“My coach, Coach Braden, petitioned the state to become my legal guardian when I was released from the hospital. The therapists they had me see didn’t do much good. It was Coach who helped me. He pushed me to play again. He took me on the field every day after school and worked me until I nearly passed out from exhaustion. Most nights I was too tired to dream. But it was his words that got to me. Just a few simple words—but I’ll never forget them. He said, ‘if you die—they die along with you. If you live—they live through you. You are their legacy.’
“Those words are what I see now when the bad dreams come. I want to make my parents proud. I can’t change the past. I can’t not swerve to miss the squirrel and crash into that tree. But now I know it was a mistake. A momentary lapse in judgment. I may be the reason my parents died, but I didn’t die with them. I was given a second chance—a third even. And I plan on living. Living for them. Living for me.”
He takes some calming breaths. His revelation clearly done.
I try to swallow the lump that has taken residence in my throat. I clear my voice. “I spill drinks on purpose.”
I can’t look up at him. I can, however, feel a wave of tension leave his body. His hand relaxes in mine. His breathing becomes more regular. The tense muscles of his thigh slacken under my head.
“I had begun to suspect as much,” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”
My eyes close. “Yes.” My heart beats wildly and panic builds in my belly as my memories overpower me. “No.”
“When you’re ready.” He runs a soothing hand through my hair.
“I’ll never be ready, Mason. Because once I tell you, you won’t want me. I know I can never be the person you need me to be.”
“You’re wrong, sweetheart.” He brings my hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss on the back of it. “You are exactly the person I need you to be. You aren’t perfect. God knows, I’m not perfect. But I think we just might be perfect together.”
My heart opens and lets him etch a piece of himself inside.
“We all see ourselves differently from others,” he says. “We see the worst. In my eyes, I’m a murderer. I don’t yet know what you think is the worst version of yourself. But this I’m sure of—nobody else sees you that way. Least of all me.”
~ ~ ~
“Oh my God, Pipes,” Charlie wails through the phone. “You have to tell him.”
“Why? So he can think about all those other hands on my body when he’s touching me?” I blow out a frustrated sigh.
“No. So he can begin to understand you. He bared himself to you, Piper. Not many men can do that. It’s obvious to me he has major feelings for you.”
I shake my head in disagreement even though I know she can’t see me. “It’s different. What happened to me—to us—is different.”
“Yeah. It’s a lot different,” her accusing voice berates me. “What happened to you, to me, was awful. Unimaginable even. But Jesus, Pipes, he watched his parents die right in front of him because of something he did. That’s some monumentally fucked up shit.”
“What happened to him is terrible,” I say. “Of course it is. But it doesn’t make my skin crawl when I touch him. I don’t think I could take it if he looked at me that way. You know after . . .”
“You can say it, sister. After the best orgasm you’ve ever had.” She laughs, lightening the mood.
I can feel my face redden in my dark room. “Okay, yes. And the only orgasm I’m one-hundred-percent sure I’ve had at the hands of a man. I don’t want to ruin that. If I leave, I wouldn’t be able to stand the memory of him being repulsed by me.”
Silence.
I look at my phone to see if we’re still connected.
“Charlie?”
“If?” Her loud word startles me. “You said ‘if,’ Pipes. Are you thinking of moving to New York?”
I choke on my saliva as I guffaw into the phone.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Inside joke, I guess.”
She laughs. “Now you have inside jokes with him? Girl, you’ve got it bad.”
“I do not,” I insist, albeit not whole-heartedly. “And I’m not moving to New York. Even if I wanted to move to New York, I wouldn’t. I’m not in the least bit equipped to move to New York. Plus, you’re over there. Cradle to grave, remember?”
“First of all, I’m not even going to pretend I just understood what you said. Second, cradle to grave doesn’t mean we have to be attached at the hip. Cradle to grave can mean talking on the phone every day, showing up for momentous occasions, and taking kick-ass vacations together. You’re my best friend, Piper. You’ll always be my best friend. No matter where we end up.”
“I’m not moving to New York, Charlie.”
“Whatever.” I can almost feel the eye-roll in her words. “Let’s get back to the juicy stuff. What happened right after you had the greatest orgasm of all time? Did he hold you? Did he want to fuck? Did you say thank you? You should always thank a guy for a good come, Piper.”
I laugh. “I’ll remember that for next time. We didn’t do anything,” I say. “That’s when I asked him about the scar and he said we could talk after we cleaned up.”
“Cleaned up? What—as in you spilled a shit-ton of drinks in your usual endearing fashion?”
“Bitch,” I tease. “I don’t know, cleaned up. You know . . . I used the bathroom and he changed clothes.”
“Why did he change clothes? Was he expecting a sleepover?”
“Of course not. He just threw on a new pair of jeans.”
“Really? And just what was he wearing before that?” she asks.
“I don’t know, another pair of jeans, I guess. God, why the third degree?”
“So he changed from one pair of jeans into another?” Shrieks echo through the phone, piercing my ear. “Oh my God, Pipes—the man jizzed in his pants!”
My jaw drops. “He did not,” I say, unbelievably.
