by Nikki Ash
“Mom, I’m hungry. Can you make pancakes?” Alec asks.
“Do you have any homework you need to do before school tomorrow?”
Alec groans, which means he does.
“How about you go do your homework while I make pancakes?” I bargain.
“I hate homework,” Alec complains.
“Come on, Bruiser,” Mason says. “I’ll help you, and if you finish quick enough, maybe we can play a game on the PlayStation?”
“Yes!” Alec pumps his fist into the air as he runs to his room to get his homework.
“Thank you,” I mouth to Mason who simply smiles.
“How is it that Charlie said when you lived with Tristan you used to leave for the gym every day before the sun came up, yet since you moved in with me, you don’t have to be there until nine?” I ask. It’s Wednesday, and Mason just dropped Alec off at school for the third day in a row and now he’s dropping me off at work on his way to the gym. I hate that he’s doing this, but at the same time I’m not going to argue because to take the bus or a Lyft would be a damn pain, especially to get Alec to school. He could take the bus, but he’s never done it, and I’m terrified to let him.
“I make my own schedule,” Mason says. “That’s a perk to being a fighter. I can train whenever I want.” He smiles my way, and my stomach tightens.
“I think you’re lying, but thank you. Since we’re leaving tomorrow to Vegas, Gavin is picking Alec up from school today. I can take a Lyft home.”
Mason gives me a look that says it’s not happening, then says, “When we get back from Vegas, we’re going to figure out your car situation.” The way he says we has my belly doing flip-flops even though I know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds.
“You’ve done enough. I promise I’ll get it figured out when we get back.”
Mason pulls up to the front of the doctor’s office I work at. “I’ll see you at four.”
I don’t bother arguing because I know he’s going to be here at four regardless of what I say, so instead I thank him again before I get out. As I make my way onto the elevator to the third floor I think about how different things have been since Mason moved in. For the last several years, it’s just been Alec and me. I do the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry. I help Alec with his homework. I watch TV or read a book after he’s in bed. But the last few days, I haven’t been doing it alone. While I cook, Mason helps Alec with his homework. While I do the laundry, Mason does the dishes from dinner. Afterward, we spend time with Alec, and once he’s in bed, Mason and I watch crappy television together. I know I should put a stop to all of this, but it feels good to not be doing it all alone, and not just that…something about Mason, it just feels right. When I’m hanging out with him it’s easy. It’s too bad I can’t find a guy just like him, but one who actually wants to get married and have a family.
I step off the elevator, and my phone dings. It’s GetHooked. We still message every day, but with Mason around, it’s not as much. I find myself wanting to give Mason my attention. I know in the end I’m going to end up hurt, but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to him like a magnet, and I can’t pull back no matter how hard I try to resist.
Gethooked: Have a good day at work.
Looking4Love: You too. :)
Before I clock in, I send a text message to Mason.
Me: Movie tonight with take out?
Mason: Sure, we can pick up the food on our way home.
Chapter Fourteen
Mason
For the fifth night in a row, Mila has fallen asleep on the couch. The woman is like supermom. She starts her day at the crack of dawn—making breakfasts and lunches and getting Alec ready for school, as well as herself ready for work—and she doesn’t stop going until her head hits the couch for us to watch a movie. She’s everything a mother should be and more. She’s everything my mom didn’t know how to be. Her car broke down, and if I wouldn’t have forced her to let me take her and Alec to work and school, she would’ve dealt with it. She doesn’t bitch or complain, she just handles it. Her ex-husband texted her last minute, letting her know he was going to be late picking up Alec and she left work early to grab a damn Lyft instead of texting me. And the only reason I knew that was because I pulled up early and caught her running out the door.
Gavin finally showed up close to nine o’clock and picked up Alec. Since we’re leaving for Vegas tomorrow, it was easier for him to take him tonight even if it was after his bedtime. Mila was already passed out, so Gavin grabbed Alec and his backpack without waking her up.
