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He studies my face for another minute, as if he is waiting for me to take it back or tell him I was joking. When he realizes I wasn’t, he finally answers. “I haven’t sat down and watched a movie in forever. But why not? Let’s do the movie thing.”
Mason waves his hands toward the large sectional in front of the oversized flat-screen TV. I’m not sure why he needs it if he doesn’t watch movies.
I flop down on the far-left side of the three-seater, sinking into the soft leather. It’s deeper than I expected. The cushions are so soft; it feels like the couch is trying to swallow me whole.
Mason sits down on the same side but leaves enough space for two more people between us. He grabs the remote from the coffee table in front of us and presses a few buttons. The huge screen comes to life, and I lean back to get comfortable.
“Any preference on movies?”
“I’ll watch anything besides horror movies. They are all stupid and predictable.”
“Agreed.”
Oh my God, did we just agree on something?
He doesn’t flip through the channels long before he sees a movie he likes. “How about The Book of Eli?”
“Oh yes, I love Denzel Washington.” Pushing off my shoes, I pull my legs up on the couch to get more comfortable.
Mason side-eyes my move like I’m planning a sneak attack or something. I get the feeling he isn’t used to anything so domesticated.
The movie plays for about ten minutes, but I can barely concentrate. There are too many questions burning in my brain. I have to get a few out. “If you don’t normally watch movies, what do you do? For fun, I mean.” I already know he won’t answer any questions about the hotel, but this seems innocent enough.
“Running this place is my life,” he answers quickly, his gaze glued to the TV screen.
“You can’t be working all the time.”
“I can, and I do,” he says, all matter of fact.
I look around the apartment, taking in the luxurious space and high-end furniture. He’s clearly not lacking any money. He could do anything he wanted. Instead, he chooses to work all the time. “What a waste.”
“Huh?” He turns toward me.
“I mean, you do all this work, make all this money, but then you don’t let yourself have fun spending it?”
“I have fun.”
“Doing what?”
He turns back to look at the TV. His lips are pressed into a thin line. I look at his profile, waiting for his explanation, but it never comes. I guess that’s the end of our conversation.
I try to get into the movie, but I just can’t get out of my head that Mason doesn’t know how to relax or enjoy himself. Jase and I never had any money. We’ve always lived paycheck to paycheck, barely able to pay our bills. We don’t have much, but at least I know how to have a good time. I can’t count the times I’ve laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Something tells me Mason’s never laughed that hard in his life.
For the first time in my life, the phrase ‘money can’t buy happiness’ makes sense to me.
MASON
One thing tequila is good for: taking a smart-ass with endless questions and putting her to sleep before I can threaten to strangle her if she doesn’t leave me alone.
All right, maybe it’s not quite that bad—but it’s close. There is no satisfying her curiosity. And what’s with the questions about my personal life and how I choose to spend my time? I didn’t realize I’d signed on to be the featured guest on a talk show. She’s going to get herself into a lot of trouble if she’s not careful.
Hell, she already has gotten herself into trouble. More than she knows. She happened to get lucky when she ended up on my doorstep. I’m sure there are other men in positions similar to mine who wouldn’t be so forgiving or patient. They wouldn’t have to answer questions about their free time since they wouldn’t allow themselves to end up in this position. There would be no personal talks. No shared movies.
She might not be alive now if it wasn’t for me. Down, boy. Let’s not get the idea we’re a hero.
She fell asleep halfway into the movie. At first, her head lolled against the back of the sofa. Slowly, as I watched from the corner of my eye, she began sliding farther and farther down until finally, her head ended up on my lap, her body curled up in a protective ball. If she wasn’t snoring softly, I might think she did it on purpose. To annoy me, of course. Not to get close to me.
That’s fine. I would still rather feel the weight of her head on my leg than protect myself from a barrage of probing questions. It isn’t half bad, really. She’s at peace, and her already beautiful face turns into something closer to ethereal. Like a peaceful angel who for some reason trusts me enough to sleep this way. Utterly at my mercy. She’s lucky what little conscience I have left is still intact, or she might be in trouble.
