If I pretend like the events that led to meeting Jules didn’t happen, then there isn’t a damn thing wrong with what’s between us. If only it was that easy to forget.
Knock. Knock.
My gaze lifts to the clock and then moves to the door to my office. It’s past 8:00 p.m. and almost time to meet Jules.
“Who is it?” I call out, not knowing who the hell it could be. Maintenance, maybe?
“Your partner in crime.” Liam’s voice comes from the other side of the door and I relax slightly.
“Come in,” I yell out to him, checking my cell phone and seeing a text from Jules. She’s waiting for me. The very thought spreads a feeling of warmth through my chest.
I set the phone down, giving Liam my full attention although I have no idea why the fuck he’s here.
“You seem preoccupied.” Although it’s meant as a statement, it comes out as a question. Before I can even think about it, Liam’s eyes are on my computer screen.
It’s an innocent glance, but he doesn’t need to see her. More importantly, he doesn’t need to know about my new obsession. I’m quick to exit out of the article about Jules. It was about her husband’s passing. How she was dealing with the loss, although the picture they used of her was from years before.
I’ve read dozens of articles about her over the last few days. They’re all the same. Every single one of them ooh and ahh over her. Some articles gush about her charity work. Others are less substantial and concern themselves with her opinion of an event or what clothes she’s wearing. They put her on a pedestal and in such a precarious place that it’s far too easy for her to crash and burn. And that’s just what she did according to the articles that came out after her husband’s death.
The sole fucking image I can’t get out of my head is one of her crying at her husband’s funeral. Maybe they showed mercy by using an older photo for the article I spent the day looking at because on the day she buried him she looked as if she’d died herself.
Inhaling deeply, I will the memory to go away. Wishing I’d never seen that grief on her beautiful face. Wishing I didn’t have a hand in causing it.
“Well now,” Liam says, ignoring my irritation. “Is this—”
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, cutting him off and leaning back in my chair with my shoulders squared. He’s still standing and leaning against the desk casually, but my tone has that arrogant smile on his face vanishing instantly.
He rubs the back of his neck, raising his brow and looking past me out the window as he takes a step back. “I was just wondering if you’d put the final numbers in.”
I clear my throat, feeling like an absolute prick. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” I rub my shoulders and click on the spreadsheet. “I was just getting ready to put them in.”
“So it’s all finalized?” Liam asks me with a chipper smile, seeming to forget that I’m an asshole just like that.
“So far, so good.” I force a smile and try to shake off the unease flowing through me. I can’t explain the dichotomy of how I think of Jules. I want to take her out, impress her and please her in every way, including showing her off and showing off for her. But I also want this thing between us to be my secret. I don’t want anyone close to me to have an idea of what’s going on.
It’s a design for failure. I can’t help what I want, though.
Liam claps once and says, “Perfect.” He starts to walk away but then looks back at me with an expression asking if he can pry. Curiosity in evident in his eyes. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“You don’t need anything else?” I ask him, the beating of my heart raging loudly in my chest. I don’t know if I should refuse to answer whatever questions he has about Jules. Everything in me is screaming to deny it all. I can never let anyone know.
“So … Julia Summers?” the prick has the balls to ask me.
Not hiding the irritation by audibly exhaling, I nod in confession. I can’t help that I feel a sense of pride as his cocky smile widens.
“It all makes sense now. I guess I can forgive you for being such an irritable fuck lately.”
“Watch it,” I say under my breath but the smile on my face only encourages him.
“Good for you,” he says as he looks back at the screen, but it’s only a spreadsheet. “Is it serious?” he asks me and I don’t know why. He’s never asked me before about who I’m fucking, or dating for that matter.
When I don’t answer, he adds, “You just seem unusually preoccupied recently.”
I move my seat closer to the desk, stretching my back and then shrug, doing my best to come off casual. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
He waits for a moment, expecting more, but I return to the spreadsheet and open the folder of options on my desk. “I’ll have it done before I leave,” I tell him, giving him a tight smile and ending the conversation.
He leaves quietly, merely waving a goodbye on his way out and letting the door shut with a loud click that fills the empty room.
I look up when he’s gone and tap the pen against the desk. I don’t know what to deny and what to keep a secret. Confusing the two could be fatal, but the lines are already blurred.
Julia
This is not a date.
This is not serious.
This isn’t something that needs to be more.
This is for fun.
This is pretend.
My pen stops on the last line. I stare at the words I’ve scribbled into the notepad, but my mind is blank. I don’t know what I intended for this poem to be. Inspirational maybe?
It all just looks like lies to me.
I click the end of my pen over and over. Click. Click. Click. Click. Debating ripping this sheet out of the notebook and balling it up for the round cabinet … a.k.a. the wastebasket.
The clink of several ceramic mugs being stacked together makes me turn to look over my shoulder. I inhale the rich smell of coffee in the small shop. The floors are checkered and the walls painted plain white, but this place serves the best coffee downtown. It’s also right across from Mason’s office and I told him I’d meet him here. My eyes drift up, my thumb still on the end of my pen.
