by Lexi Ryan
Everything inside my chest is trying to escape to be closer to her. She looks hot in her workout clothes, and seeing her flushed like that reminds me of . . . other activities. “I should get in the shower,” she says. “I’m meeting a client in a couple of hours.”
Bailey’s been working hard on growing her business down here, and her schedule’s been full. She could have taken my money and spent these months living a life of leisure, but with clients lining up, she’s busting ass to make contacts and find unique venues for her boudoir sessions. It’s not just about the money. Her passion for her work shines through every time she gets a potential client on the phone.
“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” I ask.
She frowns. “I was planning on it. To meet your sister?”
“No. We’ll be rid of her by five. Are you kidding me? All she does since she’s been growing that kid is sleep. I mean go out to dinner. As in, let me take you to dinner and buy you a glass of wine. Then maybe kiss you goodnight.”
Her eyes go wide as she stares at me, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m punking her or serious. “What are you doing, Mason?”
I arch a brow. “I’m asking my wife out on a date.” I saw her flash of jealousy when she thought Shell was my lover. She says she doesn’t want to be with me, but she wouldn’t be jealous if that were true. “Is that allowed?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I thought we were doing this with your rules. Is it allowed?”
For three weeks, I’ve been coming home to her each night and telling myself I have to keep my distance. For three weeks, I’ve been going to bed alone while she sleeps in the bedroom down the hall—so close but not nearly close enough. I’ve been watching her blossom, watching her take chances for her business and get comfortable in my home. I’ve been keeping my distance and it’s been hell. This is my last chance with her and I’ve been letting it slip out of my fingers. Why? Because I’m afraid it will hurt when she leaves? It hurts every time she walks away. I can’t protect myself from that. “We’ll go slow.”
She twirls a lock of hair between her fingers nervously. Fuck yes. I want to make her nervous. I want to make her stomach dance with butterflies and her skin tingle. I want to make her want to stay with me. “Don’t expect me to put out,” she says with her bravest face.
“No expectations at all.” I’m not sure if I stepped closer in the last sixty seconds or if that was gravity drawing us together, but here we are, closer than before and still not close enough. I want to kiss her now. I can practically feel her skin under my fingers and the soft give of her lips as mine sweep over hers.
This is my last chance with Bailey. I can’t fuck it up.
My big sister likes to show up in my life randomly. Usually, she stays just long enough to give me a hard time about all my significant life choices and runs off again to do her thing.
When Bailey left to meet her client, I made a pot of decaf coffee for Shell and sat her down at the kitchen table to tell her the truth about my marriage. I might not want my parents to know, but I’ve never kept secrets from Shell.
I finish explaining how Bailey ended up my wife, living under my roof, and Shell doesn’t look impressed.
“If you think you can stop Dad from trying to control your life, you’re delusional.”
“He can try all he wants.” I fold my arms. “I don’t need Dad’s approval. I just need Bill to let go of the idea of me and Lindy together so he’ll let me have a chance this season.”
“You think he will?”
I shrug and look into my cup of cold coffee. “He’s still giving me the cold shoulder, but until the regular season starts, it’s hard to say how that will affect my career.”
“So we should know more on Sunday,” she says, nodding. “Good. I hope your plan works. All parts of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can you seriously look me in the eye and tell me you talked Bailey—the girl you’ve been heartsick over for four years—into remaining your wife because you were worried about your career?” She arches a brow. “You didn’t have any hopes of this becoming something more?”
“Not at first.”
She grunts. “Bullshit. When you married her in Vegas, you knew damn well that you wouldn’t let her walk away without a fight.”
I have to laugh because I know she’s right. Every time I’ve thought I’d keep my distance, that I wouldn’t expect this time with Bailey to turn into more, I’ve been lying to myself. “Maybe it will work out. Maybe this time she’ll fall for me as hard as I’ve fallen for her,” I say. I sip my coffee and wish it were something much stronger. “I have to try, Shell.”
She puts her hand on the table next to mine. “The sister in me wants to hate her for not letting you into her life, but the woman in me sees the way she looks at you.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I saw the way she looked at me when she thought I was your lover. This isn’t about her not wanting you.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“I’m pretty sure Bailey’s the only one who can answer that question, but my advice is that you stop focusing on making her fall for you and start focusing on being the safe place she needs.”
“I am.”
She tilts her head, sympathy softening her eyes. “Secrets are like bombs, Mase, and until you tell her yours, you’re about as safe as a fallout shelter with no roof.”
Mason’s holding my hand, and my belly is fuzzy with nerves.
I haven’t been on an official date with Mason in nearly four years, and I’m nervous. He told me we were going to the Seaside Village to listen to live music and grab dinner from the food carts, so I wore a sundress and a pair of white sneakers. It’s not the world’s sexiest outfit, but you wouldn’t know it by the way Mason looked at me when I joined him in the living room.
The village is bustling with the end-of-summer vacationers. When I first came down here, I wondered if Mason hated how busy it was, but he said it quiets down mid-September. That’s right around the corner, and I’m looking forward to enjoying this beautiful space with fewer people.