My phone pings with an incoming text, and when I look at it, I see it’s from Bianca—a friend of Charlie’s. I’ve hooked up with her on a couple occasions since Charlie introduced us while working at Plush.
Bianca: Your friends were at the club tonight but I didn’t see you there.
Me: I’ve been busy…
Bianca: Are you busy now?
Me: Leaving for Vegas tomorrow for Charlie and Tristan’s wedding.
Bianca: That’s tomorrow… come over tonight.
I look over at a sleeping Mila and debate whether or not I should go to Bianca. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since I moved in here. While I used to spend my days fighting and my nights fucking, lately I’ve opted to come straight home. Sure, I can say it’s because Mila’s car isn’t working, and I’ve been dropping them off and picking them up, but the truth is, if I wanted to, I could drop them off and then take off to go out—but I haven’t. I’ve chosen to come home with them every night and hang out here. We’ve created a comfortable routine of alternating between who cooks, who cleans, and who helps Alec with his homework, and when all the chores are done we hang out with Alec until it’s his bedtime.
The thought that this routine isn’t boring but something I look forward to has me freaking the fuck out. This isn’t who I am. I’m not the guy who Netflix’s without the chilling part. Hell, I’m the guy who jumps straight to the chilling part. What am I doing here? I moved in so Mila wouldn’t have some stranger trying to perv on her. So her situation wouldn’t turn into one similar to my mom’s. Where she wouldn’t feel the need to hook-up with a guy because she can’t take care of her son, or where men become a revolving door, coming in and out of her and her son’s life. I didn’t move in here to play house with Mila and Alec. That’s not who I am. That’s exactly what I don’t ever want to be. Yet somehow it’s exactly what my life is becoming.
I send a text to Bianca letting her know I’ll be over in twenty minutes, and moving Mila’s feet off me, I slide off the couch, careful not to wake her. That foot massage I gave her the night of the party has turned into a nightly ritual. I run upstairs and throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt and grab my car keys. I get back down to the living room and make it a point not to look at Mila, knowing if I do, I might not leave.
I lock the door behind me and drive over to Bianca’s condo development. I buzz the intercom, and she presses the button to allow me up. While I’m waiting for the elevator to take me to her floor, I watch the numbers tick as I pass each floor. My thoughts go to Mila, but I force myself to push them away. Just as the elevator dings, my phone vibrates and I check it.
Mila: I woke up and you were gone… I hope everything is okay. Sorry for falling asleep… again lol But it’s not my fault. It’s those foot massages you give me. If fighting doesn’t work out you could be a masseuse ;)
My feet still right along with my heart. I hear the door open and when I look up, Bianca is standing in her doorway. She’s wearing a white negligee that leaves nothing to the imagination. Its purpose is to seduce, but for some reason, it isn’t doing anything for me.
I glance down at my phone and think about Mila in her cotton pajamas and those freaking reading socks she wears every night—I swear the woman must own fifty pairs of them. Her outfits are the exact opposite of what should turn me on, but as my dick twitches at the thought of her, I know I’m fucked. I’m not supposed to want the woman who is looking for her fuc
king forever. I’m supposed to want the woman who wants the right now. The woman who’s standing in the doorway and is willing to let me fuck her, no strings attached.
“Mason.” Bianca calls my name as my phone dings with another text from Mila.
Mila: Good night. See you in the morning.
My eyes dart from Bianca to my phone. If I choose Mila, I will only hurt her. She will have expectations and needs, and I will fail at every corner. Bianca is the right choice. Her only expectation is for me to give her an earth-shattering orgasm. Why am I even debating this? Of course, Bianca is the right choice. She’s the safe choice.
So then why am I not putting my phone into my pocket and walking toward her? Why am I stuck here in place?
“Mason,” Bianca says again.
“I made a mistake,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I gotta go.” I step back into the elevator and hit the button to the lobby. This is probably the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, but what if it’s the best?
