Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "
Автор книги: J. Daniels
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
“Then get your pretty little ass in the back, cupcake. I’m not dealing with that man of yours if you go into early labor due to work-related stress. I’m sure he’ll somehow blame that shit on me.” He guides her in the direction of the kitchen with a gentle push, then comes to stop beside me, dropping his head next to mine.
“Mason missed you at the coffee shop this morning,” he murmurs. “I told him you were up late hitting the sauce.”
“Did you really?” I glare at him as he leans away.
That’s just what I need, Mason thinking he drove me to alcoholism. He’s so fucking sweet he’ll probably pay for my rehab.
He smiles. “No. I said you had to do an early delivery this morning and skipped the coffee. He seemed to buy it.”
I gaze through the shop window. “I know I just got here but . . .”
“But you need to go talk to him.”
Our eyes lock. I nod at his spot-on remark, rubbing my hand down my face. “I’m just so fucking confused, and I need sleep, Joey. My skin doesn’t do well without it. I’m going to start looking like I’m in my thirties.”
“Heaven forbid.” Joey steps back and leans his hip against the counter, exaggerating his stare the longer I look at him. “Go, before Dylan comes back up here and discovers you’re missing.”
“Right.”
I slip behind him and grab an empty bakery box, filling it with four cupcakes.
“Shut up,” I snap when I hear Joey’s breathy laugh behind me.
It’s just because I need something to hold when I’m talking to Mason, otherwise I’ll reach for him, hold his face, try and slip my fingers through his hair and feel his soft curls.
There will be none of that happening.
I hastily exit the shop and cross the street. Peering through the large studio window, I can see a class is in session, but that doesn’t stop me from barging in with baked goods and a pissy attitude.
“We need to talk,” I exclaim, stopping just inside the door and glaring at the twenty-plus pairs of eyes on me. I focus in on one set in particular, crystal blue and softened with curiosity.
Mason steps between mats to see me better, his faded, sleeveless tee darkened with sweat. “Can you give me five minutes, Brooke?”
I look at him, at the crowd of women and their irritated expressions. With a quiet sigh, I slip past the elongated table covered in brochures and vitamin supplements and perch myself against the wall. I hold the box against my belly, letting my eyes wander the studio.
“Whatever.”
Class resumes. Mason goes through various positions and breathing techniques, offering assistance when some women struggle to hold a pose.
I reach into the box and bite into a strawberry ganache cupcake, smirking when a nosy chick in front of me scowls in my direction.
Fuck off, I think. You have no idea what that man is putting me through.
After the last attendee leaves and I swallow my last bite, Mason pulls the door closed behind him and stalks toward me. He tugs his shirt off with one hand and wipes it across his face.
“You wanted to talk?”
I take in his perfectly sculpted torso, from his lean hips to the muscles thickening his shoulders, every inch of him damp with perspiration.
“Yeah.” I set the box on the table and lick the frosting off my lip. “What the hell is your problem?”
His steps falter. “My problem?”
“Don’t do that.” I point a finger at him, advancing closer. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not allowed to touch you? I can’t . . . do anything to you? Why not?”
“Brooke.” He tosses his shirt on the table, reaching for me.
I step back to avoid his touch. “Answer my question first.” He takes in a deep breath, and my next words slip out before I can stop them. “Is it me?”
Other women have touched him. Other women have done everything with him. Why can’t I?
His eyes widen and he closes the space between us. “No. Fuck no, it’s not you. Jesus. How can you think that?” He slides his hand to my hip, his eyes following his finger as he runs it along my jaw. “It’s overwhelming how you affect me. Can’t you see it? How I look at you? I’m a bloody wreck here, Brooke. I want to take my time with you, but fucking hell if I don’t want everything you were offering last night.”
“Then take it.” I squeeze his hips, pressing us closer.
Take me. Stop torturing yourself.
“I won’t be able to stop,” he confesses, bending to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I’m not a God, Brooke. I only have so much restraint, and you on your knees sucking my cock would smash it all to shit.”
