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He chuckles, the low sound filling the space around me. “It does. Come on, let me show you a few more of my finds.” We take about two steps, and there’s a short hallway to my left. “I have two bedrooms, both down this hallway. But let me show you the rest of the flat first.”

I nod, and we walk into a light and airy space with a galley kitchen containing high-end appliances and beautiful light wood cabinets. There are taupe chairs at a breakfast bar, and then a small living area with a cream sofa, two taupe chairs, and a magnificent balcony with the buildings from Casino Square peeking up from behind some lovely landscaping and shrubbery. Narrow bookcases flank either side of a massive TV hanging on the wall, and then I see more framed art over the sofa—a colourful, vintage travel poster promoting Air France that just pops against the backdrop of the wall and neutral furniture.

“I love this,” I say, moving closer to study it.

“Do you really? You can be honest.”

I turn and look over my shoulder at Mason. “Why would I lie about liking a poster? If I didn’t like it, I’d just say your floor plan is nice and rave about your balcony view.”

I watch him carefully, and to my surprise, a pleased expression passes over his face. He wanted me to like it. “Fair play,” Mason says, once again moving next to me. “This one I found online. It’s from 1965.”

“I was guessing it was the sixties,” I say. It’s split into thirds, with each section representing a different destination.

“It’s Jacques Nathan-Garamond. The top third are French cathedrals. The middle,” Mason says, pointing to the section with mountains and a lake, “is Switzerland. The bottom part, with the water, is Italy.”

“I think it’s really cool that this is an interest of yours. Do you have a racing-themed one hanging over your sim?” I tease.

“I do.”

“Do you really?”

“Yeah, come on,” Mason says, leading me back to the tiny hallway.

He takes me into a room that has his car simulator in it, a desk with an elaborate gaming computer set up, and a built-in shelf with all of his speciality helmets from previous races. But my eyes are drawn to the framed art on the wall.

It’s a vintage red-and-black Silverstone poster.

“I want to win this one so badly,” Mason says, studying it. “Home race.”

I nod. Caleb wants to win that one, too, for the same reason.

“I mean, I want to win every race, but to do it in front of a huge number of fans, in front of my dad and prov—”

Mason abruptly stops speaking, and once again, I’m aware that behind the cheerful, teasing image he projects to the world, there’s a man who has been hurt.

And has deeply buried feelings and conflict with his father.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, this poster is from 1969,” he says, smiling at me. “I must be drawn to that period for art. I like how fun and vibrant it looks.”

“It suits you,” I say, smiling up at him.

“Let me show you my wardrobe. Then we can get started.”

Wardrobe. Right. That’s why I’m here, after all.

“Okay,” I say. I follow him back out of the room and into the one across the hall.

His bedroom.

Why did I ever think this was a good idea? HIS BEDROOM. Am I mad?

Yes. Yes, I am.

I swallow and follow him across the threshold, stepping into his room. There’s a built-in wood wardrobe, along with more built-in shelves. His bed is made with crisp white linens, like the kind you’d find in a luxury hotel. More vintage travel posters are on the walls, and there’s a glass door that leads to the balcony outside.

“I keep some of my clothing in the sim room, because as you can see, I don’t have massive wardrobe space,” Mason says.

I stare at him. I’m not thinking about wardrobes or his clothing but rather what he would look like in this bed when he wakes up in the morning, tangled up in soft white sheets, his dark hair against the pillow, that sexy scruff filled in even more from not shaving. How his eyelashes would look so long with his eyes shut, and how the morning sun would stream in through that window and kiss his skin with warmth …