by Emma Hart
“I tell myself it every day before I brush my teeth. Putting good thoughts out into the universe and all that.”
“I can never tell when you’re joking and when you’re being serious.”
“That’s part of the joy of living in my world. Keep up, Mason.”
“My bad.” He turned his body into me, bringing his mouth to my hair. “My mom is watching us and pointing you out to my uncle. Play along.”
I tilted my head as if I was listening to him and moved into him, smiling as I did so.
All right, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“How long do we have to keep this up for tonight?” I murmured, lifting my lips close to his chin. “Not that standing next to you is the worst thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t want you getting too attached to me.”
Mason chuckled. “Couple hours at least. You agreed to this.”
I groaned. “So I did. That was a terrible idea.”
“I’m great company.”
“I never said you weren’t. I’m just not sure I’m that great.”
“Well, you’re better now than you were. Plying you with wine seems like it’s the way forward.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing, nothing.” The grin that spread across his face was both playful and sexy. “Don’t worry. We’ll leave before the old ones get out their cowboy boots and start line dancing.”
I wrinkled up my face. “You promise?”
“Promise.”
***
Spoiler alert: Mason Jackson was a big, fat liar.
It was the only explanation for why Pru had wrangled my wine glass out of my hands and guided me into the position I was in now.
In the middle of a line of women who, at a minimum, were old enough to be my mother. I knew only three of the women who were shuffling side-to-side excitedly—Pru, Kirsty, and Nadia.
I’d also seen the videos.
I knew what was about to happen.
I was about to be a line-dancer extraordinaire. I wasn’t wearing the shoes for this. Nobody could line dance in four-inch heels. This was going to be a disaster from the very first beat of the music.
“Off.” Pru swerved so she was standing in front of me and held out her hands. “Take them off.”
I looked at my feet. “No offense, but they’re my only line of defense at this point.”
“Lauren, remove the shoes, or I’ll do it for you.”
Shit, she wasn’t joking.
I wasn’t sure if it was the look in her eye or the four glasses of wine that made me lean on Kirsty’s shoulder to stabilize myself while I removed my trusty black heels. Pru took them from me with a triumphant “whoop” and handed them to Mason.
He took them by the heels, looking over at me with confusion glinting in his eyes.
“Help,” I mouthed.
He held my gaze for a moment that felt like it lasted forever, then winked. “No,” he mouthed right back, using his beer bottle to hide his smile as he wrapped his lips around the rim of it.
Jerk.
I bit the inside of my cheek as the Macarena filled the room.
That’s right.
The Maca-freakin’-rena.
No.
This was not happening.
Inside my head, I was at home, eating pizza while Henry sat on my head. In reality, I was stretching my hands in front of me, doing a dance I hadn’t done since middle school.
I was doing the Macarena. Barefoot. In the middle of a function room, on the other side of tipsy, with my fake boyfriend’s family.
Einstein was wrong. The definition of insanity wasn’t doing the same thing over and over again.
This was.
This had to be. It was the only explanation for anything.
Oh, God, what was happening? How had I ended up here? And why the hell was I enjoying it?
We shook and jump-turned for the second time. Kirsty caught my eye as we laid our arms out in front of us for the third time and winked.
“Welcome to the family.” She laughed, knocking her elbow into mine when we both moved to put our hands behind our head.
The only thing I could do was laugh. This situation was insane, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing here, but I was having fun.
Goddamnit, this was going wrong.
Yet, I still laughed. And when I’d spun enough to meet Mason’s gaze again, I caught my tongue between my teeth, grinned, and winked. It was a little saucy, but hey—that was how I felt.
It’d been a long time since I’d let my hair down like this, and after the afternoon of guilt-tripping I’d had, it was worth every second.
Mason hugging me had taken the edge off the tension I’d held in my shoulders but being dragged into dancing with his family had removed whatever was left.
Why were my family parties never this fun?
The Macarena trailed off, only to be replaced with the cheesy, upbeat tune of The Birdie Song.
I looked directly at Mason. He held up his hands, his eyes going wide, and vehemently shook his head. I nodded, and he backed up as much as he could before he hit the bar. Thanks to my lack of heels, I was quick, and I darted across the room to grab him and pull him to the makeshift dancefloor.
“Lauren.” He fully groaned my name, but he stopped to put my clutch and shoes on the nearest table.
I put my hands up at my chest and flapped my arms like a bird.
He laughed, throwing his head back at my silliness when I caught my tongue between my teeth and grinned. “You’re insane.”
“I know.” I linked my arm through his, and we spun. “It’s another part of my charm.”
“Charm. That’s one way to put it.”
“There’s no need to be rude. I’ve already told you that I’m a delight.”
“And I’ve told you that I agree.” He laughed, swinging me round to stand in front of him. “You are a delight.”
“It doesn’t sound sincere when you say it. Maybe you should wink or give a boob squeeze or something to really drive your point home.”
