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That is until his hand slides under my shirt, cupping my bare waist.
I suck in a sharp breath and my hand jerks, drawing a jagged slash across the page.
Mason stiffens, and mutters, “Sorry.” He goes to retreat, but I stop him, pressing my hand over his, feeling the grooves of his knuckles through my thin shirt.
“It’s fine.”
It’s a long beat before he exhales, the tension melting from his bones. He burrows his face deeper into the crook of my neck, and I fight a shudder when I feel the distinctive metal of his lip piercing brushing my collarbone. The rasp of his late-night stubble.
“Thank you.”
Throat tight, it takes everything in me to get the words out. “This is the last time.”
Mason stills. While I’ve told myself this very same thing every time we’ve done this, this is the first time I’ve said it out loud to him.
A long beat passes and I don’t think he’ll respond. My fingers tremble. “Mas—”
“I know.”
The words are spoken softly, but resigned. Like maybe he too is promising himself the same thing I’ve been promising myself all these years.
Has he been lying to himself all this time too?I can’t help but wonder, but I immediately shove that thought away.
No, no, definitely not. It probably never even occurred to him how fucked up this is. Why would he, when up until nine months ago, things were completely platonic between us? Friends comfort friends…
Right?
“Okay,” is all I say.
“Okay,” is all he says back.
Seconds give way to minutes, and I lose myself to drawing once more. Music continues to play in our ears, and I find myself silently mouthing the words.
Just when I think he might’ve fallen asleep, I sense him watching me, and my pencil slows to a stop on the page. Pressing my lips together, I flick my eyes down, arching a brow when I find Mason peering up at me through sleepy pale blue eyes.
His lip twitches, and something…fond passes over his expression, softening his sleepy features impossibly more. My heart gives a heavy thump in my chest and my mouth dries.
As if they have a mind of their own, my eyes linger on that slightly curved mouth, and a flash of a memory surges to the surface.
My lips tingle, as if remembering what it felt like to finally be pressed up against the mouth I’ve been silently craving since I was fourteen fucking years old.
The memory tastes like vodka.
Like rain.
Like betrayal and heartache andwhat if, what if, what if.
I tear my gaze away and look down at what I’ve been drawing, turning my focus onto something far less hopeless.
Not wanting to waste the page, I used the accidental mark across the page to my advantage, and started drawing a messy, stitched up heart that spills blood where the seams have ripped, using that jagged line as the massive tear bisecting through the middle. Threads coming undone around the edges.
“Go to sleep, Mason,” I murmur, bringing my pencil back to the page, turning my focus on shading in the crack.
“This is gonna be the last time I see you, isn’t it?”
My fingers still, and I slowly turn my head until I collide with his sad, heavily lidded gaze.
Brow knitting, I frown. “I won’t be in Europe forever.”
