I’m tempted to tell him that cutting off communication wasn’t easy for me, but I did it for a reason. Now he’s here and any scintilla of progress I made over the last eleven weeks has been wiped out.
I’m too frustrated by that to contain my annoyance. “Cut the crap, Mason. You need to respect that wasting time as your warm body du jour isn’t something I aspired to. Giving you my number wasn’t a wise move. If I’d known I was going to…” Trailing off, I look away in an attempt to get my bearings.
Dammit—I nearly admitted that I’d been falling in love with him. There is no way in hell I’m letting him in on that secret. “The two of us weren’t a good fit,” I blurt. “In retrospect it’s obvious that we never made sense. I’ve written the whole thing off as lust-induced lunacy.”
Although I tell myself that I’d have steered clear of him had I known how he felt about relationships, I’m not sure I believe it. I can’t imagine my life without having experienced the joy of being touched by this man. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“Body du jour? Lust-induced lunacy?” he repeats, his voice low.
I arch my brow in challenge as I nod. “Yep.”
His expression is one of absolute frustration. “First, you were never some random body to me, so don’t ever say that shit again. Second, you’re right—there was plenty of lust and maybe it was crazy, but it was also a hell of a lot more than that and we both know it. Whatever you’re thinking is bullshit and I’m here to fix that.”
Fix it? I don’t think there’s anything he can do to change things. “Jesus, Mason—”
“Just hear me out, Rory. Will you please come with me so that we can talk?”
The laser-like focus he has on me right now is too damn heady, and my already hard nipples are aching for his touch. His gaze drops to my breasts as if he somehow knows they’re pebbled. I’m reassured that he can’t get visual confirmation of that since I'm not dressed in any kind of sexy way. I didn't come here tonight with the intention of having a meaningful date, so I'm wearing a super soft off-the-shoulder gray sweater, some fitted black pants, and a pair of black flats. The hunger in his gaze suggests that although he can’t see the current condition of my nipples, he’s thinking about what I look like naked.
I cross my arms over my chest in an effort to divert his gaze. “Come with you?” I ask. “Now?”
“Yeah. You didn’t get to eat dinner, so you must be hungry. I’ll pick up some takeout.”
Hunger is to blame for the fact that the mention of food gets my attention.
“Where do you imagine we’re eating this takeout?” I ask, my tone full of suspicion.
“My place,” he answers. “Or, if that makes you uncomfortable, we can turn around and go eat in the shithole behind you. We need to talk, now—and I’m willing to risk food poisoning to do it. I thought somewhere private would be more appropriate, but that’s up to you.”
Imagining going back into that restaurant makes me shudder. It was so dank I can’t conceive of anything appetizing coming out of the kitchen. “Why is it so important we do this tonight?” I ask.
“You’ll understand once we have the conversation,” he answers.
I know I should be strong enough to walk away, but I’m interested in what he has to say. Besides, the seal has been broken. I’ve seen him and nothing has changed with the way I feel—which means that until I can go back to not seeing him, I won’t be able to get over him. Granted that wasn’t working for me before, but maybe after this talk I’ll feel better. People are always going on and on about closure—maybe I didn’t get the proper amount of it when I ended the relationship. Surely there’s a reason people rave about how transformative closure can be… right?
Sighing, I nod. “Fine—we can talk at your place.”
Only when his frame relaxes do I realize he’s been uptight this entire time.
“The old house got fucked up in the Woolsey fire, so I’m crashing in a rental Garrett’s uncle owns in Malibu. Give me your phone and I’ll put the address into Google maps and the codes to get into the house in your notes. I’ll stop and pick up whatever you’re in the mood for.”
“Wait—is your house going to be okay?”
He nods. “My roof is singed to shit, as is all the outdoor decking, but everything can be fixed in time.”
I’m so glad he wasn’t in town when the fire was raging. I’d seen on the news that it was in his neighborhood and had felt sick. If he’d been home, I’d have been crawling out of my skin with anxiety.