by Whitley Cox
“Tell me, Mason, is it, what do you do for work?” Brody cleared his throat and took a sip of his white wine, his brow lifting just a touch. What a smug fucker.
Mason leaned back in his chair and looped his arm around the back of Lowenna’s seat. “Used to be the top closer for Boon Investments here in town. You heard of ’em?”
Brody scoffed. “Heard of them? Of course I’ve heard of them. My firm represents them.”
His firm. But not Brody.
Interesting.
Mason shrugged and thanked the waiter for his scotch, taking a sip before he spoke. “Anyway, yeah. I was their closer for a number of years. They recruited me out of grad school. But then I grew a conscience, ditched the suit, took off traveling for a bit, and now I own Prime Sports Bar and Grill.”
“You own it?” asked an attractive younger woman down toward the end of the table. “I love that place. Your blackberry mojitos are to die for.”
Mason grinned. “Why, thank you. Came up with that little gem myself. The trick is to use three different kinds of mint. We like to use spearmint, peppermint and chocolate mint. Feel it gives the drink more depth.”
The woman batted long eyelashes and nodded eagerly. “Well, I just love it.”
Heads around the table bobbed, and other people chimed in on their adoration and love for Mason’s bar. Not that he needed it, because he knew he’d built a successful establishment, but it was always nice to hear how much people liked his place. Made it all worthwhile.
“So you’re a bartender now?” Brody asked, his nostrils flaring as he squinted hazel eyes at Mason. “From a Fortune 500 company to slinging beer behind a bar?” He snorted. “Seems like a stupid choice to me.”
Mason was unfazed by the pompous prick. Liam and Atlas had given him the rundown on Brody. He knew where to hit him where it hurt. He shrugged and took another sip of his scotch. “Yep. I sleep better at night and hire people from all walks of life. Immigrants and refugees, people looking to get back on their feet after a hard time, whether it be addiction, illness or a bad relationship. I don’t judge as long as their work ethic is good. Even have a couple of guys on work release in the kitchen, have kids they want to provide for and show that they can make something of themselves.”
The sound of women crooning and gushing around the table made the corner of Mason’s lip twitch up. He hadn’t told Lowenna any of that, so when he finally brought his gaze down to her, she was looking up at him with such fascination, he knew he’d done the right thing waiting to tell her until now.
“You look shocked to know all of this, Lowly,” Doneen asked. “The first you’ve heard of who your boyfriend keeps company with. Derelicts and convicts. People coming here to steal the jobs of hardworking Americans.” This woman was a true piece of work. And her beauty didn’t hold a candle to that of her baby sister. Though that may have just been because he knew how ugly a person she was on the inside. Her red painted lips curled up into a bitchy smile as she waited for Lowenna to respond.
And she did so perfectly. “I knew, and I couldn’t be prouder. Every time I hear it, it’s like hearing it for the first time, and I just fall harder for him. He’s making a difference in the world just like he wanted to.”
Mason smiled down at her before pulling her close so he could peck her on the cheek. Her face grew warm beneath his lips. Now it was time to bring out the big guns.
“Thanks, babe,” he said. “But you know that I do it to show Willow how the future should be. Everyone taking care of everyone.” He fixed Doneen with a look he hoped made her insides turn ice-cold—well, colder than the frigid bitch already was. “And that nickname—Lowly— it stops tonight. You know it’s mean. I don’t want to ever hear it again.”
Doneen went even redder than her fuckface fiancé’s, if that was possible.
A hush had fallen over the table as everyone waited for the bride to retaliate.
She didn’t. She did look as though she was not only constipated as fuck but had also just bit into a lemon.
“Who’s Willow?” Lowenna’s mother asked.
Mason turned his attention to Adeline. “My daughter.”
Brody and Doneen exchanged glances, each of their eyes sharpening into thin slits and their mouths turning up into evil smiles.