“Are you sure? I mean, you were kind of busy coming yourself. Maybe you just didn’t notice.” She giggles.
“Oh, God. Do you really think . . . uh, I thought . . . I mean, I didn’t even touch him there.”
Laughter dances through the phone. “You have much to learn my young apprentice. Yes, I really think so. And I really think this is a good thing. A great thing. Maybe the best thing. Tell him, Piper. If you want any chance at a meaningful relationship with Mason, you have to tell him.”
Long after our conversation ends, her words resonate through me.
His words resonate through me. I want it to only be me. Always.
A foreign feeling grips the edges of my heart. I think it might be called hope.
chapter twenty-two
mason
Her hand is warm and inviting in mine. We haven’t parted skin for the entire span of the two-hour movie. And thank goodness it’s dark in the theater, because the way her pinky rhythmically moves against the outer seam of my pants has had me sporting painful wood for the duration.
Even when she takes drinks of the bottle of water I bought her, she manages to maneuver it with one hand, holding the bottle between her legs to cap and uncap it. I’ve never been so jealous of a piece of damn plastic.
Shit.
I remember the reason I bought her the water bottle in the first place. I spill drinks on purpose.
My hard-on quickly deflates as I ponder the reality behind that statement. I’m pretty sure I have an idea of what must have happened. And the thought turns my stomach. It makes me ashamed to be a part of the entire half-population that could even contemplate doing such a thing.
“What a great film,” she says, her voice startling me, but in a kind of fantastic way that pulls me from ugly thoughts.
“It was,” I agree. “They had me fooled. I thought for sure the guy’s brother was the killer.”
“Me, too. I love it when things don’t turn out the way I expect.”
I smile and give her ha
nd a squeeze. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
People excuse themselves to walk past us, so we stand up and join the herd exiting the theater. We continue discussing the film in the lobby when a commotion grabs our attention.
Security guards drag a belligerent man past us. “I paid for a fucking ticket. Same as everyone else,” he yells, kicking at them while they attempt to usher him to the front door. He makes eye contact with me. “You!” he says.
I’m used to getting recognized in public, it’s hardly anything new. But the way he looks at me, it’s not with the normal fan adoration. It’s with disdain. And his pin-point pupils in the dim light alert me to his apparent state of drug-induced inebriation.
“Wait!” a familiar voice calls out.
I, along with the security guards and the rest of the lobby, turn to see who’s yelling.
Cassidy.
She runs up to the two men who have the unruly guy in choke hold. “He’s with me,” she says.
“Then we’re going to ask you to leave as well, Miss,” one of the guards replies.
“Ugh!” She stomps her foot like a tantruming three-year-old. Then she sees me. Her eyes are hazy and unfocused, her tiny pupils mirroring those of the man she’s trying to defend. She’s higher than a kite in trade winds.
“Cassidy,” I say. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Mason!” she says excitedly, shouting too loud for our close proximity. “Tell these rent-a-cops to let Nick go.”
One of the security guards turns to me—recognition becoming apparent as he looks at me. “Are these two with you, sir?”
Funny how throwing around a football, even part-time, earns me that title.
Ignoring him, I ask Cassidy, “Where is Hailey?”
“At my mom’s for a sleepover. Why?”
I turn to the guard. “No. They’re not with me.” I grab Piper’s hand and walk out of the theater.
~ ~ ~
“Tell me about her,” Piper says, settling into my couch. “Why is it that you and my sisters hate her so much? I mean, other than the fact that she seems like a complete bitch.”
I draw my brows together. “Nobody’s told you yet?”
She shakes her head. “All my sisters tell me is how great you are. When I ask about details, they say the same thing every time—ask you. I’ve never known them to be so opposed to gossip. I figured you told them not to tell me.”
A welcome pang grips my chest. She asks about me. “Why would I tell them that?”
“I don’t know. Everyone has secrets,” she says sadly.
I ignore her inward reference. “Cassidy is no secret. And she was different back then. Back when we, um . . . dated.” I shrug innocently.
“I get it,” she says. “You slept around. It’s a pretty normal thing for college guys to do, Mason.”
“Yeah, well that was then. Not anymore. She made sure of that.”
“How?” Her eyebrows furrow, causing an adorable crinkle to form on the bridge of her nose. “Why haven’t you been with anyone since?”
“Because she trapped me.”
“Trapped?”
“Got pregnant on purpose.”
Her jaw drops and she looks slightly green. “Oh, my God. Who would do that?”
“You got me,” I say. “But I was naïve and she had me snowed. She played the part of the demure sorority girl. She played it very well. We hooked up a few times.” I look over to gauge her reaction, putting my arm around her shoulder to pull her close. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
She nods confidently.
“When I told her I didn’t want a relationship, that football was my sole focus, she asked me for one last goodbye, um, you know . . . ”
“Goodbye fuck,” she says bluntly. “Okay, what happened next?”
My two-hundred-twenty-pound body tries to shrink into the couch on her harsh, but true, words. “Well, I gave her what she wanted.” I shake my head at the memory. “She left right after. And when I went to remove the condom, I discovered it wasn’t there. I knew I put one on so I searched the bed and found it . . . completely dry and totally empty.”