The Rising Falls Building is sleek and modern. It looks like a polished black sheet of glass all the way up with a thick steel frame outlining everything in matte black, separating the panels. It’s tall and dominating, dwarfing the small buildings across from it.
It’s everything Mason is. The clicking stops when I drop the pen.
With both hands wrapped around the mug, I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not room temperature either. The smooth ceramic feels just right in my hand as I take in a deep breath.
I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be with him; I don’t do casual and never have, but this doesn’t feel casual. It’s been days of seeing him and I’m already catching feelings. Feelings I’m certain are one sided.
Maybe I’m reading into things too much. It’s only been a week and a half. It’s just sex … or so I keep telling myself. Maybe I should add that to the list of lies in my notepad. I huff at the snide thought.
Luckily, not many people have seemed to notice, other than Kat checking up on me and gently prodding. That’s not atypical for her.
We aren’t seeing each other in public, mostly. Not for events anyway.
There are whispers that I’m dating, but nothing that seems malicious or judgmental. Which is better than I’d hoped.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest at the thought and the small air of confidence leaves me. I would care if they said I was a bitch for moving on too soon. Or that I’m no longer the good girl they thought I was. That Jace’s death was in some ways my death too. They wouldn’t be wrong about that last one.
Most importantly though, I don’t want Jace’s father seeing that I’ve moved on. Or my mother. I close my eyes and try to rid myself of the image of her reading about me in the paper as she sips her morning tea. Drunk at a
bar with a known player holding me. Yeah, I don’t need my mother seeing that.
The bells above the front door jingle and my eyes instinctively open at the sound.
There he is, Mason, taking the breath in my lungs as he strides toward me. I’m stuck as I sit there, pinned to my seat and captivated by the air of confidence he gives off. His steel gray eyes look darker than ever as he grabs the back of the chair across from me and pulls it out. The legs scrape on the floor, announcing to the world that he’s going to sit with me. He claims his seat and fixes those eyes on me.
“Jules,” he says, my name falling from his gorgeous lips in a rough baritone and I finally breathe.
“Mason.” I say then smile, although I don’t know why. I simply can’t help it. He makes me feel like a little girl caught in a fantasy. It’s the way he wears his suits, the way he walks into buildings, the way he looks at me. As if he owns them all.
A small smile plays on his lips as well. I did that. I made him smile. These feelings, this bubbly laugh that erupts from my lips as I take a sip of my coffee … this is where the real problem hides.
He gestures to my cup and asks, “Should I get one as well?”
I sit up straighter and look over my shoulder again at the counter with the one lonely register and stacks and stacks of mugs behind it. It’s late but this coffee shop never closes, because this city never sleeps.
“If you’d like to.” I don’t expect him to reach across the table and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes and hands linger on the exposed part of my neck. The tips of his fingers trail down my skin slowly, with purpose. I feel the heat race through me, the desire creeping slowly down my chest and lower … and lower. He confuses me when I’m near him. I can’t think of anything but what I want him to do to me and that’s a dangerous thing.
I’m mesmerized by the way he looks at me. The steel gray seems softer, the harsh lines of his jaw less intimidating, more vulnerable. Maybe my poetic mind is getting the best of me.
“I think if I do,” he finally answers, leaning back in the chair he’s claimed as a throne, “I’d like to get it to go.”
Nodding vigorously, I make it obvious that I agree and then feel foolish as he lets out a rough laugh. The bells jingle again in the doorway just as he leans across the table for a kiss.
Anxiety shoots through me, and I pull back just as his scorching hot lips touch mine. My back hits the hard plastic of the chair and my eyes whip over to an old man in a tweed suit. His white hair looks ruffled from the wind, but he doesn’t seem to care. His light blue eyes gaze through horn-rimmed glasses and up at the menu behind me.
I’m slightly relieved that it wasn’t anyone who would recognize us, but that doesn’t last long. My heart drops when I see the expression on his face.
It’s more than disappointment; this is something else.
“I don’t know ...” I say but trail off, clearing my throat. I’m still trying to catch my breath and explain when Mason speaks before I can continue.
“If you’re with me,” he says and the tone Mason gives me is authoritative as his eyes pierce me, pinning me to my seat and stealing my excuses from the tip of my tongue, “then you’re with me.” He finishes his thought and I can’t look away, I can’t shake off this guilt.
“You know I prefer discretion,” I say and the excuse leaves me in a single breath.
He rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket. The hold he has on me is finally broken although he doesn’t look at me as he walks past me and up to the counter. I stare at the door, wondering if I should just leave. My body feels hot and I don’t think I can do this. I still don’t even know what this is.
It’s definitely not “just sex.” Going out on dates and coffee meetups aren’t in the fuck buddy handbook. Not according to Sue, anyway.
My body stands on its own. Although my legs feel wobbly, my body weak and my head clouded with frustration and confusion, something inside me pushes me forward. It’s only four steps, four strides toward him, all the while my heart beats faster.
