“You can do this,” I whispered to my reflection after I’d finished washing my face and brushing my teeth. Despite my past, I wanted desperately to just be a normal girl, excited to spend more time with a devastatingly handsome, thoughtful man.
But I wasn’t normal. The anxiety making my hands shake proved that point.
I forced myself out of the bathroom, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at the living room below where Mason sat on the couch, stroking Kodi’s ears.
He looked up at me, swallowing hard at the sight of me in my sleep shorts and tank. Then his gaze caught my anxious expression, and the hunger in his eyes turned to concern.
He stood and climbed the stairs but stopped three steps down from me, as though knowing I needed the space as he looked up at me.
“Ellie, the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable or unsure of me,” he rumbled, searching my eyes. “I know I’m pushing hard and coming on strong. I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you. But I’ll go if that’s what you want.”
“No.” I shook my head, taking a deep breath. “I want you to stay.” I reached for his hand, pulling him up the remaining steps and into the bedroom. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom,” I murmured as I moved to my side of the bed, pulling the comforter back.
“Okay. Be right out.” He nodded, his large form making the upstairs space seem so much smaller as he headed into the bathroom.
I took the opportunity to burrow under the covers and was feeling marginally more relaxed when he reappeared moments later.
He lay down on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers, throwing a hand behind his head in the picture of ease.
I lay on my side facing him, my heart hammering. I needed a way to distract myself. “When did you start playing football?” I asked, latching on to the first topic that entered my racing mind.
“As early as I can remember,” his deep voice returned. “My pop and siblings didn’t play, but they never missed a single game.”
“You’re close with your family,” I surmised.
“Very,” he confirmed. “Though we’re not your traditional family in more ways than one. My pop adopted me when he and my mom fell in love. He had an older son, Cole, and then they took in Emmie and Max, who are technically my cousins, but we were raised as siblings. They joined the family when I was so young—I never thought of them as anything but.
“My pop taught me what it means to be a good man, something my birth father knew nothing about. And my mom is just the best. She’s loving and warm but strong as hell. Even when I took my own path—the family business just wasn’t for me—no one batted an eye. They supported what I wanted to do. Became my biggest fans.”
“What’s the family business?” I asked curiously.
“My brother Cole runs the Knights Motorcycle Club in Hawthorne, and in our small town, they’re pretty much the law. He took over from my pop. My brother Max is a member, and so is pretty much everyone I’m close to back home.”
I’d never heard anything good about motorcycle clubs, and as though reading my mind, he explained, “They’re good men, babe. They stand by their women, run a clean ship. They fight for what they believe in and to keep their families safe, but for the most part they stay on the right side of the law. You’d like them.”
I hadn’t known Mason long, but I hadn’t seen him act like anything other than a gentleman, someone who’d been raised as such. It was with that conviction that I nodded. “I’m sure I would. They must be really proud of you,” I added.
“They are,” he agreed. “But not because of football.”
“Because you’re a good man,” I presumed, reaching up, unable to help myself from stroking my hand briefly over his cheek. He caught it, kissing my palm briefly before bringing it down to his chest and holding it.
I had to wait a second for my heart to restart after one of the most affectionate gestures I’d ever experienced.
“I turned out okay, but I was a little shit growing up.” He noted dryly. “The stories of my five-year-old self’s depravity will follow me to my grave.”
I laughed. “I bet you were adorable,” I put in before I could stop myself.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, tipping my chin up to look at him. “Why would you think that?” He grinned.
I laughed, slapping his hand lightly. “You are slightly handsome,” I allowed dryly.
“Slightly?” he demanded in mock outrage.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure people tell you you’re good-looking like a thousand times a day,” I replied dryly.
“Not quite a thousand.” He smiled before his expression grew serious. “But I only care whatyouthink.”
I swallowed. “I think you’re handsome,” I told him, shocked at my audacity and more than a little proud of myself too.