Chapter Fifteen
Mila
The wedding was beautiful. More than beautiful. It was romantic and sweet and intimate—everything Charlie and Tristan deserve. They said their ‘I do’s’ out on the veranda at the Bellagio surrounded by their close family and friends. I stood next to Charlie as her maid-of-honor and Mason stood next to Tristan as his best man. The girls were called up to say their ‘I do’s’ as well since they will be legally adopted by both of them.
The dinner was held at the Picasso where Tristan proposed, and once everyone was done eating, toasts were made and cake was served. Shortly after, Tristan’s parents took the girls for the night, and Tristan and Charlie excused themselves up to their honeymoon suite. They’ll be leaving as a family to Disney in the morning, but tonight they’re celebrating as newlyweds, just the two of them.
While I’m so freaking happy for Charlie and Tristan, it was hard not to get emotional. I am a twenty-seven year old divorcee with an eight-year-old son. I haven’t experienced any type of romance or being close to someone in way too damn long. I want what Charlie and Tristan have. I want a lover, a friend, a partner. I want a man I can depend on, one I can share my life with. I want to laugh and have fun and be silly. I’m tired of being alone, but more importantly, I’m tired of feeling alone.
I think Mason sensed my hurricane of emotions as we walked up to our rooms to change out of our wedding attire because he told me to put on something sexy and meet him downstairs. When I tried to argue, telling him the bed, pay-per-view, and mini fridge full of liquor, were all calling my name, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m actually shocked he invited me out, especially since he’s been extremely distant toward me the last few days. When I woke up Thursday morning, Mason was back at home. I have no idea where he went, but the morning after is when I noticed a difference in him. As soon as the rental car was delivered, we took off to Vegas. The entire drive he kept to himself, and since we’ve arrived he’s been spending most of his time with Tristan and his family as well as friends he knows here. I would almost think he’s purposely avoiding me, but I’m not sure why. And if I’m honest with myself, I miss him. The last two days have been busy with everyone getting ready for the wedding, but at night, in my hotel room, I’ve missed having someone to watch movies with. I’ve missed his foot massages and his playful commentary. I miss falling asleep on the couch and him carrying me to bed. I just miss him, period.
After going through every outfit in my luggage, I decided on the plunging V-neckline open back halter romper. It’s black and lacy, and with the completely open back, it doesn’t allow for a bra—the perfect mix of sexy and classy. I finished the outfit with a cute pair of three-inch black heels. I touched up my makeup, grabbed my phone, license, and room key, then met Mason downstairs. He introduced me to several of his friends I saw at the wedding but hadn’t formally met, and then we took off down the strip to go clubbing. Since most of them have lived here for years, they knew which clubs to go to. Apparently Mason is a bigger celebrity than I thought. I knew he was popular in the UFC world, but I didn’t know he was big enough to have people following and taking pictures. That was until I saw paparazzi outside a couple of the clubs snapping photos. Mason didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest, though. He even stopped to sign stuff for a couple of fans. When we reached the front entrance of each club, every bouncer knew him and we were immediately granted access. Once we were inside, we were escorted to the VIP section where nobody could bother anyone in our party.
It's now after two in the morning and we’ve hopped from club to club, losing people along the way—some going home alone and others finding someone to go home with. We’re now at Club Reckless, sitting at the VIP bar, and Mason has ordered us another round of drinks.
While I watch him say goodbye to the last of his friends, my thoughts go back to the other night. To waking up and finding Mason gone. It shouldn’t have hurt me but it did. I haven’t wanted to admit it to myself but the fact is there’s only one reason why a guy leaves at night and it’s for a booty call. I’m not stupid enough to think he doesn’t have sex. He was a manwhore when I met him all those years ago, and he was the same man when we came back into contact years later. I guess, for a minute I forgot who Mason really is. Since he moved in, he’s either at the gym training or at home. He’s just the guy who lounges on my couch and watches movies with me while eating a bowl of popcorn and helps my son with his homework.
