Chapter Two
Mason
“Mason!”
I frown and bury my head into the pillow to try and drown out the sound of my mother’s voice.
“MASON!”
Yeah, a pillow isn’t going to fucking cut it. I’d need four feet of reinforced concrete to get away from her voice when she’s in a mood like she clearly is this morning.
“Get up, Mason! You’re the one that decided you wanted to work blue collar all summer, so up and at ‘em!” She screeches. “You know it’s laziness like this that probably got you into trouble in the first place!”
I scowl. There are probably worse ways of being woken up in the morning, but my mother screaming at me and calling me a screw up is definitely climbing the charts.
“I’m up, Jesus,” I grunt. I slide my legs over the edge and plant my feet on the hardwood floor. I rub the grit from my eyes and groan when I glance at the time. Fuck. She’s not wrong, I do need to get up. But shit, it feels like I just went to sleep. Well, I didn’t just, but it’s not that much of an exaggeration. I was up most of the night recoding some of my algorithm and ironing out more bugs on the proof-of-concept site I’ve got up and running. Slowly, a smile crosses my face, and I grin.
Well, that’s not all of why I was up so late.
Before the coding, and before the de-bugging, I was lost in pure fantasy. I got the late start on the algorithm because I lost all semblance of self-control, like I always do around her.
…Around Layla. Layla, who is now very much back to living next door to my parents and somehow looking even fucking hotter than she did before.
I’ve lusted after Layla Hughes for years, ever since the day she first bought the place next door when I was still in high school. I mean she was, and still is, a wet fucking dream on two long, toned legs. She’s been my fantasy since the very first moment I laid eyes on her—that tight ass, those shimmering blue eyes. That long blonde hair and the pouty bubble-gum lips I’ve imagined wrapped around my cock countless times.
The fact that she owned a sexy lingerie company just made her a hundred times hotter, too. I didn’t give a shit that she was nine years older than me. Fuck, I didn’t even care that she was married to that walking fuck-wad Jeremy. Believe me, even before the renovations she just finished up a month ago before she moved back here, I could see into and hear enough of that house to know Jeremy wasn’t even touching her.
What a fucking idiot.
I wasn’t touching her either, but I damn well was every single night, in my head. And it’s never stopped. Not when her company blew the fuck up and she pretty much immediately moved to New York. Not when I started hitting the gym and when I went to college. Not through the nameless, faceless girls who were only ever garbage imitations of what I really wanted.
I’ve fucked Layla Hughes a million times in my dreams. I’ve taken her every fucking way a man can take a woman in my fantasies. And now that she’s back, and hotter than ever, and right fucking next door, my obsession with her is only growing bigger.
“Goddamnit, Mason! You’re a grown fucking man, so get out of—”
“I’m up!” I roar. I groan and stand, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
Aside from being right next door to Layla, living here isn’t exactly ideal, nor was it part of the plan. But plans changed when I managed to get kicked out of school. My dad wanted me to come work at his law offices and clerk or be some sort of coffee-bitch assistant to one of the partners. But hell no. I did need a job, but I wanted one that would still give me time to work on my algorithm. So, I found the perfect one, and the fact that it pisses my parents the fuck off is just the icing on the cake.
I got a job with a local pool cleaning company.
My dad lost his shit, of course. He called it “beneath” me, implying “beneath this family” for me to work a job that didn’t involve an office and a suit and tie. My mom had a fucking meltdown and literally cried about what she’d tell the ladies at the tennis club.
But like I said, pissing them off is a solid half of the reasons I took the job.
I yank on a pair of ripped khaki shorts and grab my phone off the desk to call my boss, Mickey.
“Smart guy, what’s shakin’?”
I grin. Mick was pretty confused why a kid living in the Hollywood Hills, enrolled at an Ivy League school, was asking him for a job. But he gave me a shot, and now two months later, I’m pretty sure I’m his favorite employee.
“Not much, man. I think I’m scheduled for a job this morning.”
“Yeah? Hang on.” I hear the sound of a keyboard clicking, and then one of Mick’s token grunts. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Great, where am I headed?”
He chuckles. “Easy commute today, kid. New client up in your neck of the woods.”