Reputation (Mason Family 2)

Kissing her is a scratch to an itch that’s been plaguing me. That fucks me up. It feels better to kiss her, to hold her in my arms, than it does to screw someone else.

I don’t know what that means, but I know it has to end.

Finally, as the notes to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” finish, so do I. I pull back and look into a wide set of gorgeous blue eyes.

I grin. “I made me king, if that’s what you were going to ask.”

She stands in front of me and struggles to catch her breath. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are swollen. And I commit that image to memory.

Then with a casual wink tossed her way, I leave her standing on the top of the stairs.

Let her think about that.

Eight

Bellamy

Music floats through the house, sneaking up behind me and escorting me down the stairs. My brain is frazzled, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest as I hurry into the kitchen and lock myself in the powder room.

I look into the gold-framed mirror hanging over the sink. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes wide open as though I’ve ingested too much caffeine.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper to my reflection.

Rummaging around beneath the sink, I find a hand towel. I wet the corner with cold water and dab it around my face.

This was not how this morning was supposed to go.

“We need to fight or fuck. Get it out of our system.”

I lay the towel on the edge of the sink and hang my head.

I can’t do this with him. I can’t get pulled back into his orbit.

My mind scans our history and begins popping up uncomfortable memories to help my heart—and body—understand the danger of our predicament.

It’s a total Coy move. He sucks you in and disarms you. It’s such a fun way to fall to impending doom. He kisses you, smothering you with attention, and tells you everything you want to hear. But when the time comes to act on any of it, he bails.

I know this.

That’s why I don’t want this.

But dammit. That kiss was amazing.

“Why does he do this?” I groan, closing the toilet lid and sitting on top of it. “And why do I do this too?”

It’s as much my fault as it is his. I know that. I came over here and went toe-to-toe with him, and if I’m honest, I wanted him to kiss me. I needed his touch. As angry as I get with Coy and as much as I tell myself I hate him, being with him is like a balm smoothed over a wound.

A wound that he helped to cause. That’s the kicker.

I race through my options because seeing him again now is a guarantee. At a minimum, I have to snatch Bree up and get her back to my house without making myself look crazy.

Crazier than I looked when he threw me over his shoulder.

I grin. I don’t want to, but I do.

He can be so good when he wants to be. Coy can be silly and playful. He can be kind like he is right now, sitting with a little girl he doesn’t even know and teaching her a skill. He can distract me and make me feel safe.

He can be everything I’d ever manifest for myself.

And he can be the opposite.

He can be the one who turns away, ready to leave, and never looks back. The one who seems to have no clue how he hurts my feelings. How he hurts … me.

I have to remember that.

I blow out a breath and flush the toilet. Then I wash my hands because no one wants to get caught coming out of a bathroom without the water running. Just before I grab the door handle, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Suit: Drinks tonight? Tomorrow?

I twist my lips.

Suit is a man I met the night Larissa met Hollis a few weeks ago. We meet up for quickies here and there—but that’s all he’s suitable for. He’s not my type. Besides that, he wears suits, and I find that ridiculously hot.

But not hotter than the man upstairs.

I wince.

Me: Busy right now. Text you later.

Suit: Sure. Let me know.

Why do I compare the untouchable hot, though, when I can have nicely convenient at a text’s notice?

You need to get your head examined, Bellamy. And stay away from Coy’s lips.

I shove my phone in my pocket and exit the room.

Siggy comes around the corner. She jumps when she sees me.

“Bellamy,” she says, clutching her chest. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Oh, sorry. I, um, just—”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need an excuse to be here. I love having you here. I just know Coy …” She makes a face. “You know what I mean. You usually avoid us altogether when he’s home.”