“Not gonna last,” he warned. He kissed me as if I were his supply of oxygen.
“Do it,” I murmured, pulling away to kiss at his jaw and neck again. “Wanna feel you go.”
“Come with me. Oh, God.” His voice broke. “Fuck. Gonna…”
My fist got slicker as he came in big shudders, mouth finding mine for a last desperate kiss. The kiss was what set me off. I came on a low noise, fucking into my fist, loving the way my cock slid against him, everything slippery and perfect. It felt like being tossed into the ocean from the cliffs on the southern edge of town—a long free-fall with a hard crash into a roiling ocean of sensation that knocked out my wind and rendered me stupefied.
“Oh, my God. Nash.” Mason didn’t seem to have the same trouble as me with speech. “Not sure I’ve ever come so hard.”
I grunted my agreement, still breathing too hard to talk. Mason reached for the towel, cleaned us both off while I struggled to make sense of what had just happened.
Tossing the towel aside, he ghosted his lips across mine. “Stay. I promise my round two is a hell of a lot better than that—not that that wasn’t terrific, but I’ve got a bed and a powerful need to get you all the way naked.” He grinned at me and my chest clenched hard. God, I wanted that, but I’d given into wanting and insanity enough for one evening.
“I can’t.” Shaking my head, I let all my regret filter into the words. “Can’t be here in the morning.”
“I’ll set an alarm…” Mason trailed off, obviously seeing something in my expression that inspired resignation. “Or not. This is where you get all buttoned up and distant again, right?”
I sighed, hating that he already knew me so well, hating that it had to be like this. “Yeah.”
“Your loss.” He adjusted his shorts and tugged down my shirt.
Yes, it truly was. Another pleading look or word from him and I would have been a goner, following him to that bed, but Mason wasn’t the begging type, and although I’d been crazy, there was a limit to my recklessness. There was only so long I could be Nash before all the weight of being Chief Flint returned, and with it, a deep sense of regret over my impulsive actions. Time to head back to the real world.
Twelve
Mason
“No Sheriff Sexy again?” Adam asked as we went over the bar inventory together. Thursday afternoon was dead enough that we’d resorted to counting bottles.
“Probably busy.” I shrugged as if I hadn’t really noticed. In reality, I’d been counting the hours since Tuesday’s little late-night visit. Not that I was surprised that we hadn’t seen Nash.
I had been totally prepared for Nash to go all…Flint as soon as we both got off. In fact, the second I’d seen him on my front porch, I’d known he would bolt if I spooked him hard enough. And apparently suggesting we try that whole orgasm thing again in my bed qualified.
It had been almost surreal—one second he’d been Nash, the guy who couldn’t cook and had zero flirting game and who kissed like he hadn’t had it in decades. The next instant he’d been Flint again, shutting me out—hell, Flint shut Nash out, too—stonewalling the parts of himself that I liked the best.
“Probably for the best. You’ve had enough to keep you busy what with the insurance and the window-repair people.” Adam straightened a row of whiskey bottles.
“Truth.” We’d had a glass-repair place come for an estimate, which, as expected, turned out to be higher than we could afford without using the insurance. Fretting over potentially higher premiums was just one more worry in a never-ending stream of concerns. What if Adam was right and we were the target of a hate crime? What if the rumors about the vandalism drove our already sparse customer base away? Could we really make a go of this business? So many people were counting on me, trusting me.
“Speaking of Flint, did you get a copy of the police report for the insurance company?”
“No, I need to do that today.” I had a plan for that, actually, but I needed Adam to head out to Coos Bay to get our beer order from the brewery before I put it in action. He might be my best friend, but I didn’t need him up in my love life—or lack thereof. “Speaking of to-do lists, you should probably try to beat traffic if you’re going to make it to the brewery.”
“Okay, okay. Wouldn’t want to be pulled over for speeding.” Adam dusted his hands on his jeans. Even in June he still managed to rock the plaid shirt and beard. He left for his truck, and I fished out my phone.
