My brother’s best friend.
The boy I had always loved, until I hated him.
He’s aged well. Really fucking well. He’s tall, packed with muscle, and with broader shoulders than when I’d seen him last. His eyes seem darker, his jaw more defined, his hair longer. Tattoos that once painted only part of one arm now cover every inch of skin I can see, except for his face and some parts of his neck. He’s dressed in all black; that’s something that hasn’t changed. The shirt shows off how big his biceps are and how defined his chest is. He had always been very attractive, and I’d hopelessly wished he would get worse with age. Damn. And after all this time he’s seeing me dishevelled and crying on my brother’s doorstep on a Friday night.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, my voice betraying me by coming out in a whisper. All the feelings and reassurances I’ve convinced myself of over the years flash before my eyes, and I realise how much of a lie they all were. Because I am very, very much still affected by this man, and he hasn’t even said one word to me yet. In fact, I bet he doesn’t feel a damn thing. That’s where the problems began.
Those dark, whisky-coloured eyes settle on me, and I feel every inch of my insides curl in on themselves. My heart feels as if it’s twisted into a ball of lead in my chest and plummeted into my stomach, knocking against everything in its path along the way.
He quirks an eyebrow, eyes scanning my face, as if reassuring himself it really is me standing here in front of him, shivering and looking on the verge of a mental breakdown.
‘I live here.’
My eyes widen as dread spreads through my veins. His words ring loudly in my ears, repeating inside my head, as if stuck on a loop. ‘Since when?’
‘Since Leasa moved out.’
I hadn’t considered the fact that my brother would have found a roommate after his girlfriend of three years moved out. I should have guessed Mason would be the replacement. It made sense, but in my defence I try my best not to think about the boy who ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it.
Could this night get any worse?
‘Oh,’ I mumble, attempting to swallow, but suddenly my mouth and throat are paper dry. My body has always had an extreme reaction to being near Mason, and it drives me crazy. It’s as if he owns the remote to my body and knows exactly which buttons to press.
The corner of his mouth twitches as his eyes openly roam over me, not caring in the slightest how obvious it is.
‘No “Hi. How are you? What have you been up to?”’ He smirks, leaning on the door frame. My heart jackhammers in my chest at the familiarity of the movement. He used to do that exact thing in the doorframe of my bedroom.
I definitely don’t want to be thinking about him and me in my bedroom right now.
‘No, that wasn’t my first thought when I saw you,’ I say, hoping my voice sounds stronger than I feel.
‘What was that thought, then?’
‘I don’t want to deal with this asshole.’ I fold my arms across my chest, trying to look the opposite of how I truly feel.
Mason grins at me, flashing his teeth. Handsome smile lines appear around the edges of his mouth. The lines that I loved so much. The very ones I’ve trailed my fingertips over ...
‘Good to know you still have that giant crush on me.’
The memory shatters, and I’m forcefully jolted back to reality. My face must reflect my true feelings, because his smirk falters for a moment. I force a blank expression. As best I can, anyway.
‘You wish,’ I spit back, trying my best to mask my hurt.
‘Mmhmm,’ he murmurs, eyeing the bare bit of skin where my shirt has slipped off my shoulder. My stomach does a flip-flop motion. ‘If you say so. Why are you here?’
‘I’ve had a hell of a night. I need somewhere to crash,’ I say, rubbing a hand down my face. ‘Zayden didn’t mention you would be here.’
‘Would it have made a difference?’ he questions, sounding genuinely curious.
I don’t want to do this. I wasn’t ready to face him, nor the feelings I’ve forcefully shoved deep down into a file labelled: Do not open. EVER.
‘Can you just let me in?’ I huff, shaking out the hair that has fallen across my face.
His dark-brown eyes – two smoky quartzes – hover over my glistening cheeks for a moment before he steps back, allowing me access through the door. I haul my bag inside and he reaches around me to grab it, easily slinging it over his shoulder. I wipe my cheeks and avoid his gaze as I scan the room, taking in what is possibly the cleanest place I have ever seen. My brother is not a clean person, and I imagine this is Mason’s doing. It must drive him crazy, always having to clean up after my disaster of a brother. Hurricane Zay, my mother used to call him.
‘Weren’t you meant to be moving into some share house downtown?’ he asks, gesturing to the stairs.
They talk about me? Interesting.
