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“H-hey, Mase.” She yawns, stretches her arms. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Last minute trip. Hope it’s alright. Thought I’d stick around for a day or two. Could use some time away. Clear my mind.”
They don’t need to know I’ve been hyper-fixated, unable to get any work done. So what if I told my work I needed to take a few mental health days. That is the truth, in a way.
Therapy would probably be a better answer to my predicament. Or a vacation somewhere on my own.Notwhere my best friend and my ex-girlfriend are vacationing and potentially fucking or falling in love.
If I had a therapist, they’d probably tell me I’m taking this all a step too far. At least with the falling in love bit.
But I’m here now, staring right at Laney. And I’m pretty positive that those are more than shadows on her neck. Little hickeys creating a constellation.
How old are they, eighteen? Are they really marking upeach other’s skin, sucking on each other like lollipops and popsicles?
I flinch at my own metaphor. I don’t want to think about anysuckinggoing on between them.
“Mason’s right.” Laney gets to her feet, looking at Nate. “You’re not going to be carrying his bags in.” She smooths her hands out down the loose floral dress she’s wearing.
I have to force myself not to look at her breasts through the bodice. I’m pretty positive she’s not wearing a bra.
“Told you so.” I elbow Nate in the ribs.
“You’re trying to get me in trouble,” Nate complains.
Laney waltzes across the room, light on her feet. She weaves past both of us, sliding on a pair of Birkenstocks. “Besides, knowing him, he’s packed rocks. I’ll get them.”
She’s gone before I can argue with her. “I should go help–”
“Yeah, probably should.” Nate tone is one I despise.
My blood boils as I retreat outside and follow Laney out to the truck.
Who does Nate think he is, implying I’m not a gentleman?
“Laney!” I call after her.
She does not stop, does not even look back at me.
“Laney, don’t. I’ll get it.”
She walks around to the truck bed and grabs the handle.
“Laney! Seriously!”
Laney leans onto the bed, reaching for one of the bags, her legs kicking up into the air.
I have no choice but to grab her by the waist and yank her back.
Laney yelps. “What are you doing?!”
Though she struggles, I manage to place her a fairdistance from the truck bed. “What don’t you understand about ‘don’t’?”
She opens her mouth to respond, hands on her hips, but says nothing.
I turn to retrieve my first bag, sliding it off the bed to the ground. It’s notthatheavy. Then again, I’m well over six feet and at the gym often.
“What don’t you understand about an invitation?” Laney says while my back is turned.
I glance back at her with a quirked eyebrow. “What?”
