Resolution (Mason Family 5)

Right on.

“I shouldn’t touch you, Dara. I shouldn’t even take you home. I should call you a car and call off the entire house project.”

His eyes narrow. I narrow mine right back.

He’s right—I always have a choice. And even though I don’t know if it’s the right one, I know the one I want to take. Because despite all of the reasons I gave Rusti and myself that I wasn’t going to get involved with Wade, I forgot one thing: me.

I can handle this, regardless of what happens. And if I have to barter a little to keep feeling this way—I will. At least for now. And if the day comes that it doesn’t suit me, I’ll make a different choice.

“Do it then,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Call me a car and I’ll wait outside.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

I shrug. “You’re the one throwing out options, Mr. Mason. Not me.”

It takes him a long couple of seconds for his brain to catch up with his body. But, when it does, a deep, undeniable smirk settles across his lips.

“Do you live to drive me crazy?” he asks.

“Don’t give yourself that much credit.” I try not to smile but fail miserably. “I live for pizza.”

He rolls his neck. I think it’s meant to be a distraction so I don’t see him react. God forbid I see him smile.

Unfortunately for Wade, I’m not distractible tonight.

“So …” I say as nonchalantly as possible. “What, exactly, did you need to do tonight that couldn’t wait?”

The longer I wait for a response, the more confused I become. I’d thought that maybe he wanted to talk. There was always the prospect that he just wanted to have sex and, if that turned out to be the case, I already decided that I would likely leave.

I’m not against sleeping with him, but not without being comfortable with it first. He doesn’t have to be transparent, but I do need him to give me something to go on.

But now? I’m not sure.

“Follow me,” he says.

A large black sofa faces the fireplace in the living room with a floor-to-ceiling river rock chimney. It’s grand and glorious, and I can imagine sitting here with a book on a chilly evening.

I ensure there’s enough space between us for air circulation as we sit on the sofa. I need the room to think.

Wade stretches out his legs, running his hands down his thighs. He clears his throat. He runs his hands down his thighs again.

“I …” He exhales. Then he clears his throat. “I made you cry tonight …”

Oh. So that’s what this is.

I slip off my heels and tuck my feet up under me.

“I didn’t cry,” I say. “No wetness fell down my cheeks so that means there were no actual tears.” I smile. “See that? We’re both off the hook—you for being a total dick and me for being a baby. It’s a win-win.”

He’s not amused.

“Let it go, Wade.”

“No.” He furrows his brow. “Trust me when I tell you that I don’t want to talk about this, but logically speaking, this will be worse if we don’t address it now.”

I roll my eyes.

“I …” He takes a quick breath. “I’m sorry for”—he gulps—“hurting your feelings. And I apologize for not reacting properly to your admission.”

“That I wanted to be in your arms on the dance floor?”

His eyes darken as he nods.

“Well, in retrospect, I probably didn’t give you a whole lot of time to process that,” I say. “But that’s not what made me cry—or … non-cry, I guess. I was just embarrassed, and that’s not on you.”

He moves around in his seat until he’s finally facing me. The fireplace snaps and crackles to the right of us. Shadows dance across his face. He’s so unbearably handsome. And in his handsomeness, I also see … a gentleness. Empathy. And empathy is a … nice trait.

Tall, dark, and handsome is my type. Mysterious is my jam. Nice guys are too boring for me to stay interested in for long. So what does it mean that when Wade gets nicer, I want him more?

“Having you in my arms tonight—having you with me tonight … I think I crossed a line,” he says.

I flinch. “Okay then.”

He tries to read my reaction. “I don’t think you understand, Dara.”

“So make me understand.”

He hesitates. Whatever he’s about to say, he almost doesn’t. He fights with himself over the words, and I hold my breath because I don’t know what that means for me.

Finally, he blows out a breath. “I don’t think I can go back to not knowing what you feel like against me.”

My eyes go wide before I can stop them. This is not what I was expecting. I want to press him, ask him what that means—but I don’t dare say a word. If I ruin the moment, I’m sure I’ll never get it back again.