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Why is she so close to him?
Why does he let her touch him like that?
Am I really being unreasonable for not wanting another woman all over him?
“Hey, Sophie,” she says when she notices me. With flared nostrils, I narrow my eyes at the two of them, then walk to the kitchen. Liam instigates the situation by telling Mason he’s in trouble now. After I put the food in the fridge, I grab my violin and walk past the three of them.
“Well, hello to you too,” she mutters under her breath.
I stop and turn on my heels. “What’re you doing here?” I wave my arms out. “Why are you always hanging on Mason?”
“What’s your problem? I was just trying to be polite,” she says.
Mason shifts away, creating the much-needed space between them, but before he can intervene, I continue my rant.
“What’s my problem?” I repeat her words with disdain. “You’re my problem. Call me crazy, but I don’t particularly like other women hanging all over my boyfriend, for starters. He’s mine, which I think you pretty much know at this point. So back the fuck off.” I glare at her, begging her to push me. Her mouth opens and closes, but she doesn’t say a damn word.
“Soph…” Mason says my name soft and calmly, but I’m not calm. He stands, and I point my finger at him not to even bother.
“Don’t.” I turn on my heels and walk to my room and put my violin case on my bed.
I hear Liam in the living room hollering and clapping. “Oooh, girl fight. Fifty bucks on Sophie. Sorry, Serena.” He snickers, which only enrages my emotions.
If he doesn’t shut the hell up, I might kick his ass after I kick hers. My heart is racing, ready to burst out of my chest, though I’m already wearing it on my sleeve. I take in a few deep breaths through my nose and release them through my mouth. I repeat this a few more times, and once I’ve calmed down, I walk out of my room where I see Liam and Serena. Mason is nowhere to be found.
“What are you still doing here?” I look directly at Serena. I’m not afraid of her or her attitude. She crossed a line, and I’m more than pissed at this point. I’ve taken it over and over and am tired of it. From the text message she sent Mason weeks ago, she knows damn well Mason and I are in a relationship.
“Seriously?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. Seeing her that close and touching him was my last straw, and I’ve cracked.
“I’m dead serious.”
“GIRL FIGHT!” Liam stands, starting shit again. “Rip off each other’s clothes!”
“Shut up,” we say in unison.
Mason enters with a bottle of water, and Serena stands. He stops in his tracks as if he’s glued to the floor.
Serena turns to Mason. “I guess I’m no longer welcome here.” Then she faces me, her eyes narrowed. “Just know, Sophie. I was here first,” she threatens, grabbing her Louis Vuitton off the coffee table.
“Bye.” I wave my fingers at her and stand my ground as she storms past me and slams the door behind her.
I glare at Liam, pointing my finger at him. “You’re a dick.”
“And you, my friend, were a total bitch. Proud of you.” He gives me a smile and holds out his hand for a high five, but I leave him hanging. He looks back and forth between Mason and me, noticing the awkward tension, then says he’s going to grab a drink. We both watch as he grabs his keys and leaves. I should feel guilty for how I reacted, but I don’t.
Mason clears his throat, and I turn and look at him. The air is so thick, I feel as if I can’t breathe.
“You hungry?” he asks, effectively changing the subject, and my head almost spins.
I swallow hard when I look into his eyes. He should be mad for the way I just screamed at his friend, and I’m pissed he allowed her that close to him. But arguing with him won’t change anything, and I’m so tired of this are-we or aren’t-we situation. So I decide not to push it.
“Starving. It’s why I bought the steaks.”
“I saw the potatoes. Let me cook for you.” Mason turns on his heels and heads back to the kitchen. After I follow, I watch as he pulls two wine glasses from the cabinet, then fills them. I take it willingly, but I nearly break my jaw as I clench my teeth, thinking about Mason and Serena together.
As I take a seat at the table, I accidentally release a frustrated groan, and Mason turns and looks at me with a small smile before he throws our steaks in a skillet and our potatoes in the oven. Luckily, he doesn’t push the matter either. I’m mesmerized as I watch him work around the kitchen, preparing the food. It seems like he magically cooked everything because soon he’s placing our steaks on a plate and putting butter and cheese in our baked potatoes. We’ve exchanged no words, just stolen glances.
