With the hand holding the blunt, I reach up and pop out one of the earbuds, tucking it in my fist. “You gonna come sit, or just continue to stand there awkwardly gawking at me?” I say in a raspy voice no louder than a whisper. But I know he hears me.
Waving the smoke away, I sit up, lean over, and stub the cherry out in the grass. I pinch the end and set it down on the table next to me along with my phone, saving it for tomorrow.
“You didn’t have to put it out,” Mason says quietly, his feet crunching softly over the grass as he draws near.
Shrugging, I watch from the corner of my eye as he rounds the lounger.
Fucking hell.He’s shirtless, because of course he is. And he’s wearing gray sweatpants to boot.
Kill me now, please.
“It’s fine,” I say roughly, tracking his movements. “I’m done.”
He grunts softly at that, not looking at me. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he looks around the backyard, taking it all in. He’s bathed in shadows, save for where the moonlight slants down his profile and his upper back, drawing stark attention to his chiseled jawline, and the muscle that bulges when he hunches his shoulders.
I sigh.
“Can’t sleep?” I say after a long moment.
He twists his head just enough to level me with a pointed look, as if to say,Really?
“What?”
He huffs something like a laugh and lifts a hand, wiping it over his mouth, turning to face the yard once more. “Nothing. Just… You’re asking me that, yet you’re the one out here pulling an all-nighter. Did you try to sleep at all?”
Shrugging, I tighten my grip on my sketchbook. Rolling my thumb over the coiled binding, if only to give myself something to do, I say, “Ivy snores.”Barely.
This time it’s definitely a laugh—short and raspy, more like a startled cough than anything. It’s my favorite Mason laugh. There’s just something about catching him off guard that never fails to warm my insides.
Ugh, do you hear yourself?
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” he says dryly. A beat passes, then, “And I told you, you could have the couch. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “It’s fine. It’s just one more night. I really don’t mind.” And I mean it. Will’s parents’ king size bed provides plenty of room for Ivy, Phoebe, and I.
Sure, it’s not ideal. Ivy’s a notorious blanket hog, and Phoebe sleeps like a hyperextended starfish. But when faced with the choice between fighting for a sliver of mattress or sleeping inches away from a half-naked Mason…Well, it was a no-brainer.
The pencil still wedged between my fingers creaks with how rigid my hold is. Easing my grip, I let it roll toward my stomach and flex my fingers, working out some of the stiffness.
“You working on a proj—”
“You should go back inside.”
Mason stills, straightening, his shoulders drooping.
Shit.I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.
Cringing, I rub my fist over my sternum. He hangs his head, staring down at his hands, and a sinking feeling forms in my chest, speeding up my pulse.
Double shit.
“Mason,” I say quietly, my voice cracking.
“I hate this.”
Throat tight, all I can do is stare at him.
Whirling suddenly, he spears me right in the fucking heart with those painfully beautiful ice-blue eyes. “Can’t we just…” He waves a shaky hand. “Forget. For one night, please? I know I have no fucking right, I never did—I see that now, and I’m sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry, J-Jeremy. This is all my fault, and I know you’re sick of my apologizing, but I—I don’t know what else to say to you to make this better.”
