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“So those clubs…”
“I already told you. I haven’t been to one since I’ve met you. You give me everything that I need.”
Do I give him everything he needs? How can I, if I don’t know what those places are? Is it just sex? Is it shows? Is it more than that? “Can you take me to one?”
“What?” He lowered his eyebrows.
“To one of those places? So I can see it?”
“I’m done, okay? I don’t need that anymore. I don’t need the money. I’ve been approaching everything wrong. I just need a big client.”
“For the ad agency? Or for the…”
“The ad agency.”
“Please, Mason. I want to understand.”
He frowned. “Do you trust me?”
I searched his face. Do I? “I mean…do you still send people to them? For money?”
“I’m going to stop. Bee, you have to understand…”
“I need to see it. I need to see what Patrick wanted instead of me. I need to see why you don’t do relationships. I need to see what’s so great about this thing that I know nothing about.” I need to know why I’m never enough.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Fine.”
“You’ll take me?”
“If that’s what you want.” He looked pissed. But the expression on his face was fleeting. His frown faded and he gave me a playful smile. “Now make me my breakfast, woman.” He lightly slapped my ass.
I laughed and pushed on his chest. “You’re the worst.”
“A man can dream. How about I make you waffles then?” He kissed my cheek.
“Really? You know how to make waffles?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” He rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.
I propped my head up on my hand. “Well, after you burned dinner the other night…”
“If I recall, you distracted me. Honestly, though, don’t get too excited. They’re Eggo Waffles. I’m good at using the toaster.”
“I knew it.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Mason
“Fuck.” I walked into the kitchen and opened up the freezer. I grabbed the box of waffles, pulled two out, and slammed the door. What the hell had I just agreed to? I placed the waffles in the toaster and pressed the button.
My friends had gotten in my head last night. Or maybe I just had too much to drink. But I told Bee that I loved her. And she didn’t react. She pretended that she didn’t hear. Or maybe she hadn’t heard me.
Damn it. I sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen and ran my hand through my hair. She definitely heard me. She just didn’t feel the same way. Which I already knew. Why would she love me? How could she?