“Wanna get some food?” Mason asks as we wander the grassy area, checking out the local artists.
“I’m starving. What’s good here?”
He points to a trailer across the square. “They sell the best street tacos in town.”
I grin. “We got tacos the first night we met.”
He squeezes my hand. “I remember,” he says softly. “Want to find us a table, and I’ll go order?”
I nod and reluctantly release his hand. I’m a nervous eater, so I’m ravenous—or at least, it feels like I am. Picnic tables are scattered across the common area, and I find one tucked between two vendor carts and wave at Mason to show him where he can find me.
“It’s my favorite photographer,” someone says as I take a seat.
I look up and see Hayden Owen slide onto the bench opposite me. “Hey, Owen. What’s up?”
“You know, just a typical Monday night off, trolling the beach for hotties.”
I laugh. “Really? Any luck with that?”
He shakes his head. “Not a lick. You have any single friends?”
“Not really.” I prop my elbows on the table and study him thoughtfully. “Too bad, though. You seem like you’re not an asshole, which is my first requirement in setting up my friends.”
“You’ve got my number. Absolutely not an asshole.” He folds his arms and wraps a hand around each bicep. “Come on, there’s gotta be someone.”
I sigh. “Not really. There’s a bad case of serious relationships running around our group, like it’s contagious or something.”
His lips twitch. “Not big on commitment yourself?”
My gaze drifts across the meadow to Mason, and I can’t help but smile. “He married me while I was drunk in Vegas. What do you think?”
Owen laughs and shakes his head. “Fuck. Can’t blame him. Boy did what he had to do, and now
you’re in his bed for good.”
I’m not in his bed at all. But then, here we are, on a date. Maybe that’ll change tonight. My skin tingles at the thought.
“I admire that.” He lowers his voice. “Not that I’d tell him. Your husband’s been trying to steal my place as our quarterback’s favorite receiver, so you’ll understand if I need to bust his chops and help him remember who the veteran is.”
“Sure. I understand. Bust all you want.”
“I hear your photography services are in high demand,” Owen says. “You haven’t even been here a month, and the guys are practically bribing Mason to get their wives in sooner than the others.”
I laugh. “I have plenty of time for everyone.”
“Do you have a business card?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not that kind of business—nothing that official. It’s just something I do sometimes for a little extra cash.”
“Well, give me your info, and I’ll tell my friends about it.”
“Owen, I don’t do men.”
He chuckles. “I meant my female friends.”
I put two fingers to my lips, suspicious but not wanting to be a bitch.
“What?”
“You have female friends?”
His jaw drops, and he puts his hand on his chest in a picture of outrage. “I’m offended, Bailey. Why do you think I couldn’t have female friends? I’m a really nice guy. You said so yourself—not an asshole.”
“I’m sure you are, but you just strike me as the kind of guy who doesn’t know how to draw the line at friendship.”
He wags a finger at me and tsks. “Quite the contrary. I insist on drawing the line there. And I have plenty of female friends.”
I fold my arms. “Really?”
“Truly.”
“Female friends you’ve never fucked?”
“Sure! I mean . . .” His eyes dart away before coming back to me. He extends a hand in my direction. “I mean, there’s you. We’re friends now, right?”
I can’t help it. I laugh really hard. “That’s what I suspected, but you can go ahead and give them my info if they’re interested. I’ve gotta keep myself busy somehow.” My gaze catches on Mason, who’s heading our way with a tray of food and the biggest margarita I’ve ever seen.
Owen follows my gaze. “You should make that boy give you a real wedding. You know, with the fancy white dress and flowers and shit.” He nods at me. “You deserve that.”
“Ah, but there you go assuming I want the big wedding with a fancy dress and flowers and shit.”
He arches a brow. “Don’t all women?”
“No. Not all women.”
“Huh.” He looks sincerely baffled, and it’s kind of adorable. “So, let me get this straight. You like football. You take naked pictures of pretty ladies.”
“Clients are rarely naked.”
“Okay, so sexy pictures. Still.”
“You trying to steal my date, Owen?” Mason asks as he sets the food on the table.
Owen looks at the food then back up to me. “You actually eat and enjoy real food, not that rabbit shit. And you don’t like fussy things like fancy weddings.”
I laugh. “That pretty much covers it.”
“And you’re hot—”
“Watch it,” Mason growls.
Owen holds up both hands, palms out, as if defending himself against an oncoming blow. “Not being a sexist pig, just observing facts, and objectively speaking, your wife is not unpleasant to look at.”
“Thanks, I think?” I pop a chip into my mouth, and Owen watches.
“I’m just gonna put it out there that if this whole marriage thing doesn’t work out for you and Mason, you should look me up.”
Mason takes the seat beside me. “Fuck off, Owen.”
Owen just laughs, totally unashamed by being caught flirting with his teammate’s wife.
Mason wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. “She’s claimed.”
I turn my head, twisting awkwardly to meet Mason’s eyes. “Claimed? Like a cow at an auction?”
