Dante chuckles soft and low while sending me anI see through your bullshitsort of look.
“Oh, Parker, Parker, Parker.”
“Cut it out,” I say with an annoyed groan.
“I don’t think I will actually.” Dante tosses me a scary, gleeful smile. “Why yes, Reid does speak about Mason. Mostly in a glowing sort of way.”
I clear my throat awkwardly, keeping my eyes firmly on the road as I drive us back home. “Has he ever dated before?”
“Mason?”
“Shut up. I’m trying to gauge… things.”
“He’s not dated that Reid is aware of but that doesn’t say much. They had a really tense relationship for a few years.”
I nod because I at least knew that much. Dante is unusually quiet the rest of the ride. When we pull up to the house, I go to jump out to be social, but Dante lays a firm hand on my arm.
“Mason needs a gentle hand,” Dante murmurs softly.
I stare at him in confusion. “What’s that even mean?”
“I mean that he just killed his uncle, his parents died in a traumatic fashion from an airplane crash, and he is a childhood cancer survivor.”
Now, I’m irritated. “What are you saying?”
Dante removes his hand and scratches at his slightly stubbled cheek. For the first time I notice the lack of bags beneath his eyes, how his hair is cut a little shorter to highlight the way it slightly curls at the ends. He looks better—happier—since he’s been with Reid. Maybe being in love has done him good.
“I’m saying you can be a bit of a playboy, and Mason doesn’t need that energy. He doesn’t need you figuring yourself out with him.”
I glare at Dante hard enough to have him shrinking back a little in the car. “I’m not a playboy. I hook up way less thanyou used to and only when I have an itch. I can’t help it that I get unwanted attention.”
“No, I know that, Parker…”
“Then what?”
Dante rubs a hand over his face again, then hops out of the car. He dips down to look at me, this time pinning me with his hard gaze. I’ve stared down scarier men and shot them between the eyes, so his look really does nothing to scare me. But it does remind me that I can’t be impulsive when it comes to Mason. I’ve got to figure out these feelings myself before I approach him with them. No matter how much Mason with wet hair, barefoot, and a shy gaze makes my insides squirm with some emotion I can’t name.
“Just give it time, Parker. Give it time.”
And then Dante disappears inside without another word. I decide to avoid dealing with the other guys and head back toward Mason’s house. The house smells like cleaning chemicals when I step inside. Not in the pleasant way where someone just cleaned their house, but in a way that seems like someone used entire bottles to clean each room.
I toe off my shoes on the mat by the front door. “Fuck.”
I go through each room until I find Mason cleaning the upstairs guest bathroom, on his hands and knees, wearing yellow gloves and an industrial mask over his face. We stare at each other for a few fraught moments before Mason bends forward to rest his forehead against the ground, effectively making him let go of the soaked sponge.
“Mason…”
“I’m sorry,” Mason cries, shoulders shaking.
Fuck. I want to touch him, hold him. I don’t know how else to show that I care or that I’m here without physical touch. But I’ve got to learn. It’s a long game here.
“Is it okay if I sit?” I ask quietly.
Mason sniffles and lifts his head slightly to watch me lower to the ground. Sitting crisscross-applesauce, I rest my hands on my knees to hopefully portray that I come in peace. I tilt my head as I look at him.
“Can you sit up too so I can look at you?”
Mason sniffles again, sounding so pitiful my heart breaks for him. He sits up, but all I can see are the sweaty strands of his hair and the piercing blue of his eyes due to the mask.
