Page 122 of Fallen Hero

Did I?

I told Atlanta I didn’t care, but maybe that wasn’t the truth.

“I want to be Calista Hughes,” I told him. “I want to have your name. I want us to be a team, a family.”

The green of Mason’s eyes darkened, and I knew what that meant. Since we’d been home, the floodgates had opened. I’d seen that hungry look on his handsome face for less of a reason than me telling him I wanted to be his wife. Heck, I’d told him his stoneware was rad, and that had earned me an orgasm on the kitchen island.

“We’re gonna be late meeting our friends,” he threatened.

“Fine by me.”

Mason swept me up into his arms and stalked to the bedroom—his go-to place when he was feeling creative. I’d learned the couch worked in a pinch or when Mason felt like bending me over the back of it. Shower sex was hot. Wall sex, phenomenal. But Mason in his big king-size bed with room to get adventurous—otherworldly.

“Love you, hotshot,” I whispered, still shy saying the words, which was silly since he told me ten times a day.

His hand came up to gently trace the scar along my right temple, as if his touch could erase the reminder that Jason had hurt me.

“Love you back, Calista. Don’t ever forget, yeah?”

“I won’t.”

Not that he’d ever let me.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold into the bedroom, he lowered his lips to mine, but before he could kiss me, I mumbled, “Eleven.”

“One day, that count will be so high, you’ll lose track.”

He was right. One day, the count would be ridiculously high. But he was also wrong. I’d never lose track of the times he swept me off my feet.

“Kiss me, hotshot.”

Mason didn’t kiss me, he chuckled, so I kissed him. With his happiness on my tongue, a kiss had never been so sweet.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chloe Baughman

San Diego, California

“Sorry, sorry. I know I’m late. Summer traffic is the worst,” I grumbled as I rushed past one of my bosses, Ryan Strong, who unfortunately was a dead ringer for the actor Ryan Gosling, which made him distracting in an ‘I can’t stop thinking about banging you’ kind of way.

“You’re five minutes early,” he contradicted.

“Five minutes early is ten minutes late,” I countered.

My dad had taught me that back before the dementia had started eating away at the man who’d been the wisest person I knew. Now there were days when he barely recognized me.

Stop.

Recalibrate.

“I’ll be out on the floor in a minute,” I told Ryan, as I pushed into the locker room our awesome management had given us, taking half of a storage room to give the female staff members a fully kitted-out place to change and store their stuff. Pete had even put a couch in the room that was super comfy.

“Hey, Chloe,” Poppy greeted from in front of her locker.

“Hey.”

I busied myself opening my locker in an attempt to ignore my friend. I could feel her giving me the side-eye, and I was not in the mood for another lecture. She’d given me one last night before our shift ended, and again this afternoon when she called me. Luckily, I was at my other job and had a valid excuse to cut the talk short.