Reckless (Mason Family 3)

I grin back at her.

“Are. You. Coming. Back?” Coy asks, irritated.

“That’s a negative. But I need a favor.”

“Of course you do.”

“Do you know a locksmith who works on an emergency basis?”

Jaxi narrows her eyes and mouths, “No.”

Coy laughs. “I think they all work that way. It’s one of those things. If you need someone to unlock a door, you don’t want to wait until the next day.”

“So do you know someone or not?”

Jaxi shakes her head back and forth while I shake mine up and down, our eyes glued together.

“Yeah,” Coy says. “Leo is still here. I mean, he’s not a locksmith, exactly, but I’m one-hundred-percent sure he can pick a lock if needed.”

“Send him to my house, okay?”

“I’m too scared to even ask why. But you owe me.”

“Thanks,” I tell him and end the call.

As soon as I put the phone back in my pocket, Jaxi groans.

“I told you that I’d figure it out,” she says warily.

“And I told you that I was going to help.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are stubborn.”

“And you are …”

Beautiful.

Three

Jaxi

Don’t do it.

Boone’s smile licks at my defenses.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was intentional.

Don’t do it. Don’t crack.

I smile back because I’m human, and it’s the polite thing to do. I also dip my chin just a touch because a little flirting—enjoying an utterly divine man’s attention—has never hurt anyone. Too much.

“I’m what?” I prod, wondering where he’s going with this.

The options are endless. He could say that I’m just as stubborn as he is. Maybe he’ll go with the fact that I’m a pseudo-felon at the moment or that I’m funny. I do have a decent sense of humor. But the way my stomach twists makes it clear that I subconsciously want him to say I’m pretty.

I fight hard not to roll my eyes at myself.

Why do I care if this guy thinks I’m pretty?

Because you’re a woman, fool.

Boone begins to answer me twice. Each time, his mouth opens and then closes. With each near-answer, my stomach does a little flip-flop that frustrates the logical part of my brain.

Finally, he seems satisfied with whatever he’s about to say. I hold my breath and hope that I’m just as satisfied … even though I’m not certain what answer that would be.

“You’re a pistol, I think,” he says, that glorious Southern drawl melting over me.

I sigh—mostly in relief.

At least that keeps things clean and balanced. This response allows me to retreat into Libby’s house and not think that he’s attracted to me. Not that it matters if he were—my life is going in a different direction right now, but it could complicate things. God knows I don’t need to complicate my life just when it’s starting to fall in line.

“That’s been said before,” I say.

He licks his lips. I try not to stare.

Not staring is hard because running into men who are this attractive isn’t a daily occurrence. Not for me, anyway.

He’s tall with wide, thick shoulders. I’d bet that he has enough muscles to pick me up with ease, but he’s not strong enough to lift a refrigerator. It’s a nice balance that’s underappreciated.

His thighs fill out the denim that, upon quick glance, makes him seem like an average Joe. A heather-gray thermal shirt adds to the vibe. But it’s the details—the quality stitching on the jeans, the heavy watch, the clean lines of his haircut—that level him up.

And he’s charming.

It’s an enticing package.

For people who want to be enticed.

“Coy is sending a guy over here to get you inside,” Boone says as if he owes me an explanation. “It shouldn’t take too long since he was already at Coy’s.”

“Do all of your brothers live that close?”

“None of them live too far away.” He slips his phone into his pocket. “They’re having a family dinner at Coy’s now. He and his new wife just moved to a new place, and it’s a housewarming thing or whatever you call it.”

My stomach sinks. “And you’re here. Because of me.”

“It’s fine. They get on my nerves anyway.”

He smiles at me as if to say, See? You’re doing me a favor. But I don’t buy it. There was too much easygoingness from him on the phone, and it rang too many times without any grumbling for him to be annoyed.

“So, did you fly in?” He looks up and down the street. “Did you drive?”

“I got an Uber from the airport. Didn’t figure I’d be going many places this week, so I didn’t get a rental car. If I have to go somewhere, I can borrow Libby’s car.”

He furrows his brow. “Where did you say you were going?”

“Hawaii.”

The word comes out cheerily—as it should. It’s freaking Hawaii. I have dreams of pristine beaches and fresh pineapples and early morning hikes on the weekends. Time spent with a journal or a good book. There’s nothing not cheery about any of that. But there are less-than-joyful reasons as to why I’m going across the world, and I can see in Boone’s eyes that’s what he was really asking.