Page 63 of Bruised

“All that sugar’s gonna rot the teeth out of your head, little brother,” Mason says, walking into the kitchen all sweaty from a rigorous workout. As far as I can tell, he’s doing two sessions a day lately—one in the morning and one in the afternoon, along with laps in the pool.

It shows. He’s looking bulky and ripped as hell. His biceps flex as he yanks open the fridge and drinks milk directly from the jug.

“Oh, come on,” Oliver groans. “Haven’t I told you not to do that?”

“Do what?” Mason asks, unaffected, as he wipes his dripping mouth with the back of his hand.

A few drops of milk linger on his chin. I want to go right up to him and lick them off. Even though he’s a passive-aggressive prick. Even though he’s ignoring me. Maybe because he’s ignoring me. What the fuck does he even want from me? Does he want me to renounce my friendship with Oliver just to be with him?

What Mason and I have isn’t even like that. Serious, I mean. It’s started to feel a lot more serious in the last few days, though.

Ever since we started kissing, we’ve been different. Ever since he started exploring my mouth with as much enthusiasm as he explores the rest of my body. Ever since he started to moan into our kisses and whisper things like “Why does this feel so good?”

Ever since he said my name, and I asked him to call me puppy instead. Why did I do that?

I linger by the kitchen table while Mason makes a protein shake. He crams the mixer full of frozen berries, peanut butter, milk, and two big scoops of protein powder.

“I said,” Oliver says, louder this time. “Stop drinking milk directly from the jug, you heathen. It’s disgusting. You’re not the only one who lives here, you know.”

Just then, Mason hits the “on” button, and the mixer whirs to life, the sound loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood.

“What?” Mason calls over the sound. “Can’t hear you.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Oliver shouts, and he flings his spoon at Mason. It hits the back of his neck and bounces off the floor.

Mason flips the mixer off and turns around slowly. His expression is scarily calm, but a storm is brewing in those slate-gray eyes.

Oliver keeps scowling, though his lower lip trembles a bit, and his shoulders tense, like he’s ready to either fight or run away.

“I thought Logan taught you to pick your fights,” Mason says, voice laced with an undercurrent of anger.

Oliver’s scowl deepens. “You have no idea what he taught me.”

“No? But I know one thing: none of it mattered in the end, did it? He still left you.”

“He left you too!” Oliver yells. “He left all of us! Stop acting like you don’t care.”

They scowl at each other with burning eyes, and I feel utterly helpless and redundant, as if neither of them is even aware of my presence.

I gulp, not sure how to de-escalate the situation, but knowing I have to try. “Uh, guys…”

Oliver snaps his gaze to me. “Let’s go to my room, Lane.”

Mason turns around, body language stiff and furious as he flips the mixer back on.

When I moved into Oliver’s house for the summer, I didn’t sign up to be tempted by his scary older brother, and I certainly didn’t sign up to be the third wheel in a family drama that I still don’t understand.

When I follow Oliver upstairs, all I can think about is how Mason might be done with me. That I might have to live here for the rest of the summer with this unspoken tension between us. Or worse: what if he finds some other young guy to take to his room and take apart, like he’s taken me apart? What if he bruises them like he’s bruised me?

The thought hits me with a sudden, painful intensity, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Maybe I should find someone else to take me the way I need to be taken, bruise me like I need to be bruised… But something tells me no one would do it as well as Mason, and besides, I don’t want anyone else. All I want is him, and I can’t let him go just yet.

Later that day, I see Mason and Tess swimming in the pool, and an idea forms in my mind—an idea I can’t even put a name to yet. It’s primal, dirty, something I can barely even picture.

Just a feeling. A need.

I sneak through the upstairs hallway and open Mason’s door just a crack, then I slip inside.