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It sounds so amazing, though. To be able to lean on someone, to unshoulder a little of the burden that I feel struggling to honor my mother’s memory, to protect my sister, to succeed in this shark tank of a business—
The door flies open. I scream and dive under the covers.
“Pax. How the fuck did you get in here?” Mason yells.
“You gave me a key. What’s the big deal?”
“You’re in my bedroom.”
“I couldn’t remember your wi-fi password. Also, I absolutely kicked ass with my donations.”
I kick Mason under the covers.
“Get out,” he shouts.
“No problem.” When I hear the door shutting, I throw the covers back. “Damn it,” I moan. “I’m doomed. My life is over. This is a conflict of interest, it’s a nightmare, it’s the end.”
“No, it isn’t. Pax adheres to the bro code. He won’t say a word to anyone, I swear to you,” Mason says earnestly. “We don’t do that to each other on this team. Well, with the exception of Dylan, but forget him. My friends and I have each other’s backs.”
I slide out of bed and grab my underwear that’s hanging off the back of a chair. How did it even get there? Who knows? I pull it on quickly. As Mason pulls on boxers and his jeans, I find my T-shirt crumpled in a heap on the floor.
“Argh. It’s ripped.” I moan.
“Hold on, I got you.” Mason hurries over to his walk-in closet. He returns with a white T-shirt, which he hands to me. I’m sure it fits him like a glove. On me, it’s huge, but it’s not like I have a choice.
Mason is standing there shirtless, grinning at me.
“What?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair.
“Nothing. You just look adorable in that shirt.”
I groan aloud. “This is mortifying.” He shrugs and walks towards the door, still shirtless, so I follow him.
Pax is sitting in the living room, with Puck asleep on his lap, his long legs propped up on the coffee table. His thick surfer-boy blond hair is rumpled, and his broad shoulders could almost give Mason a run for his money. He’s a hot hockey god, and I admire him aesthetically, but he does nothing for me in the libido area.
He looks up when we walk in, and waves. He’s watchingLove, Actuallyon Mason’s huge TV screen.
“Ooh, I love that movie so much,” I cry out. Alan Rickman’s character is about to break his wife’s heart. “Boo, Harry, you bastard. RIP, Alan.” I clap my hand to my heart. There are some losses that you just feel to your very soul, and that was one of them.
Pax flashes a goofy, cheerful grin at me. “Isn’t it the best? My favorite part—”
“Pax,” Mason barks at him. “You can’t just drop by here any time. You have to call and check in first.”
“Since when?” Pax gives him a puzzled look.
“Since—well, since from now on,” Mason grimaces.
I don’t know what to say to that. I can’t do this again. This can’t be a regular thing. So if Mason is saying that Pax can’t stop by because of me—argh, this is all so complicated.
I see that Pax is drinking a bottled water. He’s made himself right at home. Mason and I settle down on the far end of the couch. “You want something to drink?” he asks me. “I’m getting myself a water.”
I suddenly realize that I’m parched. “If you don’t mind,” I say to him. He leaps to his feet, graceful as a panther, and stalks out of the room, flashing an annoyed look at Pax as he goes. I wonder how many other people have keys to his apartment.
“Mason’s shirt looks good on you,” Pax grins. I grab a sofa pillow and throw it at his head. He catches it. “Fortunately, I have cat-like reflexes,” he informs me.
Puck lets out a gentle snore. “Aww, little buddy.” Pax reaches down and strokes his silky head.
Mason re-appears, holding two bottles of Mason Raker smart water. I remember him at that meeting, smirking about how refreshing and delicious he is, and I smile to myself as I open the bottle while Mason settles in next to me and throws his arm around my shoulder. Mason opens his bottle and chugs half of it as I sip at mine.