“So you’re just going to jerk off alone after you leave me? Come on, Mason. That’s ridiculous. You could at least let me watch.”
A small laugh erupting past his lips has me pulling away and out of his reach.
“This isn’t funny,” I snap, turning my body when he tries to grab me again.
I need distance anyway. He’s half naked and those loose shorts he’s wearing do a piss poor job at concealing every perfect inch of him.
He slowly advances on me with his hands raised between us, with that cocky smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Are you not enjoying what I’m giving you, Brooke? Because if I’m remembering correctly, you seemed pretty fucking happy grinding that sweet pussy against my face last night. There’s pictures to prove it.”
Warmth surges between my hips. I narrow my eyes and silently curse my lower region for reacting to that reminder. “You know what? I’m going to go.”
His eyes snap up to mine. “Why?”
“Because I have work to do and you’re making my brain hurt.”
He grabs my waist before I can take a step. Pulling my back against his front, he drops his lips to my ear, whispering my name before he asks, “Are we still on for this weekend?”
I turn my head to look at him, biting my cheek to keep myself from reacting to the smug grin staring back at me. “I don’t know. Am I going to be allowed to touch you?”
“In a matter of speaking. I’m sure your hands will be in my hair while you beg me to make you come. That counts, yeah?”
With a grunt, I pry myself out of his arms and gesture at the box on the table as I stride past it. “I ate one of your cupcakes because you kept me up all night, and not in the way I wanted to be.”
“You kept me up too. Fucking that pretty little mouth was one hell of a visual. I came all over my sheets.”
My mouth falls open. I nearly face-plant . . . again. Bastard.
“Yeah? Well, it’s too bad I wasn’t there to lick it all up for you. Good luck getting those stains out.”
I push through the door with the biggest smile on my face.
Have fun with that visual.
I stare into the darkness of my bedroom, pulling the covers up around me when the AC kicks on.
It’s almost eleven, and I could be asleep. I should be. God knows I’m exhausted but I can’t seem to close my eyes yet.
The condo is quiet. Joey and Billy have no doubt gone off to bed by now. I stretch my legs against the cool sheets before flipping onto my stomach and attempting to shut down in this position. Within a few seconds I’m turning back over and flopping my head against the pillow.
A soft buzzing sound pulls my attention off the window. I throw myself out of bed and grab my phone out of my purse.
Mason . . . facetiming me? How does this even work? Oddly enough, I’ve had this phone for two years and have never used this feature before.
I accept the call and hold the phone above me as I settle back against the sheet. I glance briefly at the image of myself in the corner.
Good. I don’t look too rough. God knows I feel it.
Mason’s neck appears first, bathed in the soft light from a nearby source. He tilts the phone and smiles when he sees my face staring back at him.
“Little devil. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
I smirk at the nickname. “No. I’m actually having trouble winding down. I blame you for that.”
“Yeah? Am I on your mind?” He adjusts the pillow under his head as his eyes shift about ever so slightly. “You look pretty.”
I look at the tiny image of myself again. “Thanks.”
“Do you know why I’m calling you like this?”
“Because you’re a stalker and you needed a way to see my bedroom? You know, since you refuse to step in it.”
He laughs, low and deep in his throat. I feel myself smile and the haze of drowsiness slipping away.
“Brooke.”
“Mm.”
“You wanted to watch me, yeah?”
“Watch you . . .” I pause, my hand tightening around the hard case of my phone as realization shocks my body into full-on alertness. “Yes,” I reply through a quiet voice, running my tongue over my bottom lip and sitting up a little higher in bed.
On the screen, I watch desire pass over Mason’s face. His heavy breathing spills through the phone and out around me.
My toes curl against the sheet.
“Are you doing it?” I ask, although I already know the answer. I just want to hear him say . . .