Sorry to bug you, but how do I go about getting a copy of our police report? ~Mason. There. No mention of Tuesday, but a bit underhanded—I knew perfectly well that I could go talk to the nice receptionist at City Hall for this business. Nash’s reply was faster than I’d expected.
I’ll bring one over. 20 minutes?
I smiled. I had him right where I wanted him. I’ll put in an order for your usual. Have it waiting for you. Thanks!
I waited for him to tell me not to bother on the food, but I’d also gambled on him not having eaten and not being able to resist the offer. I fist-pumped when his reply came in. Ok.
It was stupid to get excited over Nash coming by and stupider still to have a plan like this. But Tuesday had only been a taste of what I wanted with him. I wanted to teach him to cook and make him laugh and get busy on an actual bed. I knew exactly how foolish anything long term between us would be, but Nash was an itch I wasn’t done scratching.
I put in the order for Nash’s usual burger and made the salad myself, ignoring Logan’s pointed look. He wasn’t as much of a teaser as Adam, thank God, and I worked fast to avoid conversation. By the time Flint strode into the still-empty dining room, I had the food waiting at his usual table.
“Your copies.” He held out a manila folder.
“Thanks. That’s awfully good service.” I forced my voice to be teasing, not nervous.
Taking a seat, he gestured at the empty chair across from him. “Sit. We should probably talk.”
I groaned even though I’d been expecting this. I flopped into the chair. “This is where you tell me what a mistake the other night was, right? And how we can’t go for a repeat?”
“You’re a smart man.” Nash took a big bite of his burger.
Ignoring the compliment, I leaned forward. “There’s no reason why we can’t do that again…discreetly, of course. You can’t tell me that this is out of your system already.”
“Doesn’t matter if it is.” Nash shrugged. “It wouldn’t be a good idea to start something for a whole lot of reasons.”
“I’m not asking you to go steady here. But why can’t we be friends? Secret friends who happen to get it on.”
“I don’t do friends.”
“Liar.” I searched my memories. Surely I’d heard of Flint having someone in town he was friendly with. His dispatcher, for certain, and he’d always been friendly enough with Everleigh and Dolly and some of the other shop owners. “You’re friends with Curtis. And, hey, weren’t you friends with Mr. Gabowski, the science teacher out at the high school? Thought I remembered you guys going fishing and stuff back when I was in school.”
“I’ve known Curtis since forever.” Nash gestured like that didn’t really count. Then he did the most curious thing—he coughed, his neck going dusky red. “And Steve—Mr. Gabowski—was a friend, but that’s long past.”
I couldn’t help it. My eyebrows shot up, and the words got away from me. “Oh. My. God. You were sleeping with him, weren’t you? Why didn’t I figure this out sooner?”
“Probably because I didn’t want you to,” he said levelly. “And keep your voice down, please.”
“You were!” I crowed, softer now. I wasn’t sure why I felt so triumphant, having uncovered this secret side to Nash. “You and Mr. Gabowski were totally a thing. What happened?”
“Steve moved to Ashland a few years back, took a better-paying job. No big drama.” His flush had spread to his cheeks.
“Ha. Lying again.”
Nash sighed as if he knew that
I wasn’t giving up until I got the whole story. Which was true. “Okay, okay. We were together a number of years. He started getting…itchy. Wanting to come out, not wanting to hide so much. I wasn’t ready, wasn’t going to get ready, so Steve left. Sent me a card last year—he’s got a serious boyfriend who works at one of the theaters in Ashland. Seems happy enough, and that’s all that matters, really.”
“He might be happy, but what about you? That had to hurt, him moving on.” I still remembered the pain from the time I’d seen Felipe and his new squeeze at my favorite club, not even two months after we’d broken up.
“Eh. It was what it was. No hard feelings.” Nash’s eyes didn’t meet mine.
“Felipe and I parted amicably, but I still want his twink boyfriend to run out of hair bleach and burn every meal he tries to make. Hard feelings are inevitable.”
