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“I think they’d be okay with it, don’t you?” Why does it sound like he’s trying to convince himself rather than me? “Okay, so no fireman’s carry into the hotel,” he says without waiting for my response. “When can we say something?”
“They’re probably still sleeping.” It’s easier to say that than wonder if my best friend will really approve of me marrying her fiancé’s billionaire friend.
I don’t hold Mase’s hand as we walk through the lobby, skipping ahead as if we’re strangers, and we file in to the elevator with two older couples who are talking about breakfast.
Mase stands close enough for me to touch him if I want to. Which I do. But he studiously ignores me, smiling at the foursome. “Did you hit the omelet bar?” Mase asks as the door closes.
“We did,” one of the women exclaims. “So delicious.”
“Try the Belgian waffles tomorrow,” he suggests.
“That would not be good for my waistline,” she simpers, with a hand on her ample hip.
“Naw, darlin’, it’ll do you good. You’re wasting away to nothing.” He winks at her and includes the other woman in his smile. “Both of you. Go have the waffles tomorrow. Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
She shakes her head. “The boys say we’ll go back to the buffet, but I don’t know. I’d like to try one of the restaurants. Do you have a suggestion?”
Mase points a finger down. “Downstairs. The chef is amazing, and the seafood risotto is the best in the city. Tell them Mase sent you, and Walter will fix you up.”
“Mase…Stirling?” one of the men demands. When Mase nods, he throws up his hands with amazement. “I thought you looked familiar,” he cries. “That catch in the game against the Mariners was amazing. Best play of last season.”
Mase meets my eyes with a rueful grin. “You a fan?”
“Am I a fan?” he asks. He elbows his wife. “He asks, am I a fan?”
Ten floors later, we’ve heard all about the three best plays Mase made.
“Steve,” his wife urges with an annoyed tinge in her tone. “This is our floor. He doesn’t want to listen to this.”
“Still.” Steve follows her out, holding the door open while he takes another glance behind him. “Mase Stirling.”
“Good to meet you, Steve,” Mase says with a grin.
“You too. Geez,” he mutters with a gleeful smile. “Good luck at spring training and the rest of the season. You know, I don’t understand video games, but I got the one with you on the cover for our grandson, and he really likes it. Loves baseball, just like me and—”
“Steve!” He is pulled away and the door slides closed.
“I should have got a picture,” I hear Steve cry. “No one will—”
“Alone at last.” Mase’s hands are around my waist and he pushes me to the wall as soon as the doors close.
“Wait.” I laugh, leaning away to hit the button for the sixteenth floor. “That was cute. He was a big fan.”
“I like the fans. Most of them, anyway. Where do you think you’re going?”
Mase booked two suites for the group—I’m staying with Demi, Chrissa, and Biba and David. I assumed he was with Bexley and the others in the second suite across the hall.
Mase punches the button for the twenty-fourth floor. “My room is a little higher up.”
His room. The quick exchange with Steve distracted the butterflies, but they’re back in full flight, fluttering as quickly as the elevator rises. I stand stiffly as Mase kisses my neck, focusing on my breathing. How is it possible to want something and be so uptight about it at the same time?
“Fee?” Mase asks when there’s no response to the trail of kisses to the corner of my mouth.
“Yes?” I squeak.
“What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath before pecking in on the lips. “You know you get hungry when you’re nervous?”