“Yeah.” He jerks his chin, lips parted and eyes heavy. He shifts the phone away just enough for me to see the muscles rolling in his upper arm.
My breath catches in my throat. “God,” I exhale on a shaky breath.
Watching Mason above me, as if he really is above me, does wild things to my mind. I imagine our bodies sliding together, the heavy drag of his cock along my skin, trapped between us, throbbing and wet from the heat of my mouth.
“My cock, Brooke,” Mason gasps, staring back at me as I quickly kick my feet out and remove the sheets covering my body. I’m suddenly burning up.
“Do you want to see it?”
I nod, rubbing a hand down my neck. My skin feels like it’s humming. “Yes.”
His eyes darken to that steely shade of blue I’m becoming familiar with. “Spread your legs for me. Touch yourself. I bet you’re drenched, aren’t you, you filthy fucking girl.”
Again, I nod, even before my hand slides into my panties. Arousal coats my fingers as I press lightly against my clit.
“How wet? Tell me. I want to taste you.”
I lick my lips. “Mm. Like this?” I suck my finger into my mouth, releasing it with a wet pop. “Too bad you aren’t here. I think I taste better off your tongue.”
Mason groans through a clenched jaw, his breathing growing louder, exploding into the air as his arm moves furiously against his side.
“Fuck, baby. Let me see. Show me. Put the phone between your legs. God, my dick is so fucking hard.”
With a gasp, I drop the phone against my shirt. “Shit! Sorry,” I apologize through a nervous giggle, waving at the screen. “I need to get undressed. I’m in panties. Hold on. I’m putting this down.”
Holy shit! This is exhilarating and nerve wracking and crazy and CRAZY. But fuck, there is nothing holding me back from giving him everything he’s asking for.
I want this. I want him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
I shimmy my panties down my legs and pick up my phone. Holding it above me, I watch Mason’s mouth twitch when I appear in the small square.
“Hey. Okay, I’m going to do it now.”
He nods, his chest heaving. “Good. Make me come.”
Good fucking God.
I prop myself up with two pillows behind my back. Bending my knees, I let my legs fall open and hold the phone between them.
“Fuck. Look at you. So good, baby.” His face appears larger on my screen. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Closer. Spread your legs more. I want to see everything.”
“Okay,” I softly reply, my voice breathy and thick as I open wider and slide the phone closer to my body. “Like that? Can you see? I’m so wet. I’m dripping. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on before.”
Mason growls my name, “Brooke.”
He tells me how hot his dick feels in his hand. How sensitive it is. How he can’t stop thinking about my mouth and my tits and how tight I’ll feel around him when he finally takes me. He snarls like an animal when I slip a finger into my pussy, and then he tells me to fuck myself, to think about his cock and to beg for it.
“Please,” I gasp, writhing against my sheets, sliding further down the bed with my legs pulling higher and spreading wider.
“Look,” he orders through a strained voice, and I glance down my body at the phone in my hand and moan at the image on the screen.
His cock.
His long, thick cock, dripping at the head as he strokes it almost brutally.
I bring the phone closer to my face and slide my fingers over my clit, staring, gasping, telling him I’m close and to come and to show me what I do to him.
With a strangled cry, we fall, words and moans blending into the night. It’s hot and filthy, and so profoundly intimate, and again I find myself smiling and so strangely happy, and I wonder if what I’m feeling has anything to do with the climax pulling me apart.
My legs fall heavy against the bed and I lift the phone off my chest. A lazy smile fills the screen.
“Well?” I ask, lifting my hair off my neck and falling back onto the pillow. I laugh at the peculiar look Mason gives me. “Don’t you have something to ask me, now that I’m sated from orgasm and willing to agree to even the most ridiculous requests?”
He grins, perking up. “Right. This weekend . . . can I have you?”
I blow him a kiss and end the call. My phone buzzes almost immediately with a message.
Mason: I’ll take that as a yes.
MASON
The shrill sound of a phone ringing jolts me awake, dragging me out of one hell of a dream.
