“Thanks, Ma,” I murmur between bites. It’s not just for the food, but for everything—for believing in me, for always being there, for giving me the foundation I needed to handle whatever came my way.
She reaches out and covers my hand with hers, squeezing lightly. “Always, Mason.”
We sit there together, sharing stories and laughter, the warmth of home making everything else seem manageable.
CHAPTER 51
Dean
Chad picksup yet another book from my shelves, flipping through the pages before setting it down and moving on to the next. He’s been wandering around my office like he’s searching for some hidden insight into who I am. It’s oddly endearing, watching him absorb the little pieces of my life displayed in the room, but there’s a heaviness to his silence since the hug with his mom.
I want to ask him about it to make sure he’s really okay. The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite push them out. It’s frustratingly clear that even though we’re bonded now, we still have work to do when it comes to talking things through. Communication isn’t something that just magically fixes itself, even with the bond between us.
He finally stops flipping through books and pauses at a framed photo tucked on one of the higher shelves. He pulls it down, his lips curving into a playful grin. “Well, well, look at you, Mr. Olympian,” he teases, waving the photo at me. It’s from the year I competed in the Olympics for tennis, standing in my gear, racket in hand, with a medal around my neck.
I cross my arms, leaning back in my chair, fighting a smile. “Go ahead, get all your jokes out now.”
He places the photo back and turns to me, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I mean, you look impressive and all, but I didn’t know you could rock those tiny shorts with such... confidence.” He gestures toward the photo dramatically. “Didn’t they distract your opponents?”
A laugh bursts out of me, shaking off some of the tension hanging between us. “Is that what you think? My opponents losing focus over my shorts?”
He shrugs, a playful light in his dark eyes. “Hey, I’m just saying, if you wore these on the courts here, I would’ve asked for a personal tennis lesson earlier—tiny shorts included.” He winks, and despite everything, his teasing manages to lift the heaviness that’s been lingering in the room, if only a little.
I watch him quietly, his energy both a distraction and a relief. The way he’s trying to lighten the mood isn’t lost on me, and it’s distracting in the best of ways. As he places the picture back on the shelf, I clear my throat and say, “You know—if you want to talk about what happened with your mom... I’m here.”
His smile softens as he shifts away from the shelves, moving over to where I’m sitting behind the desk. He props himself against the edge, close enough that I can see the gentle warmth in his eyes. “Yeah, it was... shocking,” he admits, running a hand through his dark hair. “But I’m okay. Really.”
His reassurance feels genuine, and he offers me a smile. “It’s not every day you get a hug from someone who’s never really been the hugging type, you know?” He chuckles softly, and the sound makes some of the worry in my chest ease.
I reach out, resting my hand over his. “Just promise me that if it starts feeling like too much, you’ll let me know.”
His fingers curl around mine, and his smile widens. “I promise. Besides,” he adds, leaning in with a mischievous glintreturning to his eyes, “I can’t have my Olympic tennis champion worrying about me too much. You have a reputation to uphold.”
I laugh, and the tension dissolves further. “Glad to know you’re thinking about my image.”
He grins. “Always.”
His grin softens, but the spark in his eyes doesn’t fade. He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath against my lips, and for a heartbeat, the world feels suspended. My pulse kicks up, and I can’t tell if it’s the anticipation or the way he’s looking at me—like he’s memorizing every detail.
“Always,” he whispers again, his voice low and warm.
Then he closes the small gap between us, his lips pressing against mine. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s still feeling out this space between us. But when I kiss him back, threading my fingers into his hair and pulling him closer, something shifts. The gentleness transforms into something deeper, more urgent.
He responds immediately, his hands sliding to my shoulders, then wrapping around my neck as he leans into the kiss. His body presses against mine, and I can feel his heartbeat racing as fast as my own.
I pull him even closer, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, and a quiet groan escapes him, sending a shiver down my spine. The desk behind him creaks as he shifts, practically melting into me, and my hands roam over his back, feeling the heat radiate from his body.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Chad’s eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide, and he smiles that infuriating, beautiful smile of his.
“Well,” he murmurs, his voice husky, “that was one way to talk about my emotions.”
I laugh, my hands still tangled in his hair. “Yeah, I’d say we’re getting better at communication.”
He chuckles, leaning in for another kiss, and I meet him halfway, already craving more.
Our laughter melts into shared, heated breaths as his lips find mine again, and this time, there’s no holding back. His fingers slide down my chest, teasing over the muscles of my stomach, and my own hands map out the contours of his back, pressing him even closer.
The tension that’s been simmering between us finally spills over, and I feel every bit of it in the way he kisses me, in the way his body fits perfectly against mine. We’re tangled together, his laughter fading into quiet, breathless moans as the world around us blurs, leaving only this—only us.
