Page 59 of Trusting the Fall
He takes a seat at one of the stools around the table and looks down at his shirt.
“We’re one of the sponsors for tonight, so Beth said I had to wear it.” He shrugs.
“Tristan just went to get drinks. Do you want anything?”
“Nah, I was making my way over to that bakery. Apparently, the cannolis are to die for,” he says, pointing over to Sweet Escape.
“Everything’s good there. I’m working on that beauty salon at the moment.” I say, nodding my chin over my shoulder to Parlour Tricks. “The boys and I have been making a dent in the menu.”
“Wow. Looks pink.”
I can’t help but chuckle at his assessment. Yep, it’s a fuckload of pink. Just how my Bombshell likes it.
“The owner has an affinity for the colour.” I smile.
“She hot?”
In an instant, my smile drops, and my teeth grind in jealousy. I’ve always considered Mason a friend, but I will punch him if I need to. I roll my shoulders back to reign in the possessive need threatening to choke me.
“You’ve met her,” I tell him.
“I have?”
I pull off the Connors Construction cap that sits backwards on my head to run my fingers through my hair, gathering my thoughts. As per usual, whenever it comes to Claire, my mind is a battlefield. There’s the clear path of victory in which I stay level-headed and let her lead the way. But then there’s the call for action that roars in my head, urging me to shake her and scream, ‘Just let me look after you, dammit!’ The fact that I do know what she needs—patience and stability—is the only reason I’m content for her to stay in charge. Most of the time.
“The Wayside. A couple of weeks ago when Gage was trying to make you a bartender.”
Mason’s brows pinch in thought, combing through his memory as he tries to place her. I see the moment when it registers. Those mismatched eyes widen, making the green and blue of each one pop.
“The sassy little blonde you were performing a mating ritual with?”
“A what?”
“Man, even I was ready to go after that little display.”
I shake my head with an amused huff.
Mason’s a bit of a playboy. Not in the direct and desensitised way his older brother, Caleb, seems to be. He’s always in the tabloids with a new woman on his arm at whatever high-profile event he’s attending. The next week, he’ll be photographed with another woman with a comment from last week’s date saying how heartbroken she is that she wasn’t the one.
I’m sure all these women only want his money and status.
Mason, however, he’s just that guy that gets along with everyone, and he’s not shy about saying it. He attracts the girls that want the one-time fun to say they’ve had it. They don’t want anything more, and neither does he. He’s just living that fast-paced life and enjoying the ride.
“Wait,” he says. “So, you’re hooking up with your client? Is that a good idea?”
“I didn’t know she was my client when we first hooked up.” I grimace.
When I look back at Mason, he’s blinking at me with a blank expression. I’m about to ask him if he’s alright when he throws his head back and laughs with his whole body.
“Jesus. You dick,” I mumble as I jump back with a start, lowering my head as I take in the curious glances of patrons on the neighbouring tables.
“How the fuck did that happen?” Mason asks on a wheeze.
“Let’s just say it pays to talk a little more before you hook up with someone. And always,” I point a stern finger at him, “exchange names.”
Mason’s still chuckling to himself when Tristan arrives with our beers.
“Hey Mase,” Tristan says as he places the drinks on the table.