Brooke on her knees, her skilled hands cupping my balls as she laps at my cock.
I groan into the pillow.
God, I love dream Brooke. Who the fuck is calling me this early?
Lifting my head, I glance around the dark room.
The faintest amount of sunlight pushes across the floor by the window, breaking through the small gap in the curtain. Searching for my cell amongst the sheets I’m tangled in, I find the menacing thing halfway down the bed near my left calf.
Last night . . . shit, I don’t even remember hanging up after that spectacular conversation. Best solo session of my life. I will never look at that function on my phone the same again.
Facetiming my mum is now out of the question. Maybe I can convince her to Skype.
I accept the call and place it to my ear, letting my eyes fall closed again.
“You,” I mumble, picturing Brooke’s face against the backdrop of her lavender pillow. Her hair messy from sleep. “Morning, sweet girl.”
A breathy laugh pulls through the phone. “Oh, my God. You’re still in bed, aren’t you?”
“You wrecked me last night. I slept like the dead.” I peek an eye open and spot the clock on the wall. “My alarm doesn’t go off for another thirty minutes.”
“Really? Mm, that’s funny.”
A car horn sounds through the phone, followed by the distant noise of a busy street. Light chatter, heels striking the ground. Birds.
Is Brooke outside this early in the day?
“Is it?” I roll to the side and slide my arm beneath the pillow to build my head up. “My alarm set for ten to eight is funny to you?”
“Yes,” she chuckles. “Considering how adamant you were about getting me to agree to another breakfast with you. I give you Tuesdays and you stand me up. What the fuck, dude?”
My hand tightens around the phone. The cloud of content encasing me as I listen to Brooke’s warm morning voice quickly rips away, along with any ounce of lethargy keeping me pinned to the bed.
It’s Tuesday. I’m supposed to meet Brooke for breakfast on Tuesdays.
“Fucking hell.” I throw myself out of bed and dart across the room to grab some clothes. “Brooke, fuck, I’m sorry. I was so bloody out of it last night after we talked, I forgot to change my alarm. I’m up now. Just hang on, all right? Did you order?”
I step into a pair of boxers and some running shorts, fisting a shirt as my eyes scan the floor for my shoes.
“No, I gave up our table.”
“What?”
She laughs again, and for the second time during this conversation I take notice of the outside world quietly buzzing around her through the line. She’s calling me after waiting for God knows how long inside that café. It’s twenty past seven now. If she didn’t arrive early, that’s twenty fucking minutes of her sitting alone, wondering where the fuck I am after I practically begged her for this.
Brilliant, mate. You’re such a fucking wanker.
“Mason, relax. Jesus. It’s not a big deal. I’m just giving you a hard time because it’s funny and I can. Go back to sleep.”
I step into my runners and pull my shirt on. “Fuck that. I’m on my way out now. I’ll meet you there.”
“Can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Wow,” she giggles. “Listen to you. You’re really pissed about this.”
“You gave me a day, Brooke. I want that day.”
My hand pushes through my hair as I step inside the bathroom. The light flickers on, pulsing against the white walls. I switch to speaker phone and hurriedly brush my teeth, glaring at my well-rested reflection.
She clears her throat. “I gave you breakfast, not a day. And it doesn’t matter. Dylan called me while I was waiting for you and asked if I could come in early to help her with something. So, you see? No big deal. I would’ve ended up cutting our time short anyway.”
I spit into the sink, dragging the back of my hand across my mouth.
She sounds fine, teasing me and brushing this fuck-up off as if it’s nothing. But I know this woman. I know she likes to hide behind a tough voice. I know you get more honesty from Brooke by slowing down and watching her, which is why I’m hesitant to believe her reassurance right now.
“Where are you?”
A quiet chime breaks through the phone. “The bakery.”
“Good.”
I move through the room and take to the stairs, walking across the empty studio. After unlocking the door, I jog across the street between traffic. Brooke says something, a greeting directed at Dylan, I assume. It sounds muted as if she’s moved her mouth away from the phone.
