Although, it might mean giving up John.
A hot shiver snakes through my body simply from thinking his name.
My fingers sneak up under the hem of my skirt, caressing the sensitive skin of my thighs. All of me is sensitive. That’s how he left me. I can still feel his fingers inside me, hooked and preying on that little undiscovered land. A G-spot. I had to Google it this morning because I’m moving there. Without John to voyage there with me, I’m going to need a vibrator, I guess.
It won’t be the same.
His heat, his hands, voice, his smell and…his heart won’t be there. The safety and affection he radiates. It’s ridiculous to think I’ll get the same kind of pleasure from a toy that I get from someone who I have feelings for.
Serious, ooey gooey feelings.
Oh my God.
This is so bad.
“Hey, babe,” Mason calls, sailing down the stairs with his usual animal grace. “Where is my dad?”
“Not with me,” I blurt. “I mean, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he says in a drawn-out way, eyeballing me closely. “He’s probably doing his morning workout. He carries tree trunks around and moves tires and shit. Hence the Hercules physique.”
“Oh yeah?” Do not get turned on when you’re about to come clean about the horrible thing you did. Do not think about John doing CrossFit-style activities and sweating down that muscular chest. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“No?” Mason’s head disappears into an open kitchen cabinet. “It’s pretty hard to miss.”
“How is the econ paper going?”
“Almost done,” he reports with a grin. “I need about three more hours this morning and we should be able to hit the road.”
“Three hours?”
No way I can last that long around John without making another mistake.
A mistake that in no way feels like one.
Okay. I have to tell Mason the truth now. No more delaying it. Otherwise I’ll have to spend the morning with John and therein lies ruin.
“Mason, I have to tell you something—”
The front door of the cabin opens and in walks Mason’s father.
He’s shirtless and glistening with perspiration, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. Muscles bulging…and I don’t know where to look. His unshaven face? His ripped thighs? Those deeply grooved abs? He’s a literal god in our midst and he’s splitting a look between me and Mason while chugging from a metal canteen. “Morning.”
My nipples peak. One word, that’s all it takes.
“Can I talk to you, Mason?” John asks, sending me a hooded glance that says everything will be all right.
“Actually, I really need to get to this econ paper.” My best friend checks an imaginary watch. “It’s due at noon and I overslept. Dad, while I’m working, could you show Lyssa that clearing? The one with the pond?” He shakes his head at me. “She hasn’t posted anything on Instagram in a week. It’s like she died.”
I blink. “What does that have to do with a pond?”
“You’re going to take pictures there, of course.” Mason picks up my phone and waves it at John. “Dad, could you take some flattering shots of Lyssa, since I won’t be there to document her proof of life?”
“We need to talk,” John responds.
“Yes, we definitely will. After I finish my paper.” With a smile, he heads for the stairs with a cereal box tucked under his arm. “Have fun. See you both as soon as I finish. Bye!”
John stare at each other across the room as the bedroom door upstairs clicks shut. Even from a distance, I can see droplets of sweat trickling down his torso and soaking into his pants. “I tried to tell him, too,” I say breathily, battling the need to fan my cheeks. “We don’t have to go to the pond.”
“We’ll go.”
“It’s really all right—”
“Just let me shower off.”
My mouth snaps shut when he turns and vanishes down the hallway toward his bedroom. To my utter dismay, there is nothing I can do to stem the rise of anticipation. I’m going to be alone with John, outside, nothing but time to kill. What will he say to me? How will be look at me?
Will we be able to keep from touching each other?
Yes. I can’t let there be another repeat of last night. Even after spending just a few minutes with Mason, I’m reminded how special he is to me. I have to stop thinking of his father as a sexual being and put him in the off limits category. Like I should have done yesterday.
It’s so much easier said than done.
John joins me in the living room after his shower wearing a fresh pair of dark gray sweatpants and a tight white shirt. He must have put on the tee when his chest hair was still damp, because there are wet patterns on the front that make me remember the springy feel of his chest hair between my fingertips.