Reckless (The Mason Family Series Book 3)

by Adriana Locke

  “The wrong house.”

  I can’t help but smile as the information I’m relaying finally sinks in. Her shoulders slump, and a look of horror mixed with embarrassment sprinkles across her features.

  She pretends to be mid-sob—which she’s really not, thank fuck—and squints her eyes closed. It’s ridiculously adorable.

  I don’t know what to do with this girl or this situation. So, I don’t do anything and wait on her to say something instead.

  Finally, she blows out a breath and resolves herself to dealing with our predicament.

  “I really don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry,” she says. “And, under the circumstances, that seems a little inadequate. I’m aware of that.”

  Her face is solemn, the levity from a moment ago now gone. I kind of hate it.

  “Sarah from next door was highly impressed with your climbing skills,” I tease, hoping it’ll lighten the mood again. “She said you were basically a monkey.”

  “Stop it,” she says, a smile touching her lips again.

  “Very impressed. Sarah had you pegged for a lifelong criminal.”

  “I don’t even have a speeding ticket, thank you very much.”

  I nod sarcastically. “That’s what they all say.”

  “What about you?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Maybe I need to worry that I’m face-to-face with a delinquent.”

  “I’m only delinquent when it comes to my security system bill, sweetheart.”

  She bites her lip again. “Well, if you would’ve paid your bill, you could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.”

  “Oh, so this is my fault?”

  “I don’t like to point fingers,” she teases, “but if the security system would’ve been on, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  Wouldn’t that be a shame.

  We stand face-to-face, our smiles inching wider by the second.

  “Maybe we can take dual-responsibility,” I offer. “I should’ve paid the bill, and you should’ve known where you were going.”

  She sighs. “I should’ve. I’ve never been there. I was supposed to come for a vacation once, but Ted isn’t a fan of people coming over.” She rolls her eyes. “You have met Ted, haven’t you?”

  Ted Seltzer isn’t one of my favorite people in the world. He’s uptight and kind of a prick, and I’ve never understood what Libby sees in him. I go out of my way to be nice—friendly, even—in hopes that it’ll break through the ice and we can have neighborly barbecues because Libby is one hell of a cook, but it doesn’t work. The ice remains.

  “Point made,” I admit. “But why were you breaking into Libby’s house? Didn’t she leave you a key?”

  She gives me a knowing look. “Libby and I were going to have a girls’ weekend since Ted was in San Diego. Then Ted decided that Libby should go to California with him for a vacation—which is a super not-Ted-like thing to do. Lib told me that I could come here anyway since I already had a plan and a ticket.”

  I nod, following along.

  “I guess Libby was behind schedule the day she left and forgot to leave a key. She disarmed the security system this morning from her phone but told me I had to figure out how to get in.”

  “Did she know you would go through a window?”

  “Yes,” she says like I’m ridiculous for asking. “She even told me which window in the back might be open. I guess her guest bedroom and your master bedroom are on the same corner of the house.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Lucky me.” She smiles. “I’m Jaxi Thorpe, by the way.”

  “Boone Mason. But you already knew that.”

  She doesn’t say anything else, so I don’t either. Instead, I move around the counter as innocently as I can so that I can take all of her in.

  There’s a small mole in the bend of her left arm that she presses her right thumb against. Black leggings hug muscled thighs, and a pair of black-and-white-checkered Vans are on her feet. Small gold circles the size of pencil erasers don her earlobes.

  She’s a massive juxtaposition.

  The pout of her lips makes her seem innocent, yet the fire in her eyes lends an air of experience that piques my curiosity. There’s a sweetness to her face and an all-out sexiness to her body. The humor in her banter makes me feel like I know her, but a reserved glimmer in her eye feels like a barrier.

  It’s a good thing I like puzzles.

  “Libby didn’t tell me why you were coming to Savannah,” I say as I’m-not-poking-for-information as I can.

  “I’m moving,” she says, stretching her arms over her head. “I sold everything I own and am boarding a plane to Hawaii in a week.”

  “Do you have family there?” I poke.

  “No. Libby is the only family I really have. I have a half sister who’s … God knows where.” Her gaze pulls from mine and settles on an empty juice container. “I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  There’s a hint of a hollowness to her tone that bothers me.

  “That must be hard,” I offer, thinking about how much it would suck if I didn’t see my family. “But what do I know? Not seeing my four brothers for a while might be nice.”

  She looks at me again. “You have four brothers? I can’t imagine.”

  I hop up on the counter. As soon as I sit, my phone begins to ring in my pocket. I flip it to silent.

  “Yeah. They’re a pain in my ass,” I tell her, motioning to the phone. “That’s one of them now.”

  “I always wished I had a big family. I used to beg my mom to adopt kids, but she refused.”

  “I begged my mom to give my brothers away, and she refused too.” I hit the side button on my phone to stop it from vibrating. “See? That’s probably a different brother.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “That actually sounds nice to me.”

  “What does?”

  “Having people want to talk to you like that. If someone calls me, they want something.”

  “Oh, they want something too. Trust me.”