“I don’t know what this is.” My voice comes out strong, clear and full of a confidence I don’t possess.
A shaky breath comes and goes as he faces me, his shoulders squared, to give me his full attention. I try to come up with the right words. “I don’t know what I want.” The words are so true. “I am not with anyone. I’m alone and that’s—” I stop midsentence.
I almost say that’s how I want it. I almost lie to both him and myself.
From the corner of my eye, I notice the barista who looks away casually as if she wasn’t listening. My cheeks flame with embarrassment.
“If you want me to leave you alone, it’s done.” His statement lacks both conviction and emotion.
“I want you,” I whisper, my eyes pleading with his. “I just don’t,” I say then swallow and force my eyes to meet his. “I don’t want people to know.”
I feel like an asshole. “I’m not ashamed of you … I’m ashamed of me …” Oh God, even I cringe at my words. It’s the truth, but it’s so shitty of me. I swallow thickly, searching Mason’s face for something. For understanding or anger. For something, anything. Instead there’s a coldness that greets me and it hurts. “I don’t mean it to come out in a way that is offensive. I’ve just been thinking a lot about it since the other night and I don’t want my family to find out.” My voice breaks at the last statement and that’s when the barista decides to set down Mason’s coffee.
“It’s because of your husband?” he finally asks me and I don’t waste a second to answer yes. The word is barely a breath. It’s more than just publicity and articles that paint me however they want. It all cuts deeper than that.
“I want to take you home,” he says then licks his lips, and instinctively my eyes are drawn toward them. He lets his eyes roam down my body. “We can talk about this in bed.”
My lips part and I struggle not to look back at the barista who’s no doubt watching us.
“Do you want that, Jules?”
I do. I want him to touch me and hold me and make me feel alive.
Why is this so hard? It’s emotions, that’s why. Luring me in and then snapping me out of it.
“Jules?” he asks, pushing me and I cave to what I really want, because if I deny him, I may lose this chance at an escape forever.
“Yes.” I whisper my response and I hope the tone reflects my gratitude.
I think it does because he places his hand on the small of my back, as if he knows I need support in this, leading me away from the counter and toward my jacket and coffee that I’ve left on the table.
As I pick up the white jean jacket, focused on calming down and ignoring my overactive brain, Mason leans forward and whispers in the crook of my neck, “I don’t know what I want, other than I want you in my bed every night.” Every night. There’s a pang of both fear and desire from his confession. A small wave of relief and arousal flood through my veins. He lifts the jacket over my shoulders, helping me slip it in place and then looks me in the eyes.
“Is that something you want?”
That’s what I want, but this seems like more. I choke on the answer, the words colliding together in a jumble and refusing to come out.
It’s because I don’t know how to separate the two. A relationship versus someone to sleep with at night.
It’s going to be a problem for me, I already know it is, but telling Mason that in this moment is something I can’t do. If I do, I’ve lost him.
Silence sits between us for a moment, growing more tense by the second and as though it slows the the clock in the room, time stalling and my mind whirling with how this is all going to end.
He’s going to crush me. He’ll leave me shattered when he’s done.
He’s not the first though and there’s not much of me that can break any more than I already have.
I put a small smile on my face and nod, feeling as though I’m making a death wish. “Yes,” I answer, holding h
is gray eyes, “I want that too.”
He doesn’t know the truth and I’m too much of a coward to tell him.
I’ve sealed my own fate in this moment. I know I have.
If only I hadn’t said it. If only I could walk away.
Mason
What’s right and what’s wrong are overrated.
The lines are blurred; consequences negated.
I’m left with no truth, only lies that I’ve built.
I’m left all alone, consumed by the guilt.
She’s fidgety, quiet too. My parking spot is the last one on this level in the garage; it’s the largest and away from everyone else’s. We walk in unison, my hand still on the small of her back. I’m not letting go until I have her in my car. She’s running, we both know it, and I won’t fucking allow it.
She needs to know that she belongs to me. She wants to hide this and that’s fine with me. But only to the extent that she knows not to be ashamed for going after what she wants. Discretion is one thing but I won’t be denied.
I’ll give her everything she desires; I want to. I want to see her smile, to hear that laugh that drew me to her. I’ll do everything I can to make it up to her.
And she’ll give me all of her in return. There’s no exception to this compromise.
The passenger side door clicks loudly in the empty garage as I open it but then I stop, shutting it before she has a chance to slip in.
My dick is hard; my blood is hot. Glancing at a confused Jules, her doe eyes stare back at me. The same eyes I’ve been looking at all day. But there’s no hint of a smile, only concern and rejection mixed in those soft blue hues.
There’s a large cement post to the right of my car. It’s square in shape and maybe three feet wide. If someone drove up, it would block us for the moment. Only a moment, but the odds of anyone coming to a commercial parking garage this late at night are slim. Fixing what’s between us right now is worth taking the risk of being caught.
You Are My Reason (You Are Mine Book 1) Page 9