“You want me to squeeze your boob?”
“I didn’t say I wanted you to, maybe that you should.”
“You’re giving me mixed messages here.” Mason made the birdie thing with his hands. “Should I squeeze your boob or not?”
“Probably not.”
“Agreed.”
We linked arms again to dance.
“Don’t you want to squeeze my boob?”
“You’re so weird.” He released me, shaking his head. “One day, you’re going to catch me out, and I’m going to be screwed.”
I sighed, moving to the side when the song ended. “I know, but I think you’re catching on to me.”
“Just a little. It’s a close one, though.” He handed me my glass of wine. “I have to stop and think every single time I reply to you. The whole ‘offense’ conversation is stuck in my head.”
Grinning, I raised my glass to my mouth. “That was fun. But you haven’t called me cute since, so that’s a win.”
“I don’t know. Watching you do the birdie dance was pretty cute.”
“Wash your mouth out with soap.”
“What’s your aversion to the word ‘cute?’”
“It diminishes things. A baby is cute. A kitten is cute. A dress can be cute. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman. I’m not small, nor am I an adorable item of clothing that will sit in my closet for six months before I remember I bought it. I’m not cute.”
He dropped his gaze to my mouth. “I don’t know. This little tantrum is cute, but mostly because you’re pouting your lower lip out like I just stole your teddy bear.”
I immediately pulled my pout back in and pursed my lips instead. “Shut up.”
“Now you’re cute because you’re sulking.”
“You’re going to start a fight if you carry on.”
“If we fight, we’ll have to make up, which means you’ll have to kiss me.”
&n
bsp; I swallowed. “Okay, no fighting.”
“Is kissing me that repulsive?”
“No, but it’s against the rules.”
“There’s no need to act like it’d give you nightmares, then.”
“How did I act like kissing you would give me nightmares? All I said was that we wouldn’t fight. That’s hardly me acting like it’s repulsive.”
Mason shrugged. “I know it’s off limits, but would it really be the worst thing in the world?”
“I didn’t—I don’t—we’re not getting into this,” I said, shaking my head. I put my shoes on the floor to slip my feet into and paused. “Wait. Did you just do that deliberately?”
Mason frowned. “Do what deliberately?”
“That, just then. Because that’s what I do to you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mason.”
“What?” His lips twitched.
“You’re trying not to smile at me!” I reached out and slapped his arm. “You did! You did it deliberately!”
He grinned and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into him. “How does that medicine taste, Lauren?”
“Cold. Like my revenge will be.” I narrowed my eyes and nudged his chest. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Again… Your own medicine.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Pru appeared out of nowhere and grabbed my hand, pulling me after her before I even had a chance to think.
“Let’s go! They’re playing sex bomb, and it’s stripper time!”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – LAUREN
“I’m scarred, Mason.”
He slid the mug of coffee across the island toward me. “Here. Drink this. It’ll calm your nerves.”
I looked into the steaming mug. “Nothing will calm my nerves. I cannot unsee what I’ve seen tonight.”
Nodding, he let out a long breath as he cradled his own mug. “All I can do is apologize. If I knew it would get that bad, I would have taken you and ran.”
“I don’t think I can get over this.”
“You know you can talk to people about how you’re feeling.”
“I don’t think I can talk about it. It’s seared into my brain.” I peered over at him. “All I know is I never, ever, ever want a lap dance from an eighty-five-year-old man again.”
All he could do was nod his agreement, slowly, and with eyes full of pity. “I have to admit, watching it was painful. I still don’t really know how you got wrangled into it.”
“It was quite simple. Pru grabbed me, sat me in a chair, and tied me to it with a scarf before I could protest. She’s annoyingly quick for an old woman.” I shuddered at the memory. “And ties knots better than a pirate. I’m surprised she hasn’t taken command of a fleet of pirate ships.”
“She tried to. Once. But it was a kid’s playground, and they had to call a police officer to remove her.” He stirred his coffee and looked up at me with a glint in his eye. “She tells the story differently, but there’s no way she’s ever wrangled an alligator.”
I snorted coffee up my nose. “Ahhh!”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry at all.
“Whatever.” I pinched my nose until it stopped burning. “Is it bad I can imagine her doing that?”
His eyes glittered. “No. But imagining it probably isn’t anything nearly as scary as actually witnessing it.”
“No shit.” I picked up my coffee and made my way over to the sofa.
Mason grabbed his and followed me over, taking the seat next to me. “Sorry you got dragged into the crazy. I actually told them to dial it in a little so they didn’t scare you off.”
“Scare me off? Are you trying to seduce me into staying?”
“No. But they had to believe I was.”
“Wow. No need to shoot me down so brutally.”
He rolled his eyes. “Stop it. Don’t tell me you’re getting sensitive now.”
I swallowed, pushing hair from my eyes. “I’m not. I don’t get sensitive. I’m not a clitoris.”
