at the wet spot and rolling halfway away without letting Deaton fall.
When I look back, Mason is propped on his arm, leaning over the both of us.
Suddenly, the room grows quiet, and when he leans forward, I hold my breath, but his lips don’t fall on mine. They press to Deaton’s temple and hold, his gaze never leaving mine, a tenderness tucked deep inside, and I feel it all the way to my toes.
My lips curve, and his follow.
We sit there for a little longer, neither of us in a hurry for the day to begin, because the sooner it does, the sooner it’s over. Or at least that’s the thought that crosses my mind when the food’s been made, the mess cleaned, and we’re all set up closer to the water.