Page 32 of I Choose You

“The university’s frat houses.” Mason lifts his elbows to the counter and tents his hands against his chin.

Luke sticks a piece of lunch meat in his own mouth and chews, recognition dawning from his brother’s help. “Why the hell are you going over there?”

I roll the package of cookies back into their box and tuck them into the junk cabinet. “I’m meeting someone at a Halloween party.”

Luke’s gaze lands on me. Mason continues to avoid eye contact. “Shit,” Luke says, wagging the butter knife around. “Good for you. I was wondering when the hell you were going to get back out there. It’s been what? Like two years?”

I pull the leather of my costume from my chest in discomfort. It hasn’t been two years. It’s been four. Four long years since I casually dated a guy in college who was in different classes than me but had similar interests. I broke it off with him when he asked me to commit to something more serious and couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Luke means well. He’s not intentionally trying to hurt my feelings, but it stings being under his scrutiny. That and my nerves morph into jumping jellybeans. I can’t stand being here any longer, listening to Luke talk about my dating history, nor can I take Mason ignoring me for another second. What the hell is his problem, anyway? I should get moving before I allow my insecurities to rip me out of this costume.

There’s a layer of turkey and cheese sticking out beyond the bread when I walk over and snatch my sandwich from the counter. When I lean on my tiptoes and peck a quick kiss on Luke’s cheek as thanks, I catch the indifference in Mason’s melancholy eyes. It almost makes me stay home, almost makes me unsheathe the leather from my body and stuff it in the trash can.

Almost.

Pissed beyond belief, I slam the front door, not caring if I disturb Luke or Mason—if they’re even here. My bag thumps on the bench by the door and stomps take me into the kitchen.

Ben ghosted me. I waited for two freaking hours outside of a hoppin’ fraternity house party—where I was hit on multiple times over, which isn’t that great when they’re drunk, and you’re not—and nothing. There was no phone call. No message. No apology. Each time I almost convinced myself to pack up camp and leave, I stayed. Why? Out of basic decency.

I’m half-tempted to disable my account on Fish4U. I considered it the entire ride back when I decided nearly two hours was generous enough. Luke and Mason were home before I left. I should have spent time with them. They wouldn’t have left me hanging.

I’m pacing the kitchen, mumbling, my breath on fire. Yes, I needed to figure out a way to distract myself from Mason, but it isn’t easy filling out dumb profiles and allowing strangers to match with me.

Oh, God.

And to have gone to the lengths to wear this stupid costume. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking at all. That’s the thing. I let go and now look at me. I take the title of the biggest fool in the northern hemisphere tonight.

“Not what you expected?”

Mason’s deep voice startles me. I’m ready to jump out of this cat costume when I spin on my heel. Different from earlier, he’s in a t-shirt and sweats now, and I’m jealous. I should have been doing the same and handing candy out to the kids in our neighborhood. Instead, Mason and Luke put a bowl of chocolate bars on the porch; I breezed by it in a hurry to get inside.

My shoulders sag. There’s a heaviness building behind my eyelids, making them sting. This is not how this night was supposed to go. I shake my head, afraid the floodgates will open if I speak. As much as I want to, I don’t want to give my tears to Ben when he doesn’t deserve them. And it’s not because I’m hurt. The need to cry is coming from the fury—that’s about to singe this costume to my skin—moving through me.

Mason’s speechless as he makes it over to the fridge and reaches to grab a bottle of alcohol from our stash. I sink down onto the stool at the island and rest my forehead on the counter. A cabinet door opens, then closes. Glasses clink on the counter. The twisting of a bottle cap, then a pop. Pouring. The sound of the cap going back on.

A glass slides across the countertop. “Drink.”

Without a care, I do. I reach out, taking in the glass's coolness as I put my lips to the rim and down the shot of amber liquid. A familiar toasty flavor spreads over my tongue; rum—Mason’s drink of choice. I push it back over to him, my grip still on it as I silently plead for more. He pours both of us one more. Then another. Each one, we down together, the little glasses clinking on the counter once we’re done. A burning sensation lingers in my throat, but my blood cools almost immediately, fizzing out the anger that came home with me.

Mason pushes the glasses and bottle off to the side, then leans his elbows on the hard surface. “Now that that’s out of the way…are you going to tell me what happened?”

My gaze fixates on his features when I glance up. My eyelids are growing heavy, but I catch the way his jaw pops when it tenses, anticipating my answer. With pine trees set before a white backdrop, I’m almost certain there’s a blizzard raging on in his eyes. It could be the rum, but I’ve seen that protective layer in Mason that only comes out to play once in a blue moon. With the alcohol running through me, the coldness in his stare matches that of my heart when I think about the events, or lack thereof, of this evening.

“Does it even matter?”

“You know it does.”

I sigh, propping my head on my hand. With my free one, I draw circles on the counter. “I took a chance, and it didn’t work out.”

“Putting yourself out there doesn’t promise a positive result.” I’m pretty sure he says it to reassure me, but I don’t hear it that way. Instead, it pricks at my skin and heart, immediately starting the fire back up that the alcohol washed away.

Annoyed—because he’s supposed to be helping me feel better—I roll my eyes and grumble, “Thanks for the pep talk.” Then, I twist and shoot off the stool. “I’m going to bed.”

“Kenz.” I ignore the hardness in his tone when he says my name, something else that only comes occasionally. “Kenzie.” He follows me down the hallway, his hand curling around my wrist. My head continues to move when I stop, the rum moving through me faster than I expected.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was…never mind.” Slowly, his thumb traces tiny circles across my pulse point, causing a shiver to run up my arm. His other hand tips my chin up, and his brows draw together. “The guy you met didn’t hurt you, did he?”

The dizziness intensifies, my brain growing legs and running circles. I blink. As soon as my eyelids peel open, I’m back to where I started, dizzy and ready to make the hallway floor my bed.

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