“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat.”
He rose from the chair. “I’ll make us dinner.”
Normally I would have offered to help, but I needed to maintain some distance, at least until I’d forgotten about what happened in my bedroom. Thankfully, as we sat down to eat, Mason seemed content to pretend we had never kissed, which was fine by me.
After dinner, he asked me to show him some of my sketches. We spent the rest of the evening paging through my sketchbook, with Mason pointing out the drawings he liked and how I could improve others. I felt buoyant, high on validation. I’d almost forgotten about our kiss entirely, until his hand captured mine on the sofa and I felt a jolt like a spark in my chest.
I prayed he wouldn’t notice my nipples stiffening beneath my shirt.
When he stopped at my door to say goodnight, he didn’t cross the threshold. He simply asked if there was anything I needed.
“I’m all set,” I said. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled warmly. “I love you, Jett. You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know.”
The words nestled somewhere between my heart and my hips. I nodded, struggling against the full-body flush.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said.
“Night, Dad.” I clasped my hands together to stop myself from reaching for him.
Chapter Five
Hours later, I still couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t because of the unfamiliar bed or the sounds of the city drifting up from the streets below.
It was the kiss.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the smoothness of Mason’s lips and the heat of his breath, the tickle of his short-cropped beard against the corners of my mouth.
The memory if it made me want to touch myself.
My feelings were beyond inappropriate, yet I couldn’t deny the truth. The kiss had happened, and here in the dark on this borrowed bed, there was no pretending I hadn’t liked it.
I tossed and turned, waiting for a wave of nausea to hit, for my skin to crawl, but all I felt was restlessness. Sleep was out of the question. I checked the time on my phone and found two missed calls from my mother. At just after twelve o’clock, it was too late to call back; I’d deal with her shit in the morning.
Exasperated, I climbed out of bed and pulled on a long T-shirt over my sports bra. I listened for signs that Mason might still be awake as I crept into the hall. Hearing nothing, I tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen.
Lights from other apartment buildings glittered in the distance. The moon was out in full, painting the floors in shades of gray and silver. I poured myself a glass of water and went to stand by the window. It was too bright out to see the stars, but the streetlights were a more than adequate replacement.
Brake lights flashed as traffic lights winked from red to green to yellow. This far above the ground, I couldn’t help feeling like a fairytale princess locked in a tower, cut off from reality and time itself. Only no one had trapped me and I didn’t need saving. I could leave any time I wished.
I padded back upstairs. Soft noises emanating from down the hall stopped me on the way to my door. After a moment’s hesitation, I crept toward the source of the sound, all the way to Mason’s bedroom.
His door had been pushed closed, but hadn’t latched completely. I pressed my ear to the slab—too firmly. My heart stopped as the door inched open just enough for a curious eyeball to peer through.
Inside, I saw Mason seated with his back to the headboard, his face bathed in iridescent light. I heard another soft moan.
The flat-screen television wasn’t visible from this angle, but the grunts and cries confirmed what I suspected: he was watching porn.
Only, he wasn’t.
Porn might’ve been on the screen, but Mason’s eyes were closed.
My body tensed with undue fascination.
He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs, his long legs stretched out across the enormous bed. I hadn’t realized he’d been hiding a six pack under all those paint-stained tees.