“Hey, Mason. I need to get off here.”
“All right,” I reply, ending the call and stepping inside the bakery.
“We’re not open yet,” a voice, not Brooke, yells from the back.
I move across the room and stop in the doorway opening up to the kitchen, leaning my shoulder against the frame.
Dylan notices me first, a coy smile twisting across her mouth. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”
Brooke raises her head from the large mixing bowl she’s staring down into.
She looks beautiful. Her hair is down, a tiny braid gathering some of it back and out of her round hazel eyes.
With parted red lips, she looks at the phone sitting on the large wood surface, then pins her gaze to me again.
“What are you doing, stalker?” she asks, her voice lifting sweetly. She shakes her head slowly through a tight lipped grin.
“I came to apologize, and to see if I can possibly take you to lunch today, instead of breakfast.” I straighten in the doorway and take a step closer, halting before I take another. “Is it okay that I’m back here?” I ask Dylan.
I’ve never stepped foot inside a professional kitchen before. I have no idea what the rules are for commoners here.
Dylan nods, her eyes shifting curiously between Brooke and myself. She smiles. “It’s fine.”
Brooke focuses on the containers of baking supplies in front of her as I loom closer. “I only get thirty minutes for lunch. That’s not enough time to go out anywhere. Sorry.”
“You can have an hour today.”
I grin at Dylan. “Brilliant.”
Brooke’s head snaps up. She looks astonished, maybe a bit annoyed. Her one hand closes into a fist against the wood while the other moves to her hip. “Are you kidding me right now? How many times have I asked you for an extended lunch, and never once were you keen on the idea. Just last week I wanted an additional fifteen minutes and you refused to budge.”
“So?” Dylan dumps some flour into a bowl and brushes her hands off. She stares evenly at Brooke. “This is my bakery, my fucking name is on it, and I don’t have to explain to you why I’m allowing this today.”
“Oh, I know exactly why you’re allowing it.” Brooke points a finger at my face. “That mouth right there. It makes people stupid.”
I keep my laugh muffled as I bring my arms across my chest, looking between the two of them.
Dylan removes her apron and lays it on the stool. “I’ll give you two a minute.” She hits me with a smile before moving across the room and climbing the stairs.
A door closes.
Stepping behind Brooke, I drop my head and kiss her shoulder. Her hands relax against the wood, while mine snake around her trim waist and pull her back against my chest.
“Think she’ll notice if I duck under this table and stay between your legs the rest of the day?” I ask, running my nose along her skin.
“Probably. Dylan doesn’t miss much.”
I smile. “Shame. I know I’d feel a lot better about fucking up this morning if I spend the next eight hours getting you off.”
“Mason.” Brooke spins around and tilts her head to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her before she can get another word out, my hands gently squeezing her hips as I fight the urge to inch closer and kiss my way through this.
She stares at me, silently absorbing my apology. Her shoulders drop with a quiet sigh, her eyes lowering to a spot on my shirt, and that, fuck, that right there is the reason why I’m here and not relying on her casual brush-off.
She isn’t fine. She’s disappointed, or hurt, or something. Definitely not fine.
“Now would be the perfect time to call me a wanker, Brooke. Or a tosser. I know how much you like slipping those words into our conversations. Feel free to let me have it.”
Her eyes flick to mine. She narrows them, draws her fingers into a fist, then knocks it gently against my chest. “What the fuck, dude?” she whispers, repeating her words from earlier, fighting back a smile as she stands on her toes to get closer. “You forgot? How could you forget?”
“It was that hot as fuck phone call last night. I think I lost some brain cells with that emission.”
“Aw, are you dumb and pretty now?” she chuckles, lifting a hand to my cheek. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I’ll still play with you. Do you like shiny things? Here. Let me get my keys.”
I grab her waist when she tries to dart away.
