I’d worn my good jeans and a white T-shirt and my favorite black leather jacket. It was one of the few material things that mean something to me. Bodhi had given this to me when I graduated from high school. Guy had been so proud to see me walk across the stage and hell, I had been too.
A happiness settles over me as I stand there with the blindfold over my eyes, acutely aware of where they are behind me. My thumb glides back and forth over the worn leather as I wait.
A decadent mix of jasmine and honey wafts over me like some kind of magical spell. It’s addictive and almost as savory as it is sweet. It’s the kind of scent that captures all your senses, not just one, leaving you breathless and aching for more.
Her back brushes against mine, the contact so incredibly minimal that if my body wasn’t on high alert, I wouldn’t have felt it.
But Ididfeel it.
Felt the pulse of electricity sliding over my skin, and now, the anticipation of meeting this woman has me in a choke hold.
It feels like hours, but it’s probably only a couple of minutes before Hannah finally speaks.
“All right, you two,” she starts, her voice carrying from somewhere off to my right. “I want you to turn slowly and face each other, but donottake your blindfolds off.”
“Easy for you to say,” the mystery woman mutters, and I can’t help but snicker as I follow Hannah’s instructions.
The tension is almost maddening now, almost like I can hear her heart beating—or maybe that’s just the blood rushing in my ears. I’m not sure why I do it, but I reach for her hand, and she lets me, a zip of electricity shooting up my arm when her soft skin slides against my roughened palm.
She inhales sharply and I know she felt it too.
My thumb moves back and forth unconsciously, and just when I think she’s gonna pull away, she laces our fingers together, the move possessive and projecting dominance. My lips kick up into a grin because I have no complaints about a woman who likes to take charge.
My mind registers the sound of the camera going off, but it feels muted in the fog of jasmine and honey. It’s euphoric and I like it.
“Y’all are already at risk of catching this whole damn place on fire,” Hannah says with a dramatic flair that has me chuckling.“All right, on the count of three, you’re gonna take your blindfolds off. Ready? One,” she says and I try to pull my hand away but my mystery woman stops me, holding me tighter in her grasp.
“You started this,” she murmurs.
“I like to mix things up.”
“Two!”
“And I’m more than capable of doing this with just one hand,” I add just to see how far I can push it, and she hums with definite interest.
“Three!” Hannah yells and my heart is at risk of beating out of my chest.
Reaching behind my head, I pull the blindfold off and have to remind myself to breathe. She’s stunning—breathtakingly so.
“Wow,” I manage as my gaze rakes over hers. “I think you’re my dream girl.”
She snickers. “Maybe ten years ago.” Her eyes narrow. “How old are you exactly?”
“I’ve been sworn not to tell you until the end.” I hold up my free hand in surrender, a smile stretching across my lips at the fact that her fingers are still tangled with mine. “I’m Mason Amato.”
“Lana Richards.”
She’s older than I am, by a good amount, but that’s the way I like it. Women my age are more interested in the club scene, meeting on hookup apps, and living their lives on social media.
But I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes in my twenty-three years and I know how fleeting it can be—how precious—so I won’t be wasting it on staged moments and filtered happiness.
Ironic considering what we’re doing, but no one would think the chemistry arcing between Lana and me to be staged.
“I like your jacket,” I say, taking in her worn, black leather that complements my own. She’s wearing it over a flirty whitedress that hits midthigh and a pair of boots that scream they’re comfortable and loved.
And I love that.
“It’s my favorite,” she says, looking down at her own jacket and then at mine, her gaze unhurried as she takes me in before meeting my gaze.
