I wasn’t nearly drunk enough that night to have mercifully forgotten the details.
I wonder if she remembers them, too.
If they replay in her head all damn night and day, like they do to me.
I’ve zoned out at the house while working with tools, remembering the sound of her voice and the feeling of her breath on my skin. Her little moans. Her whispered words. I smashed myfingernail with a hammer yesterday and have a bruised nail bed to show for it, but luckily no broken bones.
I’ve zoned out fuckingdriving.
You’d think after what happened to my parents, I’d be smart enough never to let that happen. I had to pull over yesterday at the side of the road to get my shit together because I got lost in a memory of our hips sliding together, clothed bodies grinding ... her thighs wrapping around me as she sought friction, rubbing herself against my erection ...
You taste like sex, Mason.
You feel like bliss . . .
The lust-drunk, euphoric sound of her sweet laughter.
That woman is a danger to my health.
And my sanity.
I can’t remember wanting a woman so much in a long damn time. Or ... ever?
I wantedmore. More of her, that night.
And if I’m being honest, every night since.
I lie in bed at night fucking throbbing with the want.
“Mason. Yo. Where the hell did you just go?”
I blink at Jace. “What? Nowhere.”
“Really? It’s been your turn for like a decade.”
I glance around the table. They’re all waiting on me.
I finish my turn and take an irritable swig of beer.
“I’m telling you. You’re trying to control what you can’t. At least be honest with yourself. If you’re feeling her, so be it. No matter how inconvenient it might seem.”
“We’re still on this?” I growl.
“He’s right,” Layne says. “You haven’t been yourself lately. I was trying to stay out of it, but when I went into the smoothie bar the other day with Kaylie, Sierra said something about you telling her she’s not welcome here. That we’re enemies? What’s up with that?”
“She’s not welcome,” I mutter. “As far as I’m concerned.”
“Why? Because of that old building? We don’t need it.”
It’s got nothing to do with need.
Honestly, Layne doesn’t have a clue what we need as a business. It’s not his job to manage these things. His concerns, as our cider master, are the unique flavor profiles of our products, cider production, and quality control. And, of course, Kaylie.
This is about history and tradition and what’s right. It’s about our parents and what they wanted.
But how can I tell Layne that? My brother’s been through enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this.
“I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry about it.”
