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“I would give him tonight,” Zeke said, breaking through my violent thoughts.
I’d been considering the best ways to dispose of a body after stabbing it to death with a boar’s head pommeled blade.
“Maybe text him before bed to let him know you’re thinking about him. Call him in the morning to see if he wants coffee and a donut.”
I sighed until my chest almost caved in. “Thanks, Zeke. I really appreciate you answering on a Sunday night.”
“Anytime. I’m here if you need me.”
“Tell that lucky husband of yours I said hello,” I said, my eyes stinging slightly over how perfect they were for each other.
“Will do,” Zeke promised.
We hung up, but I stayed put for a few more minutes, not sure if I should return to Mason’s parking lot and camp out in my car or head home which lay twenty to thirty minutes southwest depending on traffic. If he needed me, wouldn’t it be better if I was only a sprint up the stairs away?
He’d asked for space, and even though I wanted to hover, I ought to honor his wishes. I had to trust Mason, after all he’d been through with his manipulative mom, that he would be able to somehow figure out how to handle his emotions toward Joseph.
But if he wanted legal advice, I knew the man for the job. I didn’t have a ton of money, but I had connections. My good friend Troy Emerson worked as an associate attorney at Madden Law. His boyfriend, Silas, tended to rub elbows with the upper class—Delaney types. I wasn’t aware if they spent time in the same circles though.
Might be worth looking into.
I planned to go to work the next morning unless Mason needed me, so I would give Troy a call then.
Deciding to head home, I hopped back on Route 1, and every mile extending the physical distance between me and Mason stretched my nerves thin. I didn’t expect to get much sleep. Perhaps I would take a sick day on Monday, regardless of what Mason chose to do.
I heated some leftover pasta I’d made a couple of nights earlier, attempted to watch some TV, and ended up pulling my old cello out from the corner of my closet. Throat tight, I fiddled with the strings until I created a melody that didn’t sound like a dying whale.
I imagined playing for Mason, or simply spending an evening together sipping wine while listening to Yo-Yo Ma playlists. Longing for both swelled so intensely I couldn’t keep from reaching out.
Me:How are you doing?
I chewed on a fingernail while waiting for Mason to reply. Curled on the couch once more by myself, I drank a glass of wine—alone.
Mason:Okay.
I waited a few minutes, but he didn’t send another message.
Me:Were you able to reach your friend?
Mason:Yes.
Growling at the one-word answers, my fingers flew over the screen.
Me:I have no wish to be suffocating, but is there anything I can do to help you? I’m only a short car ride away.
Mason:I like that you care so much about me.
My insides settled a bit at his openness, and my lips quirked.
Me:I like you, Mason, and I feel strangely protective of you.
Mason:I like you too. Probably more than is healthy for my fragile heart.
I yearned to beg for him to let me come back over. Spend the night. Finish up those twenty-four hours like the doctor had suggested. To fuss over him until he felt one hundred percent. Then I wanted to sink into his body and fuck him into the mattress the way we both desired.
Pressing down on my swelling cock, I sighed.
Me:Reach out to me if you need me.