Fuck, I love her playful like this. Completely unaware of how open she is to me. It’s beautiful, her unguarded heart. I like to imagine it’s untouched as well.
She laughs against my neck, her hands sliding under my shirt.
“So,” she whispers, her lips pressing to my skin.
“So.”
“Last night was fun.”
I kiss her hair. “Mm. Maybe I’ll bring two tents with us this weekend and we can reenact it in the wilderness. I think your moans will sound lovely in an open field.”
She leans back to look at me. “Two tents? You’re delusional if you think I’m separating from you at any point during this absurd camp-out. I told you I didn’t want to do this. Now you’re trying to suggest we sleep apart? Fuck that. Haven’t you ever seen Deliverance? I know that wasn’t set in Chicago, but there are freaks everywhere. You’re stuck with me. One tent. One sleeping bag. Get ready for stage-five clinger status, buddy. I’m going to be on you like a hobo on a muffin.”
My mouth stretches into a smile. I grab her face, bending for a kiss. “I like the sound of that.”
“Of course you do.” Her hands circle my wrists. She bites at my lip. “The stalker becomes the stalkee.”
“Exactly,” I say quietly, opening my eyes to watch hers slowly flutter open.
She stares at my mouth like she wants another taste, but she isn’t asking, or moving in for it. I think I’ll leave her like this.
Waiting. Wanting.
“What time do you want to do lunch?” I ask, letting my hands fall away and moving beside her.
I tap my finger on the large mixing bowl. The white powder vibrates against the steel.
She nudges against me and slides the bowl in front of her, along with several various sized measuring spoons. “One? That’s when I usually take it.”
“Great. I have a break between classes then.” I rest my hand on her back and kiss her cheek. “You know that park with the water fountain about ten minutes from here? Meet me there. I’ll take care of the food.” I make for the exit, glancing back when I reach the doorway.
I smile.
Brooke looks like she wants to ask questions, maybe protest the location and offer up a private spot where clothes aren’t required.
I know my girl.
Instead, she lifts her hand and waves me off. “Okay, but you better show up this time. No epic facetime wanking sessions between now and lunch. I need you focused. Maybe you should grab a banana or something. I hear that’s brain food.”
A laugh rumbles in my chest.
“I’ll be there,” I tell her, I promise her, as I back out of the room.
I will fucking be there.
I beat Brooke to the park and claim a vacant bench near the large fountain.
Three sprouts of water erupt from the center, fanning close to the flat stone edge and darkening the rocks. A few children drop coins into the water and stand on their toes to watch them sink to the bottom. Dog walkers and mums with prams filter in between one another along the paved footpath.
It’s a nice day, the cool spring air smelling of flowers and cut grass. The sun slicing through the clouds.
My ringtone sounds from my pocket.
I’m expecting it to be Brooke, telling me she’s on her way, or maybe that I’m still a huge tosser for standing her up earlier and she’s paying me back by for it.
Palming my phone, I look at the screen.
It isn’t Brooke. The woman calling might’ve threatened castration if I would’ve pulled that stunt with her.
I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey. How are ya?”
Tessa grunts. “Finally! Someone answers the damn phone today. Sweet Christ, I’m going batshit crazy listening to these transcripts and I need a reason to not listen to them.” A loud crunch comes through the line. “Humor me. What’s new? What happened with that one chick who definitely does not have bigger balls than me?”
I chuckle, my eyes searching for Brooke. “You know, I should be offended you’re only calling me to get out of working. You’re a terrible mate.”
“Hey, screw you. I should be offended you left the best fucking state in this beautiful country to be all adult and open up your own business, but I’m not, ‘cause that would be shitty of me. Even though I still don’t understand why you couldn’t open up your own studio here. ‘Bama girls love yoga.”
We share a light laugh. I know of one particular ‘bama girl who doesn’t care for yoga one bit.
“How’s all that going anyway?” she asks.
“Good. Yeah, really good. It’s a bit shocking, actually. I might have to consider tacking on another class during the day if interest stays this fortunate.”
