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Both Mason and I look up in horror when our mothers say in unison, “Let’s get a picture of their first kiss.”
Our fathers laugh next, and my dad makes the joke, “Just a quick peck. Don’t be getting any ideas for later, Mason. Save that for the wedding night.”
Oh, my God.
Somebody kill me now.
While my cheeks heat up enough to match the dark red hue of my hair, Mason is able to hide his horror better, but I still don’t miss the quiet groan sounding low in his throat.
We turn to face each other, our eyes tangling together and our muscles tight, both of us leaning forward with gritted teeth for a kiss that feels like torture.
Really, it’s just a quick bounce of our mouths together, less than a second of contact, but it’s still enough for both of us to grimace at being forced.
Our parents applaud as Mason and I place distance between each other, me stepping one way, him the other.
“Time for you lovebirds to go,” my mother chirps happily, and it’s the best thing I’ve heard tonight so far.
Unfortunately, the relief of leaving the house is short-lived. As soon as we’re packed in the back of a limo and the doors close, awkward silence descends, just like always.
Refusing to look at each other, I’m watching the gardens of my house roll by, and Mason is staring out the opposite window, our bodies seated stiffly in place.
We’ve barely made it through the front gates of my neighborhood when Mason shifts in his seat, his movement a soft sound against the leather.
“The twins, huh? I never considered you the type.”
Surprised he’s speaking to me, I glance over my shoulder at him and shift to face him. “What type is that?”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “I know how they are. I just didn’t think a prude would go for it. I guess it’s true what they say about the quiet ones.”
“I’m not a prude,” I glower with a roll of my eyes. “And I’m not the type to go for them. Having anything to do with the twins was a mistake.”
Genuine curiosity flickers behind his blue eyes, the color edged with thick black lashes. It gives his face an ethereal quality, so striking that it’s difficult not to feel trapped in his stare.
“Why’s that?”
A shrug of my shoulder. “You know how they are. They have a bad habit of replacing each other and lying about it. As soon as I figured out it was both Ezra and Damon, I decided to stop talking to them.”
His lips curl into a smirk. “You can tell them apart? Guess you figured out the freckle thing.”
The what?
I flick a glance his direction and say nothing, instead tucking that bit of information away for later. Mason may not know he just revealed exactly how to tell the twins apart. I just don’t know where the freckle is.
Silence falls again, but not for too long.
“It’s probably best you avoid them,” Mason says with a soft voice, concern bleeding through the words. “Things have been bad for them lately and -“
He shakes his head and exhales heavily.
Immediately, my mind returns to that shadowed room in Kyle’s pool house.
“Is that what’s causing the bruises?”
He doesn’t respond, but I don’t miss the anger that rolls behind his eyes.
Still, I don’t let the topic drop. I need to know what’s happening to them.
“I saw a handprint on one of their shoulders. A fucking handprint. That’s not their usual fighting.”