“So you’re divorced, then?” Doneen asked. “That must be really hard on your daughter.” The bitch’s tone said exactly what she intended to say but left unsaid.
Mason shook his head. “Nope. Not divorced.”
“A widower, then?” the same woman down the table from earlier asked.
“Oh, how tragic,” another woman said, her eyes sad.
“Nope. Not a widower.”
Brows furrowed and lips curled in confusion.
“So then … ”
“I’m a single dad by choice,” he said plainly. “Realized I wanted to be a dad, hadn’t found the right woman yet, so I went at it alone. Found an egg, found a surrogate, and nine months later, I became the proud father to Willow Olivia Whitfield.” He brought up his phone and the picture of her he kept as his wallpaper, then passed it down the table.
Woman after woman oohed and ahhed over his sweet, little angel.
He grabbed Brody’s attention. “I’m actually buddies with a couple of guys, other single dads, who work at your firm. Play poker with Liam Dixon and Atlas Stark. You know ’em?”
Brody’s pallor went the color of pea soup.
And BOOM goes the dynamite!
“You know Liam and Atlas?”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, for sure. I’m good friends with Zak Eastwood too. I think he’s dating Aurora Stratford, who also works with you.”
Brody’s skin pigment paled even more.
Mason just continued, enjoying the way the man began to squirm in his seat. “They brought me into their single dad fold. We play poker on Saturdays, have playdates with our kids. We’re talking about a big camping trip with everybody this summer. Atlas has given me a shit-ton of Aria’s hand-me-downs for Willow. They’re like my brothers.”
At their last poker night, Liam and Atlas had debriefed Mason on Brody so that he would be fully prepared for anything this douche had to throw at him. But they knew that the one thing that would stick in the man’s craw more than anything was how tight Mason was with the two lawyers—Brody’s bosses.
For the past two years, Brody had tried his damnedest to befriend Liam and Atlas, get into their inner circle: go to lunch with them, work on cases with them, handle clients with them. And at every turn, Liam and Atlas had resisted because they hated Brody and how he treated lower-level lawyers and support staff at the firm. They also just thought he was a Class-A status-climbing tool, and neither of them wanted to befriend him, let alone even breathe the same air as him.
He watched as color traveled up from the collar of Brody’s white dress shirt into his neck and cheeks. His Adam’s apple jogged in his throat before he finally spoke. “Well, it’s nice that they’re willing to slum it with a bartender,” he finally said.
“Shut it, Brody.” Lowenna’s voice beside him made his body go still, and his head snapped down to look at her. She was glaring at her ex-husband, her arms crossed in front of her chest, pushing up her breasts and making her cleavage look so damn fuckable.
Brody settled his gaze on Lowenna. “What? I’m just saying, we’re lawyers, and Mason is a … ”
“Watch it,” Lowenna said, cutting him off.
Yes! There was the fire he’d fallen for on that first night. The woman who looked him in the eye and told him that under no uncertain terms was she going to be anybody’s pity project or charity case. He was beginning to wonder where that little firecracker had disappeared to.
Mason rested his hand on Lowenna’s shoulder. “It’s okay, babe. I love my job, I’m good at it, and I make a fuck-ton of money doing it. I don’t have to justify my choices to anyone, and neither do you. It’s an honest career, and I help a lot of people.”
Lowenna didn’t bother turnin
g to face him. She just continued to throw dagger-eyes at her sister across the table.
Doneen cleared her throat. “I think that’s enough interviewing of our uninvited guest for now. I’m just glad that they were able to accommodate us with an extra table and chairs on such short notice.” Her fake smile had to hurt her face. He hoped it did.
He set his lips against Lowenna’s temple. “I love it when you get all protective of me, babe. It’s hot. You do know I can defend myself though, right?”
She turned her head until they were eye to eye, their lips just inches from each other. He breathed her in. She smelled of wine, chocolate and Lowenna. A scent that had imprinted on him weeks ago and he’d never been able to get enough of. If he could bottle it, he would.