  The air between us calms and settles into a comfortable ambience. Jaxi leans against the counter like she’s done it a hundred times before.

  “I really am sorry I broke into your house,” she says.

  “It’s no big deal. Apology accepted.”

  Her lips twist into a smirk as she looks around the room. There’s a humor in her eyes that makes me smile without thinking about it. It’s instantaneous.

  “If I’m being honest,” she says, her gaze—still sparkling—lands on me again. “I’m kind of relieved this isn’t Libby’s.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because if she were this messy, I’d have to reassess everything I thought I knew about her.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask as she begins to laugh. “This isn’t bad.”

  “You have an absolutely beautiful home, and it looks like a frat house.”

  My jaw drops as I turn to look around the kitchen. An empty juice container sits next to the toaster that I’ve never used. A pyramid of used K-Cups is lined up next to a pile of beef jerky wrappers and a yellow, sticky ring from an overflowed glass of lemonade highlights a dusting of lemonade powder that didn’t make it into the pitcher.

  She’s not wrong. But I’m not going to admit that.

  “It does not look like a frat house,” I contend. “Have you even been in a frat house?”

  “Yes, I have. And, yes, it does.”

  “Then I need to fire my housekeeper.”

  She turns her head sideways and peers at me through the corner of her eye. “You do not have a housekeeper.”

  “Yes, I do.” I nod emphatically. “Her name is Janey, and she’s a gem.”

  “A gem as in she’s buried in the earth and doesn’t come to work?”

  I try to stay stone-faced, but the twinkle in her eye breaks me quick.

  Our laughter mixes together. The stress in my shoulders melts away, and I find myself getting a plan together to ask her to
grab some dinner with me. Before I can think it through, she turns toward the doorway.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, scrambling off the counter.

  “Apparently, I need to break into Libby’s house now.” She looks at her elbow as she walks. “I think I’ll aim for a lower window this time. I had to jump a little to get into yours and sliced my arm.”

  She pauses in the doorway to inspect her wound. I reach out and touch her wrist without thinking about it. Our eyes snap together at the contact. Slowly, our lips spread into smiles.

  She rolls her arm over. Red, angry scratches mar her soft, otherwise smooth skin.

  “Your window ledge is super sharp,” she says softly.

  “Probably because it’s not made for people to climb in and out of.”

  With a solid dose of hesitation, I drop my hand. My palm still tingles from the contact with her warm skin as my gaze flips to hers again.

  “I’ll help you get into Libby’s,” I tell her. “No more climbing.”

  My phone buzzes. Again.

  I pull it out and see a list of texts from Coy. The previews get increasingly more hostile. Before I can hit reply to any of them, his name flashes as an incoming call. Again.

  “You better get that,” she says, pointing at my phone. “I’ll figure this out on my own. No worries.”

  I grin. “Nah, you’ve made it my problem now. I can’t, in good conscience, let you climb through another window. Besides, I told your cousin I’d watch out for you.”

  Something I said makes her bristle.

  Her back straightens in the slightest way, her chin lifting a smidgen. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, you will. Just let me answer my brother real quick.” I motion for her to wait and then answer the phone. “Hey, Coy.”

  “You’re alive,” he deadpans.

  I turn to the side and pretend to look out of the window. “Obviously.”

  “You could’ve texted me that, asshole.”

  “Let’s dial down the dramatics, okay?” I say, running a hand through my hair as I watch Jaxi head toward the door.

  “What? You are telling me to dial down the dramatics?” He groans into the phone. “I’m going to kill you myself.”

  Jaxi opens the door and steps onto the porch. I follow her.

  “It was the role player, wasn’t it?” Coy asks. “Damn you, Boone. I’ve been worried, and you’ve been—”

  “It wasn’t her, actually, but …”

  Jaxi stops at the edge of the porch. The evening sun streams through the trees, and every ray seems to somehow find her. She stands in the glow of Golden Hour, the light giving her a soft filter.

  “Are you listening to me?” my brother asks, snapping my attention back to the phone. “Oliver wants to play corn hole, and I need you on my team. Me and you against Oliver and Holt because you know Wade’s lame ass isn’t playing.”

  Slowly, Jaxi drags her attention back to me. A cautious grin splits her cheeks.

  My heartbeat picks up as I lean against the wall. There’s an energy between Jaxi and me, a chemistry that overrides the wild circumstance. I just met her—she just broke into my house, but I feel like I’ve known her longer than ten minutes.

  I grin back at her.

  “Are. You. Coming. Back?” Coy asks, irritated.

  “That’s a negative. But I need a favor.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Do you know a locksmith who works on an emergency basis?”

  Jaxi narrows her eyes and mouths, “No.”

  Coy laughs. “I think they all work that way. It’s one of those things. If you need someone to unlock a door, you don’t want to wait until the next day.”

  “So do you know someone or not?”

  Jaxi shakes her head back and forth while I shake mine up and down, our eyes glued together.

  “Yeah,” Coy says. “Leo is still here. I mean, he’s not a locksmith, exactly, but I’m one-hundred-percent sure he can pick a lock if needed.”

