“Fucking asshole. So, he’s not in Luca’s life at all?” He takes a generous sip this time, polishing off his second drink.
I suck in a heavy breath before speaking, hoping that the liquid courage will help. “No, he hasn’t been around since Luca was a baby, and even then, I think he only saw him two or three times. In the beginning, I tried to keep him in Luca’s life, but most of the time, no one could even find him. Then he was in jail, and it was just one excuse after another. He’d have this way of popping up randomly and unannounced during holidays or get-togethers. It became unsettling.” My eyes start to sting, feeling these emotions that I continually fight to keep hidden.
Mason’s eyebrows are pinched, and his lips are pursed together with his focus only on me as if we’re the only two people in the room. I find that his presence in this moment is creating a sense of security.
I force a smile, holding back old memories. “My parents and I have fought since Luca’s birth to terminate Tyler’s parental rights, and he finally signed them away a little over a month ago. I can’t tell you what a relief it was, confirming that Luca is all mine and that Tyler will never be able to expose him to potential harm,” I explain, finishing my second martini as well. I’m shocked by how easy he is to talk to.
Mason doesn’t respond, so I look over at him to find that he is staring right at me. My eyes lock with his. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, causing a current to travel down to my stomach and settle between my legs. I self-consciously cross them.
“It’s incredible what you did, Bailey. How you’ve fought for Luca and how you still fight to give him the best possible life,” he speaks, but his hard gaze continues to bore into me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
My legs brush the side of Mason’s under the bar. He inches closer to me, then reaches his hand under my chair and drags it toward him.
I swallow hard, realizing what he just did. Blinking a few times, I reach for my third martini, trying to break the tension. Clutching the glass, I notice that it feels heavier in my hand than it should, indicating I’ve probably had enough for tonight.
“I should head up to my room,” I let out in a low voice.
Mason nods. “I’ll close out the tab.”
I hop off the high-top chair, a little unstable on my feet. His arm shoots out, grabbing my elbow to brace me.
“Thanks.”
“I need to walk you to your room,” he says more like a statement than a question.
I slide my suitcase from under the bar, then wave off his offer. “You don’t have to. I’m completely fine.”
“That wasn’t a question. Let’s go.” His tone is firm and catches me off guard.
“Fine,” I say but maintain some distance between us, staying two steps ahead of him.
I’m on the third floor. The numbers chime as it passes each level. We’re silent, but I can almost feel the energy passing between us as something palpable is forming in this small, confined space. Keeping my head facing downward, I slowly move my eyes to the right, letting them run up the height of his body. He shifts in place and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
He can feel the tension too.
I pull my eyes away, focusing on the mirrored walls that surround us, only to find Mason looking directly into my reflection. Every single hair on my entire body stands up, andI rub my lips together, imagining what he smells like, what he tastes like. My focus gets blurry.
I blink a few times, clearing my vision just as the elevator dings, alerting us that the ride is over and we’ve reached the correct floor. Mason extends his arm out, holding the doors open so I can exit first, then follows right behind me.
“This is me.” I stop in front of the entrance to my room, turning to face him with a smile on my face.
“There you go, safe and sound. I’ll see you around,” he says, starting to head back down the hall. But before he has the chance to create a larger space between us, my arm bolts out and grips his bicep tightly in my hand.
His body freezes, and his eyes flicker in my direction. Suddenly, I’m very aware of what I just did. Do I want to invite Mason into my room? I did have two—well, two and a half martinis, so I should be more drunk than I feel.
As we both stare at each other in a confused silence, my impulsivity now causes my cheeks to burn with embarrassment.
“Um. Don’t go.” My throat runs dry.
Mason’s lips curve into a half smile. His opposite hand slowly comes up to cup the side of my face. In one swift movement, he glides it up my cheek and through my hair. His warm, soft caress sends a shudder down my spine. Mason lowers his head, bringing his lips down to mine, barely grazing the corner of my mouth. I feel his words as a light wind on my skin. “How drunk are you?”
“I don’t feel that drunk. Do you?” I whisper, letting my eyes fall closed.
He lets out a breath. “No.”
Our bodies are flush as I’m backed against the door.
