by J. Daniels
With a heavy exhale, I let the phone drop out of my hand. I curl my body against my pillow and force my eyes to close.
I force myself to stop worrying, and to chase after sleep.
And the next morning, when Mason doesn’t show up for coffee, again, or stop in for a quick hello, I force myself to focus on my job, and not the man across the street who is confusing the fuck out of me right now.
Oh, and also, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything.
“Goddamn it.” I pick up the now empty container off the floor and slam it onto the worktop. A mound of sugar collects near my feet, with a trail streaking across the floor. The granules shimmering along the wood.
Well, this is just perfect. And exactly how you get ants.
Snatching up the broom, I sweep up my mess as Joey steps into the back.
“I think you need a break. Your language is getting a bit out of control back here.” He bends down to hold the pan for me, dumping what he collects into the trash.
“It is not,” I scoff, sweeping another pile into the pan, although I am a fool to argue. I know how loose my tongue has been today.
“The last customer heard you.”
I wince, my grip tightening on the handle as Joey straightens. Shit. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Leaning the broom back against the wall in the corner, I brush my hands down my apron. The hard edge of my silent, might as well be dead, phone scrapes against my palm. My teeth clench.
“Unfuckingbelievable,” I utter, ripping off my apron and tossing it against the wall below the hooks. It falls into a crumpled pile on the floor.
“Strange that he still hasn’t stopped over here.” Joey leans against the worktop. “Are we sure he’s alive?”
Oh, I’m sure. His car is parked in a different spot than it was yesterday. That means he went out last night, or at least some point before I made it in to work today.
Early night, my ass.
“Being too busy to call or stop over here yesterday is one thing, but standing me up for coffee and then not communicating with me all morning is bullshit. Especially when he’s always over here, and always texting me cute, funny little messages. Now I get nothing? No contact? What the hell?”
“What happened the last time you saw him? After your delivery that day, did he act weird?”
I pinch my lips together.
No. No, he didn’t act weird. I acted weird.
The room swirls around me as I begin to pace. Adrenaline surges through my body. “I told him I needed a minute. I couldn’t . . . think. It might have been a panic attack. I don’t know. I was freaking out, Joey. You know that, I told you. But I said a minute. Not two fucking days.”
I shake my hands out at my sides. My feet carry me from one side of the kitchen to the other, and back again.
Where are you?
“Maybe a minute in Australia is longer?”
I stop near the fridge, glaring at Joey. “Really?”
He gives me an even look. “What? It’s possible. Have you called him?”
When I don’t answer, he shakes his head, muttering, “Of course you haven’t. Because that would be the logical thing to do, right? Contact him and figure out what’s going on.”
Figure out what’s going on. Contact him.
Call him? No. I’ll do one better.
If he’s changed his mind, he can tell me to my fucking face.
With determination fueling my steps, I grab some cash out of my wallet and dart out of the kitchen. “I’m taking my lunch!” I yell out, pushing through the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Joey calls out something behind me, something motivating.
My spine straightens.
Yes. Feminine power. Why didn’t I do this earlier?
I sprint across the street, grateful for my choice of flat, comfortable footwear, and pull on the studio door handle.
Locked.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I knock several times on the glass. I pound on it. Maybe he’s upstairs hanging out between classes. Hiding out from me.
Pulling away. Needing his own minute.
Growling when he doesn’t materialize in front of me with a believable explanation for his sudden absence from my life, I tug my phone from my pocket and dial his number.
It doesn’t ring. His voicemail picks up.
“Oh, really? Is that how we’re going to play this?”
Anger sizzles in my blood. I’m furious. With myself, for not contacting him yesterday. With him. More myself though, and that only dials up my rage. I asked for this, and now I’m reacting because he’s only giving me what I thought I wanted.
He couldn’t fight me a little? Show some defiance?
Damn him for being so understanding.
Stowing my phone away after deciding against leaving a message, I head down the sidewalk toward the restaurants, my feet commanding on the pavement.
Not that I need to eat. I’ve inhaled half of my weight in cupcakes already and it’s only one o’clock. My mouth still tastes like raspberry mousse.
I blame men for any weight I might gain today. All men. The entire race.
Especially ones with sexy accents and stunning physiques.
The warm sun presses into my skin as I walk around the corner. I push up the sleeves of my silk blouse above my elbows and pop another button.
I decide on Grinders for lunch, a little sandwich shop Joey turned me on to years ago. It’s the closest in proximity to the bakery, which will allow me to return back to my perch and watch out for Mason so I can have it out with him sooner rather than later.
Stepping under the green awning, I move through the busy outside seating area and head for the door, stepping aside for customers carrying trays. I follow behind a group of business men in suits. When I’m nearly inside the cafe, a laugh turns my head in the direction of the tables and chairs in front of the other half of the building.
A familiar laugh.
I stop, causing someone to bump into my back.
“Sorry,” I mutter, stepping aside and searching the crowd. It only takes me another second to focus on Mason as he laughs again, his head falling back with his obvious enjoyment.
My stomach flutters.
