“You’re my shore, baby,” he breathes. “My safety. My calm after every storm. You’re my goddamn everything.”
Before I can protest, his lips press against mine. I stiffen, every muscle coiled tight with the urge to push him away. I should shove him back. Tell him to go to hell. Remind him of what he did to me.
But his mouth moves against mine with a tenderness that splits me open. The kiss is slow, trembling, full of ache and apology—as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he breathes too hard. The fight drains out of me, leaving only heat and desperation.
My fingers fist in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. I let myself drown in the familiar ache of wanting him.
When we finally part, our foreheads stay pressed together, breath mingling.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, his nose brushing mine.
“Me too,” I admit, my voice trembling. “I hated myself for missing you—but I did.”
Mason searches my face, his expression uncertain. “Do you still want me?”
I bite my lip, chewing the chapped skin between my teeth until I taste blood. “Yeah, Mason. I do.”
His smile spreads slowly, soft and disbelieving, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He threads his fingers gently through my hair, tucking my fringe behind my ears. When his gaze lowers, his breath hitches.
“You pierced your ears,” Mason says, eyeing the small gold studs decorating my lobes.
Tension creeps under my skin. “Oh, yeah. Derek convinced me. I’d been thinking about it for a while, and apparently I’m a sucker for body mods when I’m going through a breakup.” I let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Not that we technically broke up, but… you know what I mean.”
“I like them. They suit you.”
The way he looks at me assures me that he means it. He makes me feel beautiful.
He presses a kiss to my temple. “By the way, would you mind unblocking my number?” he asks.
My head jerks up. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. I deserved it.”
I scoop the bouquet back into my arms and raise it to my nose, inhaling the sweet, heady scent. “I’ve never gotten flowers from a boy before,” I admit.
Mason glances at me, and something raw flickers across his face—not quite sympathy, but something close to it. A promise, maybe. “Baby,” he murmurs, brushing the back of my hand, “if you let me, I’ll bring you flowers every day.”
I can’t help it—I kiss him again. His lips dance with mine, slow and devotional, like it’s a form of worship. He tastes like cinnamon gum and desire.
“You look fucking incredible tonight, by the way,” he breathes against my mouth, his voice velvet and dangerous.
God. The effect he has on me is indescribable. It should honestly be studied. There has to be some kind of scientific explanation for this phenomenon.
His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me closer—only for a shrillbeepto explode from his pocket.
“Sorry,” Mason mutters, untangling himself from me. He curses under his breath and glares at his phone. “I’m dropping.”
He once joked that type one diabetes was the biggest cockblock in history. He wasn’t wrong, but I still hate the way he apologizes for it.
I smack his arm lightly, earning a playful scowl that only makes him look unbearably cute. “Hey, what did I say about apologizing for your blood sugar?”
He ignores me, sinking onto a bench and digging through his medical supply bag. His frown deepens. “Shit.”
“What?” My chest tightens with panic.
“I ran out of Smarties,” he mutters.
“I got you.” I plop down next to him and unzip my backpack.
