Page 7 of Primal

“Well, the kitchen is fully stocked.” He looked down at the large pile of grocery bags that they had brought in. How about I whip up something to eat. Dinner for the two of us?” Mason said, then Joey wandered back over with a short glass that stank of alcohol. “Or…I guess the three of us.”

“Sounds good, man,” Joey said, slapping his shoulder before going to plop himself down on the couch.

I followed Mason into the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. He pulled ingredients out of the bags and placed them in the refrigerator. I watched as he chopped vegetables and sliced a pork tenderloin. Putting together an Asian-style sauce, he whipped up a stir-fry that he served over instant rice.

We didn’t talk while he cooked. Mason was singularly focused on the task at hand, and I oscillated between watching him and staring at the storm out the window. As scary as the threat of a tornado and flooding was, I found myself fascinated by the sight of the trees swaying, lit up occasionally by the flash of lightning across the sky.

“What smells good?” Joey asked, coming in to the kitchen to refill his glass.

Most people would pour just a couple of ounces of hard alcohol into the glass to sip, but Joey wasn’t like most people. He almost filled the thing up. Joey settled onto a stool beside me at the island while Mason slid two plates in front of us. Joey picked up his fork and started to dig in.

“No need to thank me,” Mason drawled sarcastically.

“This looks great,” I said, pulling his attention from Joey. I could easily see his dislike for my boyfriend shining in his eyes. “Thanks for making dinner.”

Mason stayed standing on the other side of the island while we ate. He was leaning over, with one elbow braced on the top of the island as he ate. I discreetly ran my eyes over him. He wore a simple black T-shirt, but it did wonders for highlighting his muscular form, created by all of the hands-on work he did with his construction company. Mason didn’t let the fact he was the boss keep him from doing grunt work.

His beard was always neatly trimmed, his hair cut short with purposefully dyed silver locks. When I saw him last, he was already showing signs of graying, so I suppose he decided to embrace it and dye his whole head silver. It suited him well and he looked damn good too.

His hazel eyes lifted from his plate to meet mine, and I dropped my gaze, swallowing hard. I could feel my cheeks heat in the blush over being caught staring. Hopefully he didn’t think much of it.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “I didn’t think to ask earlier because I was so shocked to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“You mean, why would I go on vacation without your mom?” he asked. “Sometimes a man needs a little time alone.”

I had a feeling he was holding something back, but I didn’t press. It wasn’t really any of my business.

“And the two of you?” he asked, waving his fork back and forth between me and Joey. “Is this some kind of romantic getaway?”

“You could say that,” Joey replied, and I could tell by the way he slurred his words he was drunk. A glance at his glass showed he’d already finished his second drink. He threw an arm over my shoulders, jostling me and making rice spill from my fork onto the island. “Babe can’t get enough of me, if you know what I mean.”

He winked, and I cringed when I saw the dislike etched into Mason’s face. Why would Joey say that? He knew Mason was my stepdad. It was inappropriate to talk to him about our sex life. And it was a total misrepresentation. After what happened last week, our sex life was on life support, not thriving the way he suggested.

“I just hope you guys aren’t expecting me to be well-behaved because you’re here,” Joey went on, and I noticed his eyes were red and glassy.

“Joey, maybe you shouldn’t?—”

My words cut off as he put his face against my neck, pressing a kiss there. I tensed up. Not only was that the most physical we’d been in a week, but it was happening right in front of my stepdad. It wasmortifying.

“Interesting tattoo you have there,” Mason said, changing the subject. He pointed to the black Chinese symbol on Joey’s inner forearm.

Joey grinned, pride puffing up his chest. “Yeah, me and some of the guys from the shop went to a tattoo shop last spring, and we each got one.”

“The shop?”

“Joey works at a vape shop,” I explained.

“Figures,” Mason said, rolling his eyes.

Joey didn’t notice his derision as he continued to look at his tattoo. “It’s Chinese for serenity.”

Mason's eyebrows rose, a smirk forming on his lips. It had a hint of mockery that made a spark of mischief flare in my chest. My suspicions were confirmed when he let out a laugh.

“I hate to tell you this, but that’s not what the symbol means.”

“What are you saying?” I asked while Joey’s brows drew together as if he was having trouble following the conversation. Not surprising, considering how drunk he was.

“The tattoo means stupid sheep,” Mason said. “Pretty sure it’s an insult to the person who picked it.”

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