I move closer, through the line of people filing at the door. My eyes lock on the person he’s laughing with, sharing a table with, a meal with.
A date with?
A woman. A young woman, with red hair and striking beauty, laughs with a napkin to her mouth. Her attention wrapped up in Mason. Her eyes trained on his. The two of them are sitting alone at a table in the corner by the wrought iron fence that wraps around the cafe. An intimate spot, maybe?
It sure as fuck looks like it.
My jaw aches as I grind my teeth. My nostrils flare. I cross the pavement with heavy steps and stop next to their table.
Their table.
Mason looks up at me, surprise manifesting in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak.
I don’t let him.
“Who the hell is this?” I point my finger in the general direction of the redhead. I can’t look away. My eyes stay glued to his. “Are you sleeping with her?”
The woman gasps, then goes completely silent.
Mason winces. “What?”
“What?” I echo, leaning down, keeping my finger extended in the air. My hand shakes. “I said, are you sleeping with her? Is that what you’ve been doing the past two days? Fucking someone who isn’t me? Fucking anyone?”
My voice cracks and my eyes sting. I lean away as Mason stands from the table.
“Come here.” He reaches for my arm. His voice is hard, angry.
Like he has a right.
I step back. “No! You tell me right now where you’ve been! Where have you been, Mason? With her? Where!”
Tears spill down my cheeks in heavy drops. My lip trembles.
It’s strange how quickly your mind can conjure up the worst poss
ible scenario. Self-harm at its finest. Mason and this woman, images of them together, intimate, laughing. It’s all I can imagine when I look at him right now.
In a movement too fast for me to avoid, he grabs my arm above my elbow with one hand while his other seals to my waist. “You’re making a scene. There are children around,” he whispers harshly against my hair, moving me across the pavement.
I hear the soft click of the iron gate opening.
Turning my head, I look back at the sea of eyes on me as Mason pulls me away from the seating area. Away from her.
“Like I give a fuck. Who is she?” I growl, trying to get away, pushing against his chest and, at the same time, wanting to bury my face there and cry this out. “Where have you been? What the fuck is this?”
He presses my back against the heated brick covering the side of the building. I look around us, at the building behind Mason. I inhale the dank, musky air.
He’s pulled me into the alley. An alley, just like before, when he first kissed me.
Bending down, he flattens his hands on either side of my face and closes in on me. “What’s the problem, Brooke? Are you upset?”
I inhale a sharp breath. What the fuck?
“Am I upset? Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not. Do you think I’m with that woman? Do you care that I am?”
“What?” I whisper, fresh tears rimming my eyelids as I look up at him. “Are you?”
Bile rises in my throat.
He stares at me, not answering, his eyes distant and detached, but underneath them, dark smudges shadow his skin.
Instinctively, I go to reach for him, but flatten my hand against my side when I remember what he’s put me through. “Where have you been?” I ask, my cheeks burning. “You just disappeared on me.”
“You said you needed a minute.” His voice is cold. Impassive.
That bloody fucking minute.
I break, sending more tears down my face, my hands drawing into fists and pounding against his solid chest. “A minute, Mason. A minute! Not two days. Fuck you! You were my best friend and you just stopped talking to me. Why did you do that?”
He flinches, his eyes as round as quarters as they search my face. Grabbing my wrists, which go limp in response to his touch, he presses closer.
“What else was I to you? Was that it?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No,” I whisper, my body melting against the brick. I feel like I could collapse right now.
“What else?” He wipes a tear from my cheek. His breath bathes my face. “Fuck, Brooke. Tell me. What else was I?”
“Mine.”
The word shocks us both. Him more than me. I swear he stops breathing. I accepted this possessiveness over Mason two nights ago. This right to him. I know what I want. But saying it, hearing it out loud when I’ve never felt this way before, that’s what startles me.
Hearing my feelings at all is what startles him.
I drop my gaze to his dark cotton tee. “And I thought I was yours. I want to be.” I squeeze his hip, pushing off the wall. It’s my turn to press closer. Selfishly, my hands travel up his sides and around his back, dipping under his shirt.
Mine.
God, I missed his body. Two days feels like two years.
I stroke the hard curves of his muscles and the trail of his spine. I flatten my cheek to his chest. “Am I?” I quietly ask. “Am I yours?”
“Fuck,” he moans, crushing me against him, his long arms snaking around my body. Muscles tensing in relief and longing. With a sharp exhale, he nuzzles my hair. “You’re mine, sweet girl. So fucking mine. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
I close my eyes. Relief weighs down my frame, forming me to him. I’m so close but I want closer.
“You didn’t even call me.”
“I know. It’s not because I didn’t want to. Trust me. After that text the other day, I turned my phone off so I wouldn’t. I needed you to come to me, Brooke. I wanted you to admit what this was.”
“You were just going to wait?”
“Yeah. But only until Friday.” He leans back and cups my cheek. “I gave your stubbornness a deadline. I wouldn’t be able to wait any longer than that.”
Friday? Jesus, what would I have looked like by then?