  “Send him to my house, okay?”

  “I’m too scared to even ask why. But you owe me.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him and end the call.

  As soon as I put the phone back in my pocket, Jaxi groans.

  “I told you that I’d figure it out,” she says warily.

  “And I told you that I was going to help.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You are stubborn.”

  “And you are …”

  Beautiful.

  Three

  Jaxi

  Don’t do it.

  Boone’s smile licks at my defenses.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was intentional.

  Don’t do it. Don’t crack.

  I smile back because I’m human, and it’s the polite thing to do. I also dip my chin just a touch because a little flirting—enjoying an utterly divine man’s attention—has never hurt anyone. Too much.

  “I’m what?” I prod, wondering where he’s going with this.

  The options are endless. He could say that I’m just as stubborn as he is. Maybe he’ll go with the fact that I’m a pseudo-felon at the moment or that I’m funny. I do have a decent sense of humor. But the way my stomach twists makes it clear that I subconsciously want him to say I’m pretty.

  I fight hard not to roll my eyes at myself.

  Why do I care if this guy thinks I’m pretty?

  Because you’re a woman, fool.

  Boone begins to answer me twice. Each time, his mouth opens and then closes. With each near-answer, my stomach does a little flip-flop that frustrates the logical part of my brain.

  Finally, he seems satisfied with whatever he’s about to say. I hold my breath and hope that I’m just as satisfied … even though I’m not certain what answer that would be.

  “You’re a pistol, I think,” he says, that glorious Southern drawl melting over me.

  I sigh—mostly in relief.

  At least that keeps things clean and balanced. This response allows me to retreat into Libby’s house and not think that he’s attracted to me. Not that it matters if he were—my life is going in a different direction right now, but it could complicate things. God knows I don’t need to complicate my life just when it’s starting to fall in line.

  “That’s been said before,” I say.

  He licks his lips. I try not to stare.

  Not staring is hard because running into men who are this attractive isn’t a daily occurrence. Not for me, anyway.

  He’s tall with wide, thick shoulders. I’d bet that he has enough muscles to pick me up with ease, but he’s not strong enough to lift a refrigerator. It’s a nice balance that’s underappreciated.

  His thighs fill out the denim that, upon quick glance, makes him seem like an average Joe. A heather-gray thermal shirt adds to the vibe. But it’s the details—the quality stitching on the jeans, the heavy watch, the clean lines of his haircut—that level him up.

  And he’s charming.

  It’s an enticing package.

  For people who want to be enticed.

  “Coy is sending a guy over here to get you inside,” Boone says as if he owes me an explanation. “It shouldn’t take too long since he was already at Coy’s.”

  “Do all of your brothers live that close?”

  “None of them live too far away.” He slips his phone into his pocket. “They’re having a family dinner at Coy’s now. He and his new wife just moved to a new place, and it’s a housewarming thing or whatever you call it.”

  My stomach sinks. “And you’re here. Because of me.”

  “It’s fine. They get on my nerves anyway.”

  He smiles at me as if to say, See? You’re doing me a favor. But I don’t buy it. There was too much easygoingness from him on the phone, and it rang too many times without any grumbling for him to be annoyed.

  “So, did you fly in?” He looks up and down the street. “Did you drive?”

  “I got an Uber from the airport. Didn’t figu
re I’d be going many places this week, so I didn’t get a rental car. If I have to go somewhere, I can borrow Libby’s car.”

  He furrows his brow. “Where did you say you were going?”

  “Hawaii.”

  The word comes out cheerily—as it should. It’s freaking Hawaii. I have dreams of pristine beaches and fresh pineapples and early morning hikes on the weekends. Time spent with a journal or a good book. There’s nothing not cheery about any of that. But there are less-than-joyful reasons as to why I’m going across the world, and I can see in Boone’s eyes that’s what he was really asking.

  And I’m really not answering that.

  “I need to grab my bag,” I tell him, stepping onto the manicured lawn that I mentally gave Ted props for maintaining when I got here.

  “Where is it?”

  “Over here.”

  I pass a short, thick palm of some sort and green bushes cut to the exact same size. At the far corner, behind a plant with large, waxy leaves sits my backpack.

  “You hid your backpack in my landscaping?” he asks from the steps.

  I sling it on. “Yup. What else was I supposed to do with it?”

  “Good question, I guess.” He watches me approach. “That’s all you have?”

  I stop in front of him and try to ignore the way he smells like fresh laundry mixed with faint notes of cinnamon. “This is it.”

  “Did you say you sold everything you own?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Because you’re moving to Hawaii, right?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “You’re not going to talk about that, are you?”

  I press my lips together in displeasure.

  It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my woes to him specifically. I don’t want to talk about them at all. The more time I devote to time in the past, the less time I can spend in the right here and now. And, considering the right here and now includes a guy with cheekbones to fit a model, I’m good without spilling my dirty laundry in the front yard.

  “Do you really want to stand here and listen to me tell you all about my problems and failures in life?” I ask.

  The mischief spreads to his lips, quirking them up in the corners.