I cringe. “Cassidy could be kind of rough with me so I guess I didn’t feel it come off. I didn’t think much of it until she showed up seven months pregnant demanding a marriage proposal.”
Still mortified every time I think about that night, I stare mindlessly at our entwined hands, entranced by her deep blue nail polish. It has not escaped my attention that the longer I’ve known her, the more she tends to favor the color. I’ll bet if we stood before a mirror and she put her fingertips on my face, they would get lost in my eyes. That’s how dead-on she is with the shade of blue she’s chosen. I can only hope it’s intentional. A sign of her deepening feelings for me.
“Do you—” she clears her throat, “Do you think you would have had kids if that didn’t happen?”
“Of course,” I say without hesitation. I think of Hailey. Her round cherub face, her disobedient platinum curls, and my fierce love of everything about her. “Maybe not right away. Mostly because during the season my schedule is so hectic. But sure, I guess I’ve always wanted kids. How about you? Do you see kids in your future?”
It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask her before, but didn’t have the balls to for fear of her answer. Her eyes go distant and she shrugs. I remind myself how young she still is—we are. Don’t push her.
“I’ve never seen Cassidy like that before,” I say, changing the subject. “I’m pretty sure she was stoned out of her mind.”
“That could be bad,” she says.
“That could be very bad.” I don’t even want to think about the possibilities. I promise myself I’ll contact my lawyer first thing Monday to find out what my options are. “But hey, can we stop talking about my ex and start talking about something a lot more fun?”
“Fun?” she asks. “Like what?”
“Like your lips . . .”
A smile tugs at the edges of her closed lips, right before her tongue comes out to wet them. Her eyes fall to my mouth.
“ . . . and how you’re thinking about kissing me right now.”
“Am not,” she lies through her pearly whites.
My cheeks hurt from suppressing a huge smile. “It’s okay to want me, Piper. I want you, too. I want you so much that I think about you every minute of every goddamn day.”
Her hand trembles in mine. “I’m scared,” she confesses.
“And you think I’m not?” I turn to face her, taking both her hands in mine. “Everything about this”—I pull a hand away to wave a finger between us— “terrifies me. But I have feelings for you. Huge feelings. Feelings that override any apprehension, concern, or doubts I have about us.”
She nods and I can see her try to swallow her emotions. “Me, too.”
Jesus. Did we do what I think we did? Did we just fucking move to New York?
I stand up and offer her my hand. “Come with me.” I nod to my bedroom. “I promise you we’ll only go as far as you are comfortable with. I have to see you again.” My gaze shifts to the breasts still concealed beneath her blouse.
Her eyes flit nervously back and forth between me and the bedroom.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” I beg. “Keep your eyes on me. It will be okay. It will be perfect.”
“If by perfect, you mean a train wreck with multiple casualties, then you’re about right.”
My heart sinks before I see her eyes brighten with the beginnings of a smile. “A joke? You made a joke about having sex with me, Mitchell? You know that’s not very good for my ego, right?”
“I have a feeling your ego can take it, Dix.”
Laughing, I reach down and scoop her up into my arms, carrying her back to my bedroom, making her the one and only woman who has ever crossed the threshold.
After kissing her senseless on my bed, I remove her clothes, watching her cheeks pink up in the soft light I intentionally left on in the room. When I p
eel her jeans off, I spy a birthmark on her left thigh. About the size of a silver dollar, it looks like the state of Texas. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I trace the beauty mark with my tongue, never breaking eye contact with her. She makes soft mewling sounds, causing my already hard dick to pulsate in time with my heartbeat.
I push a finger inside her. Then two. Her head falls back against the pillow. My mouth breaks the seal on her skin. “Eyes, sweetheart,” I remind her. “I’m the only one who’s going to touch you here.”
Her body trembles as my fingers work inside her, crooking forward to try and find that one spot—that Holy Grail that will drive her wild.
I add my tongue to the campaign, cupping her behind and tilting up her hips to match my slow, circling rhythm. Every cell of my body erupts with need as I taste her muskiness and watch her squirm and writhe beneath me. When I lightly rake my teeth across her clit, her hips buck against my mouth and her nails dig into the meaty flesh of my shoulders. She is pure energy beneath me, her legs wrapping around my back before she stiffens and pushes them into me in time with her throbbing clit.
Hands, fingers, lips, tongue—it’s a challenge to do everything I want to do to her while keeping eye contact. But damn it if it doesn’t make every touch, every caress, every moment more intense.
Her tight walls squeeze my fingers and her groan of sweet release just about finishes me. Her eyes glaze over, the deep green irises burning into mine as she tumbles over the last edge of pleasure.
I climb up her languid body, my painfully hard erection straining against her shin, her knee, her thigh. I balance on my elbows above her, resting myself at her entrance. I reach over and retrieve a condom from my nightstand drawer. I show it to her.
Her eyes close and open on a ragged sigh. Then she nods slowly.
“Are you sure, sweetheart? I don’t want to hurt you.”
Black Roses (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) Page 19