And there are two very large distractions sitting twenty feet from my sofa bed.
Mason shifts, making space between them. The gap looks big enough to be polite, and small enough to feel intimate.
“Come sit.” He pats the seat like he’s encouraging a wary pet, and the words settle low in my stomach as I stepforward, unable to resist his authoritative tone.
This feels like a big decision. Probably a bad one.
I’ve spent my life being a good girl, living up to my parents’ expectations. It’s the safe option. The easy option. Saying no to everything with a chance to hurt becomes a habit, but I’ve been bored with my life for a while. Since Joelle moved out, I’ve been rattling around in my home alone, and it’s sad. More than sad. It’s pathetic that a woman of my age doesn’t have anything better to do than live between the pages of a fictional story.
I’m far enough away from the confining influence of home to push that wary woman aside a little. Maybe it’ll be fun to play-act as a different person for a while. Maybe I’ll like being the kind of woman who slides between two cowboys who have been looking at her like she’s hot food and maybe flirt a little.
I sit. So good at taking instructions. So adept at bending my will to others, except this feels like my will.
The swing dips gently under my weight, settling quickly. Warmth presses in on both sides of me almost immediately. Mason rests solid against my right thigh, his arm still stretched behind me. Brookes adjusts slightly on my left, his knee brushing mine with contact that feels light and deliberate at the same time.
I take a sip of my beer, which does nothing to calm my nerves. My heart is practically rattling in my chest.
“You make it through the party alright?” Brookes asks.
His voice is softer and smoother than Mason’s, with a gruff edge that makes me pay attention.
“I did.” I turn toward him. Up close, the details sharpen. Dark eyes. A mouth that looks like it holds back more than it gives away. Dark stubble that would rasp against my skin.Handsome features that are challenge to face head on. I flush. “Your cousins threw a pretty intense first birthday.”
“They went all in,” Mason says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Kid won’t remember any of it.”
“Joelle will, though.”
“That’s the point. Wade and Caleb are stupid for that woman. It’s nice to see.”
I smile, relaxing despite myself.
“Well,” Mason says after a moment, tipping his bottle toward me, “I think the real question is how much cake you actually managed to put away tonight.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“I counted at least two slices,” he continues, completely unbothered by my sharp tone. “Maybe three.”
I laugh, startled into it. “I didn’t realize the cake was on ration.”
“Not on ration,” he says. “I like a woman who knows how to enjoy good food.”
“I know how to enjoy good frosting.”
Brookes huffs out a quiet breath beside me, just shy of a laugh. “Pretty sure you were enjoying it more than the kid was.”
I turn toward him. “Maybe.”
“Mmmm.” His gaze flicks over me briefly. “If tucking into frosting with that much enthusiasm is what makes a woman look like you, they should make it part of the recommended dietary guidelines for all Americans.”
I flush, embarrassed and flattered, my stomach flip-flopping.
Mason nudges my knee with his. “You had frosting on your lip at one point. Just sat there talking like nothing was happening.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, covering my face for a second. “Why would you even notice that?”
“Hard to miss when you’re staring at a woman’s pretty lips,” he says easily.
Before I can react, he cups my face and runs the pad of his thumb over my top lip. He leans in. “Just here.” I freeze, mesmerized at his touch and the intensity of his deep, chocolaty brown eyes.