“You sound sensitive.”
“Am I not allowed to be?”
“You just said you don’t get sensitive.”
“Exactly. I don’t get sensitive. Doesn’t mean I’m not already.”
He looked at me for the longest second, his blue eyes bright yet clouded with questions at the same time. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I smiled tightly and took a big drink of my coffee.
And I was. I was fine. I was okay. I just wasn’t comfortable with how I was feeling, which wasn’t appropriate at all.
Neither was the lap dance, but I digress.
I was feeling far too many things for the man who was sitting mere feet away from me. There was only so much time you could spend with someone before you really started to feel things for them, and I think we’d crossed the line tonight.
At least I had.
I’d crossed the line. Attraction toward Mason had turned into something a little bit stronger. Real feelings—ones that had the potential to end up with me getting hurt. They were also ones I had to keep to myself, especially now that I was admitting to myself that they existed.
I had feelings for Mason Jackson.
Very real feelings.
There.
The truth was out there.
Well, out inside my head. I wasn’t going to say it out loud. That was a recipe for disaster. We’d set boundaries, and I was the one who was overstepping them.
It was what it was. This funk of a mood had come out of nowhere, especially since I had already shaken off one of these today. He’d been the thing to pull me out of the terrible mood I’d found myself in thanks to my mother, and now here I was, back in one, because of myself.
I should have known this would happen the second I answered my door and laid eyes on him.
I should have known I wouldn’t be able to keep to any of the rules I’d set. I’ve been so adamant about sticking to them; repeatedly drawing the line, scribbling over them with Sharpie until I broke holes into the paper.
Now, there was no way I could break them. There was no way I could tell him how I was feeling now.
I finished my coffee and got up, taking the cup into the kitchen. Exhaustion came over me in a wave. Apparently, the wine was more effective than the coffee tonight.
At least I’d sleep.
“Are you sure you’re fine?”
I turned at the sound of his voice. Mason was right behind me, and his knuckles brushed my arm as he put his cup in the sink. I drew in a deep breath. My face was right in front of his chest, and he didn’t bother taking a step back when I looked up.
“I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Tired. Sorry. It’s been a long day, and there was a lot of wine tonight.”
“I warned you that my family are pushers.”
“The line-dancing video should have been my first real clue about that.”
His lips tugged to one side. “Are you sure you’re fine? I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but…”
“But what?”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Are you saying I look miserable?”
“Usually I’d humor you, but right now: yes. You look miserable, Lauren.”
“What a charmer,” I muttered, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Honestly, I’m just tired. I promise you, that’s all it is.”
He held his eyes on mine for a long moment before his gaze flicked across my face. “All right. Still, come here.”
“For what?”
“This.” He pulled me in the way he had earlier tonight. His arms wrapped around my body and held me tight against him.
I wish I could say that I didn’t melt against his body, but I did. It was so easy to do, to just slump against his big, strong body like I was supposed to be there. He was rock solid but comfortable, and I all but snuggled right into him as he held me even tighter.
Hugging Mason was like wra
pping yourself up into a blanket burrito.
It was like eating a pint of ice-cream on day one of your period. Like wearing sweats and no bra while you’re eating last night’s cold pizza. Like rereading your favorite book or watching your favorite movie for the hundredth time.
Yeah.
He was just…comfortable.
I slid my arms around his waist and closed my eyes. My heart was beating double time in my chest, slamming against my ribs, and the muscles in my stomach were tight and clenched. Tingles danced over my skin, but the place I really felt alive was where his breath fluttered across the top of my head.
It was the same sensation as when someone played with your hair. The little tingles that spread over my scalp made me shiver.
Mason froze.
He felt it.
Uh-oh.
My fingers twitched, digging my nails into his back. The fabric of his shirt bunched against my palm, but I was too afraid to move.
“Cold?” Mason whispered.
I swallowed. “No.”
There was no use in lying. It was summer in Florida. A vampire would warm up to human body temps in this weather.
“Then why the shiver?”
“You tickled me. That’s all.”
“Mhmm.”
I bit my lip and dipped my head away from him further, but all I did was bury my face in his chest.
He smelled like beer.
It was not sexy.
He was, though, and that was the problem.
Mason lowered his head so his lips almost brushed my temple. “Feel better?”
I nodded. “Yes. Sorry. I’ve been hard work today.”
“As opposed to the walk in the park you are every other day of the week.”
“Hey!” I leaned back in his arms and glared at him. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”
He laughed. “I’m always nice to you. I’m the model fake boyfriend.”
I sniffed. He really was. “Yes. You’ll make some poor woman really happy someday.”
His eyes sparkled. That was his only response as he stood there, holding me tight to him, lips twitching into a tantalizing little half-smile.
It did things to me, I won’t lie. Swallowing, I squirmed a little to get away from him. I couldn’t. It was almost as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me and he was delighting in it.