“Which is why we can’t start something, you and I. Can’t have you holding a grudge against me.”
“I’m not talking about years and years here. We’ve both been there, done that, it sounds like. I’m just talking about a casual friendship with a side of sex. No feelings involved.” I wasn’t entirely sure I could stick to that, but I was sure planning to try. There was absolutely no point in getting hung up on Flint.
“Mason—”
“I’ll teach you how to cook. No more microwaved meals at midnight for you.” I gave him my sweetest smile.
The door jangled, and I stood.
He said, “We can’t—”
“Text me,” I ordered in my best facsimile of his deep, commanding voice. I walked away as if I were confident he’d do that, when in reality, I was anything but.
Nash
Text me, he said. Just a casual friendship. Ha, ha, ha. I wasn’t some kid, falling for Mason’s claims. No way was I texting him, like a teenager looking for a booty call. No, I was going to do my damn job and forget about him and appealing thoughts of repeats of Tuesday night.
I finished my food and dropped cash on the table, not wanting to give Mason another chance to make his case. As I headed out, Mason gave me a little wave from the bar area where he was getting drinks for the group that had come in.
I didn’t wave back. No sense in encouraging his flirting ways, no matter how much I liked them. And I couldn’t believe I’d told him about Steve—all my filters came off around Mason, and that wasn’t a good thing. I spent a long afternoon doing paperwork—my least favorite part of the job, but necessary all the same.
It was just about time for a shift change when Marta called out to me. “We’ve got a report of some vandalism over at Dolly’s Donut Shop. She’s awfully distraught and asking for you. Can you go, or should I send Holmes when she gets in?”
“I’m on my way.” I headed for the Jeep and sped off to the Donut Shop, which was on the other side of the square, closer to the highway. They catered to the breakfast and early lunch crowd, closing up around two. It was unusual to see a car in her lot this time of evening. The summer sun still beat down, soft light filtering across the square even though the dinner hour had passed for most of the town.
“You came. Knew I could count on you,” she greeted me as I got out of the Jeep. Dolly and our family went way back. Dolly’s place had been a favorite of my father’s. Unlike me, he’d had a sweet tooth and favored Dolly’s coffee and crullers to start his day. “Just look at what they’ve done. I left my checkbook here, or I might not have seen it till morning.” She wrung her hands as she paced in front of the building. Despite being well into her sixties, her hair was still as blond as it had been twenty years ago, and her small frame was dwarfed by her bright pink blouse and heavy necklace.
“I see.” I kept my expression neutral as I took in the huge scrawled “Cunt” on the side of the building, accompanied by some vulgar drawings. “I’m going to have to get some pictures, look for any evidence.”
“Please do.” She followed me back to the Jeep. “Oh, Chief, what am I going to do? People will be coming in the morning, and I don’t want…they can’t see that.”
“Let me do my job, then we’ll see about that. Power washer plus some stripper will work. Think Hal can help?”
She looked away. “He’s…not well right now.”
Ah. I took that to mean that her son was off the wagon again. A damn shame. I took the pictures I needed for evidence, and, as I’d expected, I didn’t find anything else worth keeping—no paint cans or left-behind possessions.
“I just can’t stomach this.” Dolly started weeping in earnest. “Everyone will see.”
“Let’s get a call in to Leroy.” I patted her arm as I pulled out my phone. Leroy was a general handyman and an all-around good guy who’d handled graffiti issues for some of the other businesses, but unfortunately, he didn’t answer his phone.
I exhaled a silent groan. I’d suspected where this night was going the second I’d seen the graffiti. “Plan B,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I’ve got a pressure washer in the garage. Let me finish out this shift, then I’ll run home. Be back in a bit and we’ll get this taken care of.”
“You’re a good man, Chief. Just like your father. He’d be proud.” She beamed at me. That was not what I needed to hear right then, not when I could still hear Mason’s voice offering up similar praise under far different circumstances, not when the last thing I wanted was to be like my father. I was so tired of having to live up to his image.