“I know you can,” she whispered. “But when someone cuts down my man, I am going to fight for him. I am going to fight for us.”
Us.
Was this her acting?
He sure as fuck hoped not. Things had become so muddled, so fucked up with this whole charade, that he couldn’t tell what was real, what was put on and what he was simply misinterpreting as more, but it was no more than wishful thinking. Hopeless dreams.
He wasn’t acting at all. Everything he did, he did because it was how he felt, how he wanted to be with her. She just needed convincing, and if he had to tell her it was him “keeping up appearances,” then he would.
For now.
She pressed her lips against his and closed her eyes.
He was in fucking heaven.
He closed his eyes too and let her lead their kiss.
Audience be damned, he was ready and willing to pry her lips open and explore every contour of her mouth with his tongue. But he had to pace himself. They hadn’t even had appetizers yet.
It was a light kiss, but it wasn’t short. And when she finally pulled away and opened her eyes, he saw something flash behind the bright silver that he hadn’t seen since that first night when he kissed her—hope.
That hoped fueled his own.
Goosebumps broke out over her skin. An uncontrollable reaction he liked to see.
He’d like to make her lose more control.
He knew they were being watched—by everyone—so he kept his reaction cool, cupping her cheek and running the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “If I haven’t told you already, you look incredible tonight. I love this dress … and those shoes.” His eyes flared. “How come I haven’t seen these babies before?”
Her nose wrinkled, and her lips parted. Warm puffs of air hit his knuckles. That’s when he noticed her chest was now rising and falling as if she’d just sprinted up all those floors rather than riding the elevator.
“I want you to keep them on tonight.”
Her throat undulated.
“But take everything else off.” He made sure to keep his voice down low enough that only Doneen and Brody would be able to hear them and not Lowenna’s parents a few feet away.
He kept his eyes glued to his woman, watching as her cheeks pinked up real pretty and her eyes gained that sparkle he’d come to love.
A cleared throat across the table drew them away from each other. It was bridezilla, and she was shooting laser beams out of her eyes and puffing smoke from her nose and ears.
“Sorry,” Mason said in the most unapologetic tone he could muster. “But I just can’t keep my hands … or lips off this woman. You remember what it was like when you first fell in love, right? Where you were just obsessed with each other? Constantly sneaking kisses whenever you could.”
The bride and groom squirmed in their seats, and he felt Lowenna chuckle softly beside him.
“I promise, the rest of the night is going to be about you two,” Mason said, holding up his hands. “Not another word about us and how much I freaking love this woman.” He signaled the waiter who was standing near the door should anybody need anything. “A round of champagne, please,” he said, “and just add it to my bill.”
The waiter nodded. “Right away, sir.” Then he was gone.
Mason turned back to face Brody and Doneen, all smiles. He couldn’t say the same for the two sourpusses across from him. That only made him smile wider.
Lowenna scooted her chair closer to him and looped her arm through his, her other hand landing on his thigh and squeezing it.
This was going to be a fun night!
15
They were well into their main course, Mason having opted for the fifty-two-dollar rack of lamb with truffle butter risotto and a winter vegetable medley, and Lowenna preferring something light, ordered the maple-glazed sockeye salmon with wild rice pilaf and sautéed green beans.
“How’s your meal?” Mason asked, taking a sip of what appeared to be his third scotch.
She dabbed at her mouth with her cloth napkin and turned to face him, sipping her wine. “It’s amazing. How’s yours?”
He lifted a fork with a piece of decadent-looking lamb on it and brought it to her lips. “Try it for yourself. I can guarantee you’ve never had anything that melts in your mouth so easily.”
Another innuendo?
She kind of hoped so.
With heat in her cheeks, she opened her mouth and let him slide the fork inside. She tugged off the delicious piece of lamb with her lips and slowly chewed it, savoring the incredible spices and flavors. She shut her eyes to get the full experience.
“Told you,” he murmured.
