Page 60 of Game Plan

I looked behind me, confused. “What? How? I didn’t do anything.” I stepped next to him with my fists on my hips, wondering what he saw that I didn’t. “How did you decide?”

“Just a hunch. I’ll go with the teal color.” Oh. My eyes. “Wanna help me?” He checked the time on his phone. “If I go to the hardware store now and hurry, we’ll have a little over two hours to paint the first coat, then I can feed you dinner and drive you to work. What do you say?”

A small part of me knew it wasn’t a good idea, but the bigger part, enjoying our time together so far, won the battle of wills in my head. “Fine. I don’t have clothes to wear, though.”

“We’ll fix that.” He reached into the closet and fetched a pile of clothes from a box. “Old stuff I’m parting with. Choose what you want. I’ll be back soon.” He neared me and dropped a kiss on my forehead, the way he used to when we spent time together last year, and grabbed his car keys before rushing down the stairs, humming a song I recognized too well.

I froze on the spot as realization set in. I was all alone in Mason’s house. Not just his house, but his bedroom, surrounded by all things reminding me of him and smelling like him. How had I ended up here? Oh yes. Because I was weak while facing him. That was why. I needed to regain some self-control around Mason Pierce. Otherwise, I’d be in deep trouble soon enough, proving Cassidy right with her I told you so warning.

I ended up wearing an old pair of black sweatpants, that I’d rolled at the waist and ankles, and a worn white T-shirt with a dark stain and tiny holes in it that I’d tied at the front. I was certain it was the same shirt Mason wore last fall on the day he’d kidnapped my car to change the brake pads while I was at work.

He returned as I finished braiding my hair and used another T-shirt as a bandana to avoid getting paint all over it. I was relieved he didn’t catch me sniffing his shirt when I’d pulled it down over my head minutes ago. I couldn’t help myself. It smelled like driftwood and pine and happy memories.

“Wow, I’ve always loved you in my clothes.”

I turned my back to him when I felt my face warming up, pretending to adjust the makeshift bandana on my head. “Did you get everything we need?”

“Yes. Let me change quickly, and we’ll get going.”

I fixed my eyes on the wall as I heard drawers opening and closing behind me. I heard his sharp intake of breath, the sound of cotton sliding over bare skin, a zipper, something banging on the floor, a curse word, and fingers scratching a scalp.

Two hands rested on my hips from behind, and it was my turn to suck in a breath. For an instant, I was transported to a year ago. A rough cheek brushed my ear, sending shivers down my back. “You okay?”

Mason’s voice had never sounded so husky before. If sex had a voice, I had no doubt that would be how it would sound.

I schooled my features so he wouldn’t be able to see the effect he had on me and pivoted between his arms.

He never released my hipbones. “Hey.”

Why did he have to look so hot right now, dressed in clothes a bit too small for him? Oh yes, because that T-shirt molded to every muscle of his chiseled abdomen and sent weird signals all over my body.

I tipped my chin up to stare at him. “Hi.”

“I was thinking… You brush, I roll? Unless you wanna be the one rolling?”

I swallowed, barely able to breathe when he was standing so close. “Sure.”

“Sure?”

I cleared my throat. “You roll, I brush.”

“Wanna help me move the furniture away from the walls first?”

“Yep.”

He winked. “Good.”

When he let go of me, my knees wobbled. My body was a traitor. Mason and I were supposed to be just friends. Right now, I had forgotten why I had resolved to keep our relationship in the friend zone, but I must have had good reasons once upon a time. I needed to remember them—and fast—before I ceded to his charming ways and made a mistake that would blur all the lines.

For the next fifteen minutes, we prepped the room by moving furniture, spreading drop clothes all over the floor, and pouring paint into a tray.

Every now and then, Mason jumped on the spot, stretching his legs and rotating his shoulders before cracking his knuckles. Sometimes, he tapped a restless off-beat rhythm with his foot on the floor like he couldn’t stand still for more than a minute. He reminded me of Chase. The only difference was that Chase had always been the hyperactive type while Mason hadn’t. I had no idea if the pressure of the game was eating him up or if something else was going on, but I could tell Mason wasn’t fully himself. I had noticed his jittery self more than once over the last few weeks, and I wondered if I should be concerned. Not that it was any of my business, to begin with, but still, something felt off.

A part of me considered asking him what was on his mind, but another part of me decided against it. We weren’t that kind of friends anymore, and I had no right to meddle in his life while keeping him out of mine.

We worked in silence, and after what felt like eternity, Mason put some music on, killing some of the tension in the room. The more he focused on his task, the less restless he appeared to be.

“All done with the brush,” I said, jumping from the desk I’d used as a stepladder to reach the top of the wall.