Restraint (Mason Family 1)

I grin.

“Yes, I do know what you mean. What you mean is that we fucked.”

My breath halts in my chest as I await her reaction. The phrase hangs in the air between us. It’s a quick recap of our night together, but at the same time, it’s an impossible-to-ignore statement that quietly demands a response.

“We did indeed,” she says carefully.

“I don’t know about you,” I say, my gaze focused on the sky outside the window, “but the word awkward isn’t one I would use to describe last night.”

“I’m glad to hear that you have a broad vocabulary, Mr. Mason.”

A grin slips across my lips. “My mother always touted the benefits of a good lexicon.”

“A woman after my heart.”

She takes in a quick breath. The air pulls across the phone, and even though I’m not in the room with her, it feels like I am. I can envision her lips parting, her eyes narrowing with a slight twinkle.

“My mama is the best,” I say. “Hands-down. She raised five boys and most of us are pretty well-behaved.”

“Well, my mother was a gem. She raised me and three boys, and none of us are particularly well-behaved,” she says, ending with a laugh.

“Sounds like we’d get along just fine.”

“I can see you and Lance being friends, actually. He’s a history teacher and wicked smart, but he can drink you under the table. Machlan would poke at you and see if you’d fight—bonus points if you would,” she says. “Walker, though … he’d side-eye you until he decided whether he liked you. And that decision would really have nothing to do with anything you say and just how you respond.”

“Sounds like a fun guy.”

“Walker is probably my favorite. I’d never tell the others that.”

My laughter is easy as I sit back in my chair again. The springs squeal as I tilt it backward. “Yeah, well, I don’t have a favorite because all my brothers are assholes.”

“Ha. Right. I don’t believe that.”

“You should because it’s true.” I shift in my seat and spot the credit card again. “So what are we going to do about your predicament?”

“What? Oh, the card.”

A smile parts my cheeks. “Yes, the card. Did you forget about that already?”

She balks. “No. Hardly. I have an order pending at a deli near here, and a stomach that’s threatening to swallow my intestines.”

“Sounds like a bigger problem than I realized.”

The sound of plastic being crinkled takes up the silence between us. Finally, she sighs.

“I was just calling to thank you for letting me know you have it,” she says. “I’m going to report it lost and have them overnight me a new one.”

My brow furrows. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s easier.”

I can’t stop the snort that comes out of my mouth. “That’s absolutely not easier, and you know it. The easier solution would be to meet me for lunch and get your card back.”

“Holt …”

There’s a wariness in her voice. She knows I’m right because she’s an intelligent, rational woman. I know she wants to see me again because I’m a smart, logical man. But how do I convince her to follow through?

If one thing is clear from spending time with Blaire last night, it’s that she likes to call the shots. She needs to be in the driver’s seat. I’m going to have to give her a map, hand over the steering wheel, and hope she picks the right exit.

“I’m going to be very frank with you,” I tell her.

“I hope you will.”

“I enjoyed spending time with you last night—both at Picante and after. And I was a little disappointed to wake up and not see you beside me.”

She doesn’t say a word.

“But I get it. Can’t say it’s ever happened to me before, but I kind of dig it,” I admit. “Like you said, it keeps the morning after very uncomplicated.”

“Until I go and lose my credit card.”

I grin. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been telling myself all day that you lost it because I had charmed you and made you lose your mind.”

“You just keep telling yourself that,” she says, making no effort to suppress her amusement.

“Ouch. Wounded ego alert,” I say as I laugh too.

“I’m sorry. Honestly? You were charming. You are charming. And I enjoyed my night with you as well.”

She takes a breath, and I use the opportunity to jump in.

“Then why did you leave?” I ask. “I’m usually the one doing the leaving, and now I’m curious.”

“Because you have things to do today and so do I—”

“You’re on vacation,” I interject.

“Don’t remind me.”

Despite the huff in her tone, I can hear her smile—which is a weird thing to be able to hear, but I can. Maybe it’s the subtle, quick breath or the way she ended the phrase with a softened lilt, but I can hear it. That makes me smile.