“Really? Are you sure you can handle the heat, Mason?”
I stared up at him with a challenge in my smile and suddenly the intensity in his blue eyes changed. He stepped toward me, leaving only a few inches between us. I found my backend pressed to the edge of the table, with nowhere left to retreat to. He looked down at me with a heated expression that took my breath away. His gaze flicked from my eyes, down to my mouth, and back up again.
“Oh, I can handle the heat,” he said in a gruff voice.
Slowly, he reached up and brushed a stray curl from the side of my face, tucking it carefully behind my ear. The brush of his fingertips against my skin sent delicious thrills running up and down my spine. I stared into his eyes, finding myself desperately wishing I knew what he was thinking. And wondering if the same knee-wobbling electricity was suddenly coursing through his body.
“Are you sure?” My voice sounded weak and trembly. Not at all like me. “A lot of guys think that, until they get burned.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Maybe you should be.”
To be honest, I wasn’t sure that we were talking about blow torches anymore. And once again, my traitorous mind was having flashbacks to Mason’s living room couch when he was shirtless and the only thing I could think about was pressing my lips against his. Except this time, we were in an empty classroom. And Mason’s lips were closer than ever.
“I...uh...” My gaze remained glued to his mouth.
He was frowning, his jaw muscles tensing and releasing. Somehow, my hand found its way to his chest. My fingers splayed over his solid pecs. The good girl inside my head was telling me to push him away. The much stronger voice was telling me to pull him closer by the collar of his shirt.
It was then that I remembered the very shirt I was tempted to tug on was the one we’d bought specifically for his ex-girlfriend. Polly Thompson. All in a plan to get them back together and prove my happiness research project was a success. Alarms went off inside my ears. Blaring, loud things that shocked me into defensive action.
“You know, while we’re here, I think we should work on part two of my research project,” I said, sliding a step to my left and putting some much-needed space between us.
That was a close one. I couldn’t forget exactly why we were here or how much my future depended on Project Happiness being a glaring success.
Disappointment flashed in Mason’s eyes for a mere second, before he reined it in and settled back into his normal brooding expression. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s part two?”
“Love letters.”
My throat tightened as the words left my mouth. Love. It wasn’t a word I’d ever had problems saying before now. I loved my family. I loved my best friends. I could even say that I loved the Caramel Snickerdoodle Macchiato I got at Starbucks on the weekends. Why was that word suddenly giving me palpitations?
To hide my sudden discomfort, I went to find the two pieces I wanted to weld together today. Mason’s gaze was heavy on my back, and I avoided his eyes as best I could.
“Love letters?” The words sounded much different coming out of Mason’s mouth. He said them with such powerful disdain. “You mean poetry and stuff?”
“Yeah, love letters can be poems. Or, they can be the little things you like about her. Like how her curls catch the sunlight or the beautiful way she smiles when she thinks no one is watching. Girls really aren’t as difficult as everyone makes us out to be. All we want is someone to notice us.”
There was a long moment of silence that followed my explanation. I looked up from my project, worried that I’d freaked Mason out and he’d gone MIA on me. But he was still here, watching me with a thoughtful expression, his eyebrows knitted together.
“Here, write down some ideas while I get this started.” I tossed him my spiral bound notebook. “Just brainstorm a few. Doesn’t have to be fancy. I’m sure Polly will love it.”
I swore I heard him growl in response, but I ignored it and went back to searching for the right pieces of metal. It took me a few minutes to set everything up, but soon I was ready. With a satisfied grin, I went to check on Mason’s progress.
“Her car?” My grin morphed into a dismayed frown as I looked over his short list. “The thing you like about Polly is her car?”
He scratched his head. “Well...it’s a Cadillac Eldorado. It’s a classic.”
“And...her dog?”
“What? It’s a German Shepard. I couldn’t help myself. I have a weakness for big dogs.”
I shot him a grimace. This was going to be harder than I expected.
“That’s all you could come up with?” In total, there were five things, each more pathetic than the last. Polly would never appreciate a love letter praising her car or dog. What girl would? “This needs to be about her. Not the things she owns.”
Mason sighed in frustration and pushed the notebook away. “This is why guys suck at romance. We’re hopeless.”
“You’re not hopeless.” I sat on the edge of the desk and looked down at him. It was kind of cute, seeing him all worked up over something so simple. His normal, over-confident demeanor had slipped. “You just need...a feminine touch.”