Her eyes were still closed, but she couldn’t mistake the press of his lips against hers. It was gentle, soft and quick, but no less invigorating or heart-pounding. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes and blinked at him, praying that the warmth in her cheeks and chest wasn’t visible to the rest of the world. “You had a bit of sauce there,” he said, wiping the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb and then popping it into his mouth. “It’s good lamb, but it tasted even better on you.”
Holy Jesus, was the man trying to make her spontaneously orgasm at the dinner table? Because that was what was going to happen if he kept traveling down the road they were on. Mason was doing a bang-up, above-and-beyond job of convincing everyone that they were madly in love. Hell, even she was beginning to believe it.
But wasn’t that the point?
He was just being a great actor. Giving her the boyfriend experience and then some. It was all an act. A believable act, an Oscar-worthy performance, but a performance nonetheless.
Sigh.
She wasn’t so sure she wanted it to be an act anymore.
But she had to wonder if they were too far down the rabbit hole of make-believe, of him being her boyfriend for hire, for them to take a step back and try to make this something real.
It sure felt real. Her body was having a hard time discerning fact from fiction, as was evident by her hard, achy nipples and the dampness between her legs.
Lowenna was on her fifth glass of wine, having decided that if she was going to sit through an entire seven (yes, SEVEN!) course meal with her sister glaring at her and her ex-husband just existing, she was going to do so drunk. The tequila had worn off by the time they got their appetizer, so she needed to double down if she intended to make it through to dessert without stabbing someone in the back of the hand with her salad fork.
Thankfully, the wine was good and potent, and she was well on her way to a loopy buzz by the time the sixth course came around. She was no longer hungry, but she was tipsy and horny and growing increasingly curious about those nipple rings beneath Mason’s shirt and whether he liked them to be tugged on during sex. If she stared at his chest long and hard enough, she could make out the slight pucker of the barbells when he shifted and his dress shirt pulled tight over his pecs.
Her mouth watered at the thought of taking one of those nipples into her mouth, tugging until he groaned, shoved his hands into her hair and …
She reached for her water glass and chewed on a few ice cubes. She needed to cool down.
Throughout the remainder of the meal, she and
Mason continued to shoot each other sly side-eye glances. Followed by little smirks. She’d giggle and dip her head bashfully, and he’d bob his eyebrows.
It was all for show, but that didn’t make it any less fun. That didn’t make the butterflies in her belly any less frenetic. They didn’t know that Mason’s attentions were all an act, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d believe he was genuine too. It made her realize how much she missed flirting, how much she missed the newness and excitement of a budding relationship, of the courtship. When you spent every moment away from the person thinking about them and every moment with them just completely infatuated, exploring their body, their heart and their mind.
And to anyone at that table besides the two of them, that was exactly how they looked.
Infatuated.
Obsessed.
Head over heels.
In love.
With an amuse-bouche, appetizer, bread, salad, soup, entrée and still a dessert to come, she wasn’t sure she had any more room left once she pushed her nearly empty dinner plate away, sitting back and resting her hand on her belly.
“Food baby?” Mason asked, wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin.
She reached for her water. “Yep. A big one. And the dessert is cheesecake, I can’t not eat it. But I’m not sure I have any more room.”
“So we get it to go.” He lifted one shoulder. “And then I eat it out of your belly button later.”
Once again, heat crawled into her cheeks, and it most definitely wasn’t from the wine. He caressed her with his sapphire gaze, making every muscle inside her clench tight. The warmth from her cheeks traveled downward, swirling through her abdomen and settling between her legs. Her toes curled in her heels. The heels he wanted her to keep on while taking off everything else.
A look from him was enough to get her going.
“Well, that’ll be the only baby she’ll ever have in her belly,” came Doneen’s shrill, venom-infused voice, breaking the spell between Mason and Lowenna. “You know she’s barren?”
A lead weight slammed into the bottom of Lowenna’s barren, forever childless stomach, and she hid her face, picking at her food.