“Mason, you’re a great teacher, and you look like a male model. I’m sure your interest stays plenty fortunate.”
“We’ll see.” I smile, rubbing my mouth. “So, yeah, this woman I mentioned, Brooke.” At the mere utterance of her name, something catches in the center of my chest, warming my blood. My mouth twitches. “We’ve been seeing a bit of each other and it’s been great. I’m quite fond of her.”
“Yeah?” Tessa takes another bite of whatever it is she’s eating. “You two serious?”
“Serious?” I repeat, considering the word.
My answer is simple.
In my mind, we are. I have never been anything less with Brooke, and I don’t relish the idea of it. She is quickly becoming a beautiful constant in my life.
Wake up thinking about her.
Go through the day, counting down the minutes until I can pop in her shop for a quick visit.
Pass out and welcome some of the filthiest dreams I’ve ever had, all featuring her sweet face and sinful body.
But if asked this question, how would Brooke answer? I know how this thing started out, her casual plans for me, but how does she see us now?
I rub at my neck. “I’m serious about her. She’s bloody fantastic, and the only woman I care to be around.”
“And how does she feel?”
“Lovely.”
There’s a brief pause. “Jesus,” Tessa laughs. “That’s not what I meant. Though I’m impressed you went dirty before I did. Not many people beat me to the punch. Bravo.”
I look up and spot Brooke walking toward me on the path. Her hand lifts with a cute little wave, and I grin. “She’s warming up to me. I’m meeting with her now so I’m sorry to say you’ll have to return to work. I’ll keep you posted on my developments. Tell everyone I said hi, yeah?”
“Jerk,” she mumbles, then giggles quietly. “Yeah, I’ll tell them. And let me know when you decide Chicago blows and need some help looking for apartments back here. I’ll be all over it.”
I stand from the bench. “Goodbye, Tessa.”
“Later.”
Disconnecting the call, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and continue watching Brooke moving toward me.
Her cream-colored, short-sleeved blouse dips low in the front, courtesy of several unfastened buttons. Dark jeans fit to her curves. And on her feet, a pair of gray flats.
Those pink heels she likes to wear are sexy as fuck, but I might like her in flats better. When I pull her close and fit our bodies together, she’s the perfect height for me to rest my chin on top of her head.
“Hey. You made it.” She places her hand to my chest, offering me her cheek. She knows that’s where I’m heading.
I fucking love that she knows that.
“I almost called to remind you,” she adds, smirking.
“I told you I’d be here.” I bend for a kiss and then motion for her to have a seat. Sliding the sandwich bag into my lap, I hold out the to-go box for her to take.
She studies the label on the top of the box, then slowly eases it from my hands.
“You went to Rosie’s,” she states through a soft laugh. “You know I’ve only ever been there for breakfast? I have no idea what their lunch menu looks like.”
It wouldn’t matter, I think, smiling to myself.
I dig my sandwich out of my bag, keeping my gaze in my lap. “Lots of sandwiches and soups. A few salads. Typical lunch stuff.” I peel away the wrapper to reveal the top piece of rye bread.
A soft gasp perks in my ear, followed by cardboard creasing. “Oh, my God, Mason. This is impossible. How did you get them to make you this? They stop serving breakfast at ten-thirty!”
I glance over at her, watching as she lifts the box to her face and inhales.
She makes a soft, moaning sound in the back of her throat as her eyes fall closed. The wind picks up, blowing her hair off her shoulder.
I stare at neck, her dimple, the adorable wrinkle in her nose as she practically submerges her face in that box.
She turns and bumps our knees together. “Mason.”
“What?” I casually ask, taking a bite of my sandwich and finally meeting her eyes. “Oh, do you like that kind of French toast? It’s a bit odd, yeah? With the cereal? I wasn’t sure you would like it.” I pull a set of wrapped plastic silverware out of my pocket and hold it out.
