“Ah.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“It’s very expensive. You threw it when you…”
She pauses.
“Mated you,” I finish, helpfully.
Her face pinkens. “And I need to return it to him.”
“It’ll get found. Don’t fret.”
She sighs while closing up her suitcase. She then takes the big hair dryer from the other bag with a makeup case with her to my bathroom.
“How do you take your coffee?” I call out.
“Just a bit of skim milk usually. Today? Two creams, two sugars.”
“I’ll bring it up.”
She shoots me a dirty look before closing the bathroom door.
I walk over to the patio doors and my eyes drop to the door tracks where I see that diamond ring embedded in the track between the two sliding doors. I should get her a diamond ring. And a wedding band. I’d wear one too, if she got me one.
I’m about to squat to pick it up when multiple scents hit my nose at the same time as I hear four car doors closing in near unison.
I turn and head down the stairs to answer the door and I’m back a couple minutes later with a coffee for her.
Stepping into the bathroom, I find her folded over, blow drying her hair from underneath.
After setting the coffee mug on the counter, I grab her by the hips, grinding my cock against her sweet ass. She squeaks in surprise but continues with her hair, pretending to ignore me. She’s breathing faster. Her heart pumps harder. And she’s wet. Too bad I need to leave. Too bad there are people downstairs.
24
Amelia
When I come out of the bathroom, voices fill Mason’s place. Female ones, happy ones. I’ve taken my time getting ready, sipping coffee, putting makeup on. I’m glad I thought to grab my hair dryer when I went to dump Whatshisface. When I thought I was going to Ivy’s I didn’t bother packing it because she has the same one as me. I also grabbed most of what was in my workout clothes drawer to tide me over a bit longer. I own a ridiculous amount of yoga clothes for someone who doesn’t know a sun salutation from a downward dog.
And though I was tempted to just stay in the bathroom all day, I reminded myself that I’m no coward. And I’ve decided that it also might be easier to escape my babysitters than it has been to escape my captor. I’ll play that by ear once I assess the people that are here and take a guess on how today might go.
As I get to the top of the stairs, I steel myself, straighten my back, and make the descent. But my nerves fray more and more as each step takes me closer to the bottom. I’m not usually nervous about meeting people. Where are these butterflies coming from?
When I pass the second level and am walking down the last flight of stairs, telling myself not to look down between the open steps otherwise risk vertigo and a very dramatic tumbling entrance, I make eye contact with a man. An around or slightly over fifty-hottie standing at the bottom of the stairs with a coffee mug in hand, looking relaxed, casual.
Oh. Mason’s dad? Definitely.
He’s a turning-silver-fox DILF. Mason’s mom is pretty, sweet, with a great sense of style, and his father is fit as fuck. One look at Mason and it’s no surprise he comes from good genes.
The man’s eyes hit my face first, not my boobs – which says something good – and immediately remind me of Mason’s mischief-expression, though Mason’s dad’s eyes are blue. He gives me a wide, eye-touching smile that looks a hundred percent genuine. The laugh lines around his eyes are sexy. Mason moves to his side and smiles at me, too. More laugh lines, though not as deep on Mason’s face. They’re both in a similar uniform of jeans and flannel shirts, though Mason’s shirt is black with grey stripes and his father’s is cream with blue checks. Mason’s dad is in work boots and Mason is wearing a pair of sneakers. If Mason ages half as well as his father, his true soulmate is going to be a lucky woman.
At that thought, my chest hollows out, so instead of soaking in that unpleasantness yet again, I turn my attention toward the other sets of eyes that are on me. The three women in the kitchen.
Mason’s mom, Skye, is dressed in dark jeans with a cool tooled brown leather belt and a frilly ivory blouse, then there’s the beauty that watched me mace Mason at the gas station. She’s got a ponytail and a casual denim jumpsuit on, looking like the poster girl for healthy outdoor living with her glossy dark hair, great skin, and crystal blue eyes. The other girl looks to be early twenties, and she’s petite, dressed in jeans and a brown turtleneck, Uggs on her feet. She’s got long caramel hair, no makeup on her flawless face, big light brown eyes behind eyeglasses. Freckles. The gas station girl smiles wide, giving me a wave. The other girl looks over with open curiosity and a timid smile.