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)
And then they’re gone, and a long sigh escapes.
Mason’s hand slides into my view, and I look up at him with a smile I can’t contain. It must be a cheesy one, because he chuckles as he tugs me to my feet.
“You look happy,” he says so softly, so torn by the idea as he reaches out, his knuckles brushing my cheek.
Tingles erupt over my skin, and my chin falls to my chest. “Mase…”
So many unspoken words hang between us, but when the song changes, a low, rumbling tempo taking over, the only ones that leave his mouth are three words that have left his lips before.
“Dance with me.”
My head snaps up.
Dark brown eyes stare down at me. He’s smiling easily now, but the uncertainty in his gaze isn’t missed.
I shouldn’t. I should make an excuse and walk away, so why do I set the camera down on my chair and offer him my hand when he’s yet to extend his?
You know why…
The smile that curves his lips makes the decision worth it, and I can’t help but laugh when he tugs me forward, spinning me silly until we’re on the farthest, darkest edge of the dance floor.
Smirking, he tucks me in close, and my arms go around his neck in a practiced move, my wrists resting high on his shoulders. We sway silently, and before I realize it, my eyes are closed, and my head is pressed against his chest.
His heartbeat thunders against my cheek, and I breathe deeply, pretending we’re in a different time and place altogether.
A place without guilt or fear or regret.
That place does not exist.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mason
Before, July
As soon as the gang is sitting down, the food spread out along the table, I step up to the end of it. “So, plan for tonight.” I clap my hands, making sure everyone’s paying attention, but quickly point my focus to the tiny blond. My smile spreads slowly. “Pretty Little here has never been on a walk on the beach at night. That’s a crime. So I wanna take her.”
A smile tugs at her lips, and her man whips his head my way. He glares, and I wink at the little fucker. I don’t know why, but I kind of enjoy messing with him, but there is a point to it. I gotta see how he reacts.
Will he be as douchey as his khaki shorts and collared shirt?
Will he slide right into our crew like he was born to be there the way the girl under his arm has?
I scoff to myself. Doubtful.
But if she likes him, I probably will, too. Maybe.
Not that I’ll tell him that.
The little laugh that leaves Payton tells me his scowl isn’t a constant thing, but she did run away to California without telling him and ignored his calls for a week, so it makes sense. At least he cares enough about her to show up. I should give him points for that.
Nah. Still don’t like him much.
I glare right back, fucking with him some more. “Guess you can come. If you can keep your hands to yourself.” I look pointedly at his arm around her shoulder.
“Mason,” Parker warns, already fully used to my shit. He’s hot for my cousin, after all.
“My hands stay where they belong—on her. And I’ll take her on that walk, but you’re welcome to come if you feel like showing us around.”
Huh. Okay, he’s got balls.
Jury is still out on how big.
I look to Payton, who tries to hide a shocked smile against his puny chest.
“All right, kid.” I fight a grin when his eyes narrow at the word kid. “You’ve got sport. We’ll play your way for a while.”
Ari sighs and taps his shoulder. “Sorry, Deaton. But you’re screwed. When Mason decides he cares, he’s a thousand percent. No chill factor. Sorry to say…but he never lets up.”
Everyone looks my way, so I force a grin. “She’s my sister from another mister,” I pop off, clearing my throat after. That was a stupid thing to say, but whatever. It’s probably true anyway. That’s how things are with Cameron. She’s Ari’s best friend, therefore she’s family. Can’t let anyone fuck with family.
“How old are you?” Chase pipes up, staring at Deaton with a blank expression.
I smack Chase’s arm, nodding my approval at his question, and join in on the glaring.
“Seventeen,” Deaton answers, unbothered by all the third degree he’s been getting since he arrived in town.
Parker never got on our asses about the whole taking him down in the sand thing, so it’s safe to say they didn’t tell him. Probably too embarrassing for him, getting blindsided like that.
The dude should really pay attention to his surroundings. It’s no wonder he’s a wrestler and not a football player. He probably can’t handle focusing on more than one person at a time.