I fist his shirt, going up on my toes, not giving him an option one way or the other as I whisper across his lips, “kiss me.”
I’m taking this.
With a growl, Mason seals our mouths together, our bodies. His length hardening against my stomach. He sucks on my tongue and kneads my ass, fingers digging at my flesh.
I gasp and arch further into him.
“Say it again,” he begs, kissing my jaw. “God, Brooke. Say it.”
I moan when he bites my neck. “That you’re my best friend?”
He leans away, and I giggle at his expression.
Fuck, he’s so adorable. Moody Mason.
I lunge at him again and wrap my arms around his neck, my feet dangling in the air.
He grumbles against my mouth.
“Oh. That you’re mine? And I’m yours? Is that what you want me to say?”
He nods. “Baby, please.”
“I am yours,” I whisper between soft kisses. “I have been. It just took me a minute.”
Laughing, he leans back and drops his forehead against mine. “Longest fucking minute of my life. You had me worried.”
“I had you worried?” I twitch in his arms until he lowers me. “Who the fuck is that redhead?” I ask, poking him in the chest.
His mouth falls open. “Ah, fuck. I forgot. Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the alley.
“Erection,” I grate out behind him.
He turns his head. “What’s that?”
“You have an erection.” I tug on his hand.
“Shit.” He spins around just before we reach the fence and the herd of people. He winks at me as he discreetly adjusts himself. “Thanks, gorgeous. That could’ve been embarrassing, yeah?”
My heart melts at that one stupid word. I grab his face and kiss him hard.
“Mm,” he moans and squeezes my shoulders, gently easing me off. “Now you’re just making things worse.”
Smiling through a shrug, I take his hand again and allow him to willingly pull me this time through the crowded seating area outside the café. We stop at the table he was occupying before my outburst.
I look at the redhead, and the man now sitting next to her. His arm thrown behind her back. Her hand resting on his thigh.
Oh.
Nice, Brooke. Very nice.
Mason gestures at the couple. “These are some mates of mine from Alabama. Tessa, and her boyfriend, Luke. They came up to see my studio and do some sightseeing.” He looks down at me, smirking. “You remember me mentioning Tessa, right, sweetheart?”
“Mm.” I nod through tightly pinched lips.
Chuckling, Mason wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his side. He looks at his friends. “And this is my Brooke.”
My heart thumps loudly in my chest, echoing in my bones.
His Brooke.
I release the slowest, calmest breath of my life as Tessa and Luke regard me familiarly.
For the first time since I’ve met Mason, I don’t feel unsure. The expectant worry that usually accompanies being this public with him is gone. Vanished. There’s no trace of it.
This is easy. God, it’s so easy standing here with him, being his, and it’s undeniably everything I want. I realize this is what it feels like to be someone’s only. To want to be that. And to hear someone declare their love for you just in the way they acquaint you with others.
A dizzying sensation moves through me like a coiling stream. I feel fuller and weightless all at once.
He loves me. Wow. That’s what this feels like.
Raising a limp hand, I smile apologetically at the two of them, more so at Tessa. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry about earlier. I’m not usually like t
hat.”
She tilts her head. “No? I’ve heard you’re a bit ballsy. It’s all good. I would’ve done the same thing.”
“Babe, you have,” Luke adds, laughing. “Who are you kidding?” He holds out his hand and shakes mine. “Sorry I missed the show. I was grabbing drinks.”
“Yeah, me too. Way to be absent. I’m probably banned from eating here now.”
We all share a laugh, and I notice Tessa smiling up at Mason.
“Can you stay?” he asks, sliding his hand to my back as I spin to face him.
I shake my head. “No. Dylan’s at a doctor’s appointment so it’s just me and Joey running the shop. I really need to grab some food and get back.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “I’ll go inside with you.”
I say my goodbyes and another round of apologies to Luke and Tessa. Mason keeps his arms around me as we wait in line to place my order. I bury my face in his neck. We laugh about how we’ve become one of those couples, and we both agree we don’t really give a fuck.
He insists on paying for my food and walks me to the corner of the street where he grabs my face and presses hot, hungry kisses to my mouth and neck.
“I gotta go,” I plead, but my hand holds tight to his shirt, my lips still moving against his.
He kisses me once more and leans away. “Can you come by after you get off? I’m teaching this special class tonight I want you to see.”
“Special?” I flash him a devilish smile. “As in private?”
He laughs. “More private than usual, yes. Will you come?”
I giggle at his innuendo. He swats at my ass.
God, yes. I will be coming.
After waving goodbye to Joey after work and telling him to not wait up for me at all tonight, I cross the street and open the door to Mason’s studio.
I’m expecting my skin to prick with sweat the minute I step inside. My lungs to adjust to the sultry air. That’s the first difference I notice.
The temperature is comfortable. How it is when Mason isn’t teaching a class. A cool seventy degrees. The second thing I notice is the panel of spectators standing off to the side observing. Some of them snapping pictures.
Older people, mostly. Parents, by the looks of it. They look proud. I’m quickly reminded of my own mom and dad when I used to compete in cheerleading competitions.