But it was no time for grumbling. Instead, I made sure the station was squared away, then headed home, changed to work clothes, and grabbed the power washer and some of the graffiti stripper that Dad kept for things just like this. Few hours later, the sun had set and I was a sweaty mess, but the wall was clear, probably as clean as it had been in thirty years.
Dolly offered me whatever I wanted on the house, but I’d never developed the stomach for her coffee, and I just didn’t have an appetite for a dinner of sweets. So I was starving when I yet again turned onto my street. My gaze drifted to Mason’s place without my permission. His car was in the driveway, and lights were on in the house. Nope, not stopping.
I headed straight for my shower instead. Images of Mason and what we’d gotten up to in his kitchen assaulted me as the hot water pelted me. Predictably, my dick hardened, but I ignored it. I wasn’t opposed to jacking off, but it wasn’t something I indulged in on the regular. The way I saw it, there wasn’t any sense in building up an appetite for what I couldn’t have.
After the shower, I padded into the kitchen. Only thing that sounded good was some eggs. I glanced at my phone on the counter. What would it hurt?
Before I could think the better of it, I texted Mason. Not for a hookup. Only a simple question. How much oil do you put down for scrambled eggs? It sure would be nice if I could do better than the sticky mess I usually made of eggs.
Mason’s reply was near instantaneous. Come over and I’ll show you.
Can’t. I resisted the urge to add one of those ridiculous frowning faces to the message.
Another fast reply made my phone buzz. I’m putting bacon on, and the side door’s unlocked. I’ve got plenty of eggs for your lesson. Come over.
Bacon. I’d never once cooked that without a house full of greasy smoke and a skillet full of little black husks that might have been meat once upon a time. Man, did I love a good slice of bacon. However, I could not have Mason thinking that he could order me around.
One lesson, I typed out, already going for my shoes.
His reply arrived right as I locked up the house. For now ;)
Taking the back alley, I went to his side door, which was far less exposed than his front porch. Calling myself ten kinds of fool, I rapped on the door.
“Unlocked,” Mason reminded me as he ushered me in. He was shirtless again, wearing another pair of those maddening shorts, this time in red.
“Not safe to leave things unlocked.”
“I’ve got my own personal police protection.” He grinned at me, and my brain waged a war on how
I should greet him. We both knew I wasn’t there only for eggs, but he flitted back to the stove before I could stop dithering about whether to kiss him or not.
“You’re thinking again, Nash,” he scolded, waving a spatula. “Now, get over here and learn how to do bacon.”
“You better remember how bossy I’m letting you be when I’m fucking you through the mattress later.”
His laugh was exactly what I needed. God, joking with him felt so right that it made my chest ache. “That a promise?” He stuck his tongue out at me, just daring me to kiss some sense into him, show him who was really in charge.
But before I could, he started in on a lecture about metal tongs and checking the bacon and medium heat and a bunch of other things that all ran together as I cataloged the freckles on his shoulders. He smelled like minty soap and had a little smear of shaving cream on his neck. I flattered myself, thinking he’d gotten ready for me.
“Nash. You’re not listening.” He turned, brushing his body against mine.
“Nope.” I reached around him, flipped the burners off. I at least knew enough to put safety first, and I scooted the pans off the heat. The whole while I never broke eye contact with Mason, letting him know exactly what I had planned for him. He shivered as I backed him against the cabinets. God, I loved that, loved the anticipation in his eyes right before I kissed him.
He met my mouth eagerly but seemed content to let me lead, going pliant in my embrace. I kissed him like it had been years, not days, sampling his lips both like the first time and like we’d been doing this forever. I already knew what he liked—little nibbles and just enough teeth to make him shiver again—and I exploited that knowledge until he moaned against my mouth.
“Mason?”
“Yeah?” he replied dreamily.
“Show me to your bed. Now.”
Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) Page 10