He’s sweet and caring and selfless. He’s amazing with the kids, and he doesn’t complain about helping around the house. He’s funny and playful and he turns me on without doing anything more than smiling. And I’ve been slowly falling for that man. But the other night when he left, it hit me that he’s still Mason. He’s still the playboy who doesn’t want to settle down. He’s a complete contradiction and I’m an idiot to want him. I might as well rip my heart out of my chest, place it on the floor, and stomp on it myself. That way I don’t have to watch and wait for him to do it.
While we’re waiting for the drinks to arrive—and since I’m filled with liquid courage—I pull my phone out of my back pocket and pull up the Plenty of Fish app, shooting a message to GetHooked. I need to get my mind off Mason, and the only guy that has a shot of doing that is him.
Looking4Love: I know it sounds crazy but after having been on three horrible dates and watching my friends get married, it made me realize I don’t want to wait for Mr. Right. Want to go out with me when I get back?
I hit send then read what I wrote. Oh no! That came across completely wrong.
Looking4Love: I didn’t mean you aren’t Mr. Right… I just meant I’m done waiting for him. I’m ready to take action. Find him myself.
Oh, great. Now I’m referring to him in the third person.
Looking4Love: What I mean is, you are sweet and funny and I enjoy talking to you, and I think we could have fun together.
I send the third message, groaning to myself, and swear the next time I’ve been drinking I won’t attempt to message anyone—and then I mentally blame Mason for this.
Mason finishes saying bye to his friends and turns to face me, pulling his phone and card out of his back pocket. He sets the phone down on the bar top and grabs the card to hand to the bartender, who sets our drinks in front of us. She takes the card and smiles then walks away to ring up the drinks. Mason’s phone vibrates, and being nosy, I glance over at it thinking if I see proof of the other women I will stop falling for him. And when I look, I do see notifications from a woman, only the woman is ME! Snatching his phone before he can grab it, I press the circle home screen button to light up the notifications again. It takes a second for it to all click, but when it does, I feel so stupid.
“It’s you,” I say dumbly, and Mason gives me a confused look. Lighting up the screen again and pointing to the notification, I repeat my words. “It’s you.”
His eyes go wide, and he’s speechless for a few seconds before he finally answers. “It’s me.”
“G
reat!” I yell over the music. “Of course, it’s you! The one guy I talk to about everything. The one guy who’s sweet and charming and funny, and who I enjoy and look forward to talking to everyday. It’s you.”
Then it hits me. His image doesn’t have his face showing but mine does. “Oh my God!” I throw the phone at him and he catches it. “You knew it was me!”
I stand and down my drink, the alcohol burning my throat as it rushes down. “You knew!” I shove his chest in anger and embarrassment, ready to find my way back to the hotel alone.
But before I can pull my hand back, Mason grabs it and pulls me into him. “Come here.” He downs his drink just as quickly as I did and snatches his card off the counter where the bartender left it. He quickly writes a tip and signs his name before he pulls me away from the bar toward a quieter area of the club.
His hands run down my sides landing on my hips as he turns me around to face him, pushing me against the wall of a hallway that looks like it leads to an emergency exit. Then he leans down, and his lips brush against my ear. “You looked so damn gorgeous at the wedding, Mila.” His words send shivers up my spine. “And now, fuck, you’re the sexiest woman in this club.”
“Don’t try to distract me with your damn charm! It’s you.”
“It’s me.” He nods and smiles softly.
“Why would you do that?” Hot traitor tears form, but I refuse to let them fall.
“At first, I was curious. I wanted to know what made you tick. What you were looking for in a man.”
“You should’ve told me. I feel so stupid.”
“Why? Because you didn’t know it was me? Does it change anything you’ve said to me? Does it change our conversations? I’ve never lied to you, Mila. Have you lied to me?”
