The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

“I’m not reminding you,” she snapped, opening her eyes and dropping her hands. “I’m reminding me.”

Oh.

Oh, holy shit, she was just as tempted and conflicted by this as I was.

Joy sprang to life inside me. I took a step toward her before I even realized what I was doing, just so relieved that she understood, that she knew what I was going through, because she was too. Thank God I wasn’t the only one experiencing this.

But she pulled away from me. “We’re just friends, Mason.”

Dammit. Right. What the fuck was I doing?

“Right,” I repeated aloud. Knowing I needed to go—now—I took the book from her hands that she was still holding and I waved it once. “Thanks for loaning this to me…friend.”

Then I kissed the scar on the back of her neck one last time and left.

I don’t think I dared to even draw another breath until I slid inside my Jeep almost two blocks later. And when I finally exhaled, a stream of curses fled with it.

That had been close. Too close.

If we had actually done something, it would’ve only been one night for me—a dream come true—but still only one night out of my entire life. But for her, it would’ve been something else entirely.

I needed to stop being so selfish. I needed to think about what was best for Reese.

And that was not me.

Confession #18: Thank God I answered that call.

Two weeks of hell followed that night.

Why? Because I actually did the right thing. I stayed away from Reese. And it was more miserable than I thought it would be.

I missed her. I missed sitting next to her at lunch and talking to her and teasing her and stealing her food. I even missed her when I did my damn calculus homework, sure she’d give me a hard time for every equation I calculated wrong. I missed her sweet pea scent and her full, open laugh. And I missed that feeling of peace she brought me. I just missed her.

I knew I should follow her advice and look for my own light inside myself to escape the misery, but damn, it was really fucking dark in there. Without her glow nearby, it was hard to see anything but the black I’d stupidly covered myself with these past two years.

It didn’t help that Sarah kept me updated every time Reese babysat her, either telling me something funny Reese had said or something crazy and creative they’d done together. It only made the ache grow deeper. My little sister had a serious case of hero worship, and I loved that as much as I hated it, because it just made things more miserable for me.

Then Patricia and Monica completed the wretchedness by showing up at the Country Club one evening, which happened to be a Friday the thirteenth—coincidence?—with a third woman in tow that I’d never met before.

“Oh, is this him, then?” the stranger cooed as soon as she slid out of the driver’s seat when I opened her door for her. “Nice. Very nice.” Smirking up at me, she flashed a twenty-dollar bill before deliberately slipping it into the front pocket of my slacks. Then she winked and snagged her valet ticket from my unsuspecting hand. “I approve.”

“Not yet, Deborah,” a woman called from the other side of her car.

My skin chilled ice-cold just hearing that dreaded familiar voice.

Glancing past the woman in front of me, I made eye contact with Satan herself as Patricia stood from the open passenger door. Then her sidekick, Monica, exited the back passenger seat, and I took an instinctive step back.

“Oh no,” the woman next to me said. “The poor thing’s gone all gun-shy.” She made a tsking sound and sent a reprimanding glance toward her friends as they came around the car to join us. “You two didn’t break him, did you?” Turning back to me, she patted my cheek. “And here I was so looking forward to my turn.”

“Pass,” I snarled, tilting my face out of her reach.

Surprise splashed across her features. Pressing a hand to her chest as if offended and completely innocent of any wrongdoing, she said, “Excuse me?”

I glanced meaningfully at her two companions. “If you actually like to keep such shitty company, then I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Patricia paused her step and lifted a reprimanding eyebrow as if to say, Watch yourself, boy, as Monica tossed her hair with an amused laugh. “Said the little whore.”

In return, I sniffed out my boredom because I swear she’d used that line on me already and I snipped back, “Who all three of you want but can’t have.”