Owen chuckles. “I’m just saying you’d better treat her right. If you do, you don’t have to worry about me, do you? And if you don’t, well then, at least she knows she has options.” He winks at me, flashing a dimple before looking at Mason. “That’s the stuff of dreams you have in your arms right there.”
Mason lowers his head and whispers in my ear, “Don’t even think about it. I would fight him for you, and I’d win.”
A shiver races through me, up my spine and down my arms, making my skin tingle and heightening my awareness of how it feels to have him close. I could get used to dating my husband. I like it a lot.
Owen gives a self-satisfied smile and stands. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Have a nice night.”
“We will,” Mason says. “Now fuck off so I can enjoy my wife’s company.”
Owen walks away laughing.
Mason offers me the giant margarita. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I hope strawberry is okay.”
Grinning, I take it from his hands and take a long drink. It’s cold and sweet and makes my chest warm. “Perfect. Where’s yours?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not drinking tonight. I’ll have a drink of yours, but any more than that and I’ll feel shitty at practice.”
“You’re really dedicated.”
He shrugs and drops his gaze to my chest before lifting it back to my face. “There are plenty of other things for me to enjoy tonight.”
My cheeks heat, and I scan the food in front of us as an excuse to look away. He got us chips and guac, salsa, queso, and at least a dozen different tacos. “Geez, Mase, hungry much?”
“You love tacos. I wanted to make sure we had enough.”
I scan the smorgasbord of street food and shake my head. “I’m not sure how much of this is going to end up inside me.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that . . .”
I smack his chest. “Dirty.”
He grabs my hand before I can pull it away and meets my eyes. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”
“You’re welcome. I’m having fun.”
He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles before releasing me.
My cheeks grow warmer, and I study the tacos again so he won’t see how much his sweetness affects me. I want to ask him if he’s finally planning to sleep in the same bed with me tonight and what this date means. Are we going to sleep together? Did I scramble to get a fresh wax for nothing?
Just breathe. I take another long pull of my margarita and search for a safe subject. “So, you remember our wedding?”
I have to be careful about the way I reply to that. I’m going to have to be careful about the way I handle all of this. “I remember flashes. Bits and pieces.”
She takes a bit of the buffalo chicken taco and closes her eyes while she chews, only looking at me after she swallows. “No offense, but what the hell were we thinking?”
Note to self: don’t watch her eat. You’ll take her home before the night even gets started. “If I remember correctly, you were trying to get in my pants, and I told you we had to be married first.”
She puts down her taco and turns to me. “You didn’t.”
I shrug. “It seemed reasonable at the time. I was drunk, and you were playing hard to get, like always. Can you blame me?”
“Yes.” She nods vehemently and reaches for the margarita. “In fact, I’m blaming you right now. That was a terrible idea.”
I want to ask her what makes it so terrible, but I know she’ll feed me the same old shit about us coming from different worlds, and right now I just want to focus on tonight.
She turns back to her food and frowns. “So, did we sleep together?”
“Nah. You were too drunk, and the next morning when you were sober you were too fixated on the goddamned ring to give me a chance.” It’s been so long since I’ve been inside her, I wanted
our next time together to mean something more to her than another slip-up, another mistake. She’s not drunk now. She’s wide-eyed and aware, and making me question all my very noble reasons for staying out of her bed.
She coughs. “I was too drunk to screw but not too drunk to marry? You’re a shining example of hypocritical personal ethics.”
I grab a taco—I think this is the BBQ pork—and shrug. “I have to be able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
I grin. “You’re on an actual date with me for the first time in four years, Bailey. If you ask me, it’s working out great.”
My stomach is full, my skin is warm from the margarita, and I can’t get the smile off my face. We walk home hand in hand under the light of the moon to the sound of the rolling waves.
“Did you have a nice time?” Mason asks when we step onto the porch.
Nodding, I turn to him and put my hand on his chest. “You give good date, Mason Dahl.”
He grins and cups my face in one big hand before slowly lowering his mouth to mine. The kiss is soft and sweet and far too brief. When he pulls away, I lean into him, resting my head against his chest.
“I hope we can do it again,” he says, as if this is a normal date and he’s about to drive away, not walk into the same house and sleep down the hall from me.
“I’d love to,” I whisper, and he holds me and strokes my hair, in no more hurry to get inside than I am.
When my phone rings, I reluctantly pull away and dig it out of my purse. I’m surprised when I see Sarah’s name on my caller ID. “Sarah?” I ask as I put the phone to my ear. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course. I . . .” Sarah clears her throat. “Listen, I was hasty when Faith asked you to come to dinner with us. I’m so used to it just being the three of us—her, Brandon, and me—and I said no before I really thought about it. Are you free?”
Mason opens the front door and waves me in. I step into the house and head to the kitchen to find my planner—not that it matters. I could have fifty clients scheduled Friday night, and I’d reschedule every one if it meant I got to go to Faith’s birthday dinner. “Of course I am. Are you sure?”