“See?” He wags his finger at me with a grin. “Bad influence. When did you lead with your heart and it wasn’t a mistake? There had to be at least one time.”
“Interesting question,” I say with a frown.
“I’m full of them.”
“You’re full of something.”
“That is true.” Mase leans in for a closer look. “You’re thinking about something,” he announces with a wave of his finger. “And it’s not a good something.”
“How do you know that? I mean, what gives you that idea?”
“It’s like I can see the wheels turning. Plus, you’ve got a furrow.” He points the waving finger at my forehead and then, oh so gently, smooths the ridge between my eyebrows.
“Why are you touching Fiona?”
Grayson and Boen stand by the table, both with arms crossed and matching scowls.
The interruption is like a bucket of cold water being thrown, breaking the warm bubble of Mase and me. I don’t want company; I don’t want them at the table, and I don’t want them to be looking at Mase like that.
Like he’s Christian Grey handing me the keys to the Red Room.
Mase jerks away his hand and knocks over his cup. Ice and a maraschino cherry roll along the table.
“He’s not touching me,” I cry, feeling like seventeen-year-old me when my big brother caught me making out on the couch with Bradley Cooper.
“I’m not touching her,” Mase echoes.
“It looked to me like your hand was on her face.” Boen stares daggers at Mase. Boen has always been as protective as my own brother, but this is too much.
“It’s fine,” I tell them with a scowl of my own. “Perfectly fine. I’m not offended or threatened or in any danger of being in thrall to Mase, so lay off.”
“You’re not in thrall?” Mase snaps his fingers. “Darn.”
I giggle, and his face lights up like I’ve shone a flashlight at him.
“Dude. We talked about this.” Grayson slides beside me, with Boen taking the seat beside him. Emmett and Shae slide into the half-circle booth beside Mase, like wardens guarding a prisoner. “Hands off.”
I arch a brow. “Excuse me?”
“No offense, Fiona, but this is between Mase and me.”
“Now I am offended, Grayson, and it’s not by Mase. And whatever is between you and Mase has everything to do with me. You may not know me very well, but Boen does, and he can tell you that I’m a big girl capable of making my own choices about men. And most of those choices have been perfectly acceptable—“
Boen chokes back a cough and I clap my fingers at him like a beak.
“Ah,” Mase murmurs. “More of the story. Seriously, bro, there’s nothing going on here, other than some talking and some drinking.” He holds up his empty glass. “Have you ever tried this Alabama Slammer? I heartily recommend it.”
When Chrissa and Demi join us, Mase shifts closer, his thigh pressing against mine. It’s as warm as a heating pad and hard as a rock. I keep my hands on my cup so I won’t be tempted to give his leg an exploratory poke.
There’s no need to poke his thigh.
I meet Shae’s gaze and she raises her eyebrows. Beside her, Chrissa winks. It’s almost like they think Mase and I—
Do they really think Mase? And I?
The way Demi smiles suggests yes, they do think that.
Does Mase think that? That he...that we...