I let out a heavy sigh of frustration. Then turn around and dive my hands back into the hot water to continue washing the dishes.
I find my eyes making their way back up and out the kitchen window once again. They unintentionally fall directly on the three of them on the grass. Harry pops out from the side of thewall, playfully stealing the ball from Luca, and the four of them kick the soccer ball back and forth.
I hear Luca’s perfect little belly laugh all the way in here. He looks happy, laughing and running with Mason like he would be with a dad. Which fucking stings. That phenomenal little boy deserves a dad that cares, not an asshole who refused to acknowledge his existence.
After a few minutes, my mom grabs the wine bottle and her glass and heads outside to join everyone on the patio.
Now, all alone, I stand at the sink and vigorously scrub the pot in my hand. I’m taking out my frustration on the poor, unsuspecting piece of kitchenware when I hear the sliding glass door open behind me. I assume it’s my mom coming back in, so I speak without turning around. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, Mother.”
“Talk about who?” I hear Mason’s smooth tone.
My posture stiffens at the sound of his voice. I swallow hard, twisting my upper body toward him. “Oh, no one. I thought you were my mom coming to berate me again,” I quickly say.
Mason walks toward the sink where I’m standing and gently takes the pot and the towel from my hands. “Don’t your parents have a dishwasher?” he asks as he finishes drying it off.
“Yes. They do. But some things my mom won’t put into the dishwasher. I’m not sure why.” I smile.
With my hands now free, I lean back against the sink with my arms crossed against my chest.
Mason stands across from me, matching my stance, leaning against the island. We’re facing each other with less than a foot apart, neither one of us saying a word. The heat from his abiding stare burns the skin on my cheeks, forcing me to drop my head.
We continue to stand in awkward silence for a moment before he speaks. “What guy were you and your mom talking about?”
His large presence is overpowering in such close proximity. I squint my eyes, forcing myself to meet his eyes on his level. “Why do you want to know?”
He shifts his body slightly. “Are you seeing somebody?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“No reason.” Mason takes his thumb and index finger and rubs his chin.
“You have absolutely no reason why you are asking me if I was dating someone or not?” I push myself off the counter.
He does the same, lifting himself off and taking two steps closer to me, almost closing the gap between us. A light wind from the open window moves through us, causing me to pick up the now familiar subtle scent of spice and leather. Immediately, heat pools between my legs.
Like he can read my body like a book, Mason tilts his head slightly downward. “I guess not,” he admits. His breath dusts my lips as he utters my name, causing air to get trapped in my throat.
Just then, his phone, which appears to be in the right pocket of his pants, begins to vibrate. Mason draws his head back, slips his hand into his jeans, and pulls it out. He quickly glances down at the screen. “It’s my stepmom,” he says, like he owes me an explanation.
“You should get that. It is Thanksgiving, after all,” I tell him, taking a few steps back. He doesn’t say anything in response before answering the call. I watch him walk away and into the other room for privacy. As soon I hear his footfalls disappear down the hallway, I take in a heavy inhale.
Why is his energy always so overbearing? And why am I suddenly sweating?
Jerking my shirt back and forth, I fan myself, trying to bring down the sudden increase in my body temperature. I’ve got to get out of this kitchen before he comes back in. It’s evident that even though my brain doesn’t like him, my body clearly responds to him in an uncomfortable way.
I grab my drink and head outside—away from this sauna of a kitchen that somehow got exponentially hotter within a matter of minutes.
Chapter Nine
Bailey
“Bailey?”
I hear a deep, yet smooth voice behind me as Lina, one of my other best friends and fellow flight attendant, checks into the hotel for our overnight layover in Burbank. Walking in through the automatic double doors, I see Mason standing in line, waiting to check in. He’s wearing a fitted, white collared shirt with a skinny, black tie that peeks out from underneath his long, dark trench coat.
