Chapter Three
Layla
“Mason!”
I gasp his name out, and a shiver teases up my spine as I do. Heat blooms inside of me when my eyes lock with his, and I know my face is burning red.
Get ahold of yourself. Get it together.
I take a shaky breath and force a smile to my face.
“Mason,” I smile awkwardly. “I-I didn’t hear you.”
Slowly, he grins, and gives me this smug, cocky look. It’s a look that says he knows.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Hughes,” he purrs.
I feel the throb deep inside of me, but I try and push forward.
“I… um, I was getting some sun and listening to music. I thought I felt this mosquito or something on me!” I laugh, but I know it sounds so forced, and I cringe. Right, like there’d be any freaking confusing my hand rubbing under my bikini bottoms as “a mosquito.”
Mason just keeps smirking at me, and I blush when I realize he’s shirtless. My teeth rake over my bottom lip, and my core tightens. Good lord, he’s fucking gorgeous, and pure freaking muscle. He brings a hand up to shove his fingers through his dark hair, and his bicep ripples. His perfect abs clench, and Goddamn does that do things to my hormones.
“So, uh, why…?” I frown, still blushing bright red. “Did you want… you want to use the pool?”
He’s shirtless. God, why is he shirtless and why does him being shirtless make me lose the ability to speak words?
Mason chuckles, and I suddenly realize he’s holding a bucket of tools and plastic spray bottles, and something that looks like a weird vacuum cleaner with a big thick hose draped over his shoulder. My mind connects the dots, and my jaw drops.
“Hang on, are you with the pool company?”
“Yep.” He grins and put the stuff down at his feet before he nods his chin at me. “Sure am.”
“Oh! I… didn’t know that?”
Last I heard, Mason was some sort of coding genius at Stanford. I’m in no way knocking cleaning pools, but it just sort of doesn’t check out, with his parents being as rich as they are and him going to a top ivy league college.
“You know how it goes, Mrs. Hughes.” He shrugs with that absolutely panty-melting grin. Or, bikini melting. For a second, I think of those poor Stanford girls who don’t have a chance of saying no to eyes and a smile and a body like that. My eyes drop before I can stop them, down below the waist of his frayed cut-off khaki shorts, and I blush. It’s not just the eyes and the smile that I bet those Stanford coeds are tripping over, it’s also that monster that Mason is packing between his legs that I know about as of last night.
In a flash, bewilderingly, I see pure green envy. I think of those bouncy young college girls all over Mason, and I hate it. My mind spins trying to even process what that is, and I quickly drag myself back.
“It’s Miss,” I blurt out.
Mason arches a brow. “What?”
“Hughes. It’s Ms. Hughes. I was never actually a Mrs., even when I was married. I kept Hughes, my maiden name.” I frown, confused why the fuck I’m even telling Mason this. “I got divorced,” I blurt out again. Jesus Christ, could I stop vomiting words please?
Mason’s jaw ticks, and I shiver when I see this fierce fire blaze in his crystal blue eyes.
“I heard. Congratulations.”
I giggle. “Thank you. Most people say, ‘oh I’m so sorry’ or some shit like that.”
“Then most people never met your douchebag of an ex-husband.”
I grin, and I have to say, the fierceness in his voice and the way he scowls is a little thrilling.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just puke all of that up,” I mumble. “So, you’re back for the summer?”