Page 3 of I Choose You

Luke narrows his gaze on Mason, then Layla. “Don’t even fucking think about it,” he says in fake warning. “You team up with him, and you’ll lose me for good.”

I snicker to myself because it’s such a lie. A big, fat fib that all of us see through. There’s no way in hell he’d ever walk away from Layla. We’re not blind. We all see the way they look at each other.

Layla slides around in front of Luke, pressing their chests together as much as his gear allows, and cranes her head back to peer up at him. A grin teases the corner of her mouth before her teeth drag over her bottom lip. “Don’t worry,” she says, drawing the words out softly, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Now, that,” he says, suddenly grinning as if he’s won the lottery, “I like the sound of.” Luke whisks her to the end of the bench for more privacy, all while whispering into her ear. I move to the other side, sitting down to work on my gear. I zero in on the Velcro on each piece and peel it away.

I’m lucky enough to have Mason to keep me company while Luke is distracted. He strips out of his gear, tugging and pulling at the straps that keep it fastened. Dark jeans appear as he pulls his paintball equipment off, hugging him in a way that accentuates his lean, muscular legs. His chest piece is next, revealing his maroon pullover underneath that’s splattered with neon yellow paint—and I get the faintest flash of skin when it rides up two inches too high. I’m quick to ascend back to his top. It enhances the hue of his irises, the forest green that brightens when he scoots next to me and catches my gaze.

“Have I ever told you how much I enjoy watching you demolish him?” He says it only loud enough for me to hear.

My pale, porcelain cheeks turn pink at Mason’s admission. I’ve always enjoyed his praises. The extra attention rounds out the jagged edges of my childhood—and heart, making it less heavy.

As good as it feels, I don’t miss out on the opportunity to pester him over how quickly he was disqualified. “He wasn’t the only one I demolished.”

He angles his body toward me, then swipes his thumb across the plumpness of his lower lip. He holds his other hand out, and I slap the piece of gear I tear off into his hand.

“That’s different,” he says.

I move to work at the straps on my legs. “How so?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Just is. The only reason you don’t take him out first is because you like messing with his head. You think I don’t know how much you enjoy the rise you get out of him when he pouts over his loss? I know how many wins you have under your belt, Kenzie. We all do. You’re on a streak I doubt will end anytime soon.”

He’s not wrong. It’s entertaining as hell gaining another win, especially at Luke’s expense. If he weren’t so loud during gameplay, he’d have a better shot at winning.

“You’re smart enough to keep track of Luke while you hunt for me. He could be a mile away, and you’d hear him coming.”

For Mason, paintballing isn’t a competitive shooting sport. It’s hide and seek. “Yeah. But you need to learn to find better hiding spots.”

He smirks, tossing one of my pieces of gear onto the pile next to him when I hand it over. His voice captivates me when he says, “Maybe I wanted you to find me.”

My heart skips a beat, and again, a chill runs down my spine, slithering along my body in a way that makes me wonder what it would be like for Mason’s smooth hand to do the same. Then, just as fast, I squash the thought, knowing damn well that the arousal I feel is from years of friendship and a lack of physical intimacy in my life. “Either way,” I swallow, “I would have found you.”

He moves closer, reaching a hand behind me to undo the strap across my back to help get the last piece of my chest gear off. “Maybe,” he whispers, “maybe not.” He leans back and smiles. Seconds go by as I pull the heavy protection off, hand it over to him, and ignore the flipflopping he’s caused in my stomach. "On another note, it was nice getting out. Work is crazy,” he admits. “To be able to let go of some of the tension,” he takes turns rolling his shoulders a time or two, “feels so damn good. I needed today. To get out here with you and Luke.”

Concern fills me at the idea of Mason’s workload. Managing social media campaigns for up-and-coming companies isn’t easy when you’re a one-man team. His formula draws in crowds and creates financial success for companies far and wide. His boss needs to give him vacation time. Eventually, the mountain of work on top of him will cave in and hold him hostage. More so than it already does.

“That bad?” I ask with worried brows.

“It just seems like all these companies are getting off the ground at the exact same time. The success from that sports drink account seven months ago has them requesting that I take over their campaigns, which I don’t necessarily mind…”

“But it’s a lot of work,” I say, finishing his thought.

He nods, pressing his full, silky lips together, then breaks out into a yawn, and I immediately want to stomp into his office and tell his boss that he’ll be taking the next week off. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, and the scar along his jawline comes into focus when he turns his head, the consequence of a serious game of capture the flag as kids.

No matter how much I love his drive and focus, I hate how much he pushes himself. He wouldn’t be walking around with a bluish tint under his lashes if he learned to take a step back when needed.

He knocks his shoulder against mine then, causing my gaze to shift to his tired eyes, and smiles. For months, he’s been living at the office, going in early only to come home well after dinnertime. He’s thrown himself into the ring, and his opponent is himself.

If his work ethic weren’t so damn fastidious, he wouldn’t overexert himself.

I eat up the warmth of his grin, hoping there will come a day when he learns to take better care of himself. But I realize how unlikely that is. I’m aware that we’re breaching this crossroads where work is what’s most important right now. Still, I’m not a fan of the exhaustion that lingers in his features.

Mason, the gentleman his mother raised him to be, grabs most of the gear, save for a few lighter pieces, and we return it to the front office. As we head back to the car, I somehow revert to reflecting on Luke and Layla’s relationship as they remain glued to one another’s sides ahead of me.

My face must twist in thought because Mason questions me, “What’s with the look?”

I value Mason’s thoughts and advice more than anyone else I know. While I love Luke just as much, Mason and I’s friendship has always been more potent, which is why I nod to the lovebirds in front of us. “Did you think that would ever happen?”

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