“Ugh.” Chase rolled his eyes. “That was hate sex that went horribly wrong.”
“So wrong he practically lives here.”
“Shut up.” Chase slung an arm around my shoulders and then leaned into me and pressed his face into my neck. Hiding. “Please be careful. I don’t like it when you do things where I can’t watch out for you.”
My eyes stung. I reached up and carded my fingers through his hair, something I rarely got the chance to do these days. Chase didn’t often seek comfort. Usually I had to wait until he was beaten down, literally, before he’d let me be the one to look after him, and that hadn’t happened in years. “I know. And I am being careful. Promise.”
Chase made an unhappy noise.
And since we were already going down this path, I figured I might as well take the next step. I took a deep breath and said, “Me and Mason might be sort of dating. Or something.”
Chase lifted his head, eyes wide. “Bullshit.”
“We’re keeping it casual, but yeah,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.
He jabbed me in the chest. “Stop it. That’s not you.”
My stomach fluttered. “Okay.” I swallowed. “Okay, it’s terrifying, but I really like him, so I’m gonna do it anyway.”
Chase straightened up and regarded me silently for a long moment. And then he nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s how it happens.”
And we sat there for a while longer, shoulders brushing, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood.
There had probably never beena time in my life when I’d seriously asked myself the question,What would Chase do?But maybe, in this one particular situation, Chase’s aggressive I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude was exactly what I needed.
I’d spent the evening trying to work up the courage to ask Mason to sleep with me, but so far we’d fed the kittens, eaten dinner and loaded the dishwasher, and now we were watching a movie, and I still hadn’t been able to get the words out. I wasn’t sure what I was more scared of—that he’d turn me down or that he’d say yes. And now we were sitting on the couch in the living room and the movie was almost over, and Mason kept throwing me worried looks.
So I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, summoning all that inner Chase energy—it was easier than I’d thought because it was right there beneath the surface, buried in our shared DNA—and said, “We should go to bed.”
Mason looked at his phone. “It’s pretty early still?”
Part of me wanted to curl up into an embarrassed ball, but luckily I knew exactly what Chase would do. I raised an eyebrow and said, “I didn’t say I was tired, Mason. Keep up.”
Mason raised his eyebrows. “Oh.” A flush crept out from underneath the cover of his beard. “Do you mean sex?”
I was simultaneously glad he’d said it and mortified. I nodded. “Yes.”
Mason reached for my hand and ran his thumb over my knuckles. “I’d like to try that, but only if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I said, which might have been a lie the longer I thought about it. But I’d never admit it.
Mason must have read the lie on my face, though, because he said, “If you change your mind, we can stop, okay?”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump as all of Chase’s false bravado abandoned me. I whispered, “Okay.”
But that was okay. The borrowed courage had done its job and gotten me where I wanted to be. And when Mason stood, still holding my hand, it was all me who followed him up the stairs.
I let go of his hand when we reached the top and nodded in the direction of the bathroom and then ducked inside, splashing cold water on my face to try and calm my jittery nerves. It worked, sort of, but when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I almost laughed at how wide-eyed I was. I took a couple of deep breaths and thought about Mason’s careful, gentle touches and how they made my heart flutter.
It helped, and I left the bathroom convinced that I could do this.
My courage lasted right until I stood in the doorway of Mason's bedroom, afraid to go farther. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the rumpled bed. His room smelled like him—clean soap mixed with a sharp hint of antiseptic and the smell of Dog. I could see a thin carpet of hairs on the end of the sheets. Maybe someone else would have thought that was gross; I didn’t mind it.
My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a reminder of why I was here, of what I wanted, even though I was scared. Mason’s dark hair was pulled back into that messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face. His hazel eyes locked onto mine with that steady intensity that made my knees weak. He was shirtless, and my gaze was drawn to his broad chest with its light dusting of dark hair that trailed down to the waistbandof his gray sweatpants, the outline of his cock already half-hard against the fabric. I took a moment to appreciate the view, and he didn’t rush me. He never did.
“Do you want to come in, Cash?” he asked gently, voice low and calm the way it was when he talked to frightened animals. He extended one hand palm up on the bed beside him. Not a demand, just an invitation.
I hesitated, my feet rooted to the cool hardwood floor. Touch had always been a minefield for me—fists that bruised, hands that grabbed and didn’t let go, memories that made my skin crawl even now. At the same time, I liked hugs from the few people I trusted. And I trusted Mason, but this wasn’t a hug. This was something new. And it might have been terrifying, but then I thought of how Mason was with animals. How he was patient with them, talking in a soft voice so they wouldn’t panic. How he stitched up their wounds without flinching, then sat in the kennel room for hours afterward, just in case. It wasn’t just animals that felt the pull of his calm in a scary situation.
