Page 44 of I Choose You

His voice strains against his building emotions when he breathes out my name. “Mackenzie.” It’s not a warning nor a question. It’s a proposal, a suggestion that we should discuss what went down between us.

Something in my gut shifts, and my instincts warn me away from a conversation as awkward as the one he’s about to start when we’re in the middle of what seems like a freaking hurricane.

I shake my head and stay focused on the blankets of rain that roll over the windows. “Now isn’t the best time, Mason.”

I would love to see his expression, but I don’t allow myself the pleasure. If I do, I know it’ll open the door to talk about our kiss even more, and I can’t do that while worrying about getting home safely. I grip onto the door handle when we see brake lights ahead. Mason urges on the side of caution, slowing the car to avoid hydroplaning. We inch forward when the brake lights dull and make our way to a four-way stop.

“They should have people out there directing traffic,” I say quietly.

“In the pouring rain?” He chances a glance in my direction.

It sounded better in my head, but I understand how ridiculous it sounds the second it leaves my mouth. I shrug it off as we pull away from the stop and continue toward home. In the middle of the intersection, the fear-inducing blare of a horn seizes me. My body tenses, and I squeeze my eyes shut, half expecting a car to ram into us.

Mason lays on the horn and—out of nowhere—speeds up while yelling, “Slow the hell down!”

I don’t know why it’s so satisfying to shout at other drivers when you’re behind the wheel when they can’t hear you, but it is. The fact Mason yells tells me he’s as agitated as I am about the weather. For the next few minutes, his breaths come out labored and stressed. I feel sorry he’s driving in this crap at all.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“The asshole was driving way too fast. Probably was hydroplaning and would have hit us if I didn’t speed up.” He sucks in a gulp of air. “I’m sorry if it scared you, but we’re okay.”

My voice is barely above a whisper when I repeat, “I really hate this.”

He sighs, no doubt frustrated over having to deal with life-threatening weather. “I know, you said.”

We make it back to the house in one piece.

Thank God.

Mason eases into the driveway, cuts the engine and lights, flicks the wipers off, then relaxes back into the seat. The back roads were a success, but they tacked on an extra twenty-two minutes to the drive with all the stop and go. It’s close to seven now, and all I can think about is running a warm bath so I can soak away the freshly formed knots in my shoulders since my appetite is now nowhere to be found.

I glance over at Mase. He deserves an award, especially for saving me from having to take an Uber home in this and reacting quickly enough to avoid an accident because of someone else’s careless driving.

“We made it,” I murmur, breathing deeply.

“Not going to lie. I was holding my breath for about half of that drive,” he admits, doing the same.

“Believe me, I know. I think I’m suffering from lack of oxygen.” I turn to him. “Are my lips blue?”

He looks at them, and straightaway, I regret the question. His forest gaze darkens to a deep olive that almost appears black in the car's darkness. At once, the memory of our kiss showers over us, drenching us with awareness.

I swear the seconds of our kiss flash in front of him, glazing his eyes with the picture of our tongues sliding alongside each other. Warmth invades me, and a blush covers my cheeks when I recall the pull, the growing ache in my lower belly, that came with it.

His voice is tight, his expression burdened by the gummy situation we’ve put ourselves in. Or should I say, Layla, put us in? Without her dare, would he be looking at me like this? “Your lips are far from blue. Thank fuck for that.”

I shift, moving my attention out the window to cut off the energy brimming between us. I’m trying to determine how fast we can run to the front door as a distraction. We have a short distance until we’re under the porch, but there are so many footsteps from here to there. I also don’t want to get swept away by a tumbling tree branch or hit in the head by a random lawn ornament from the windiness of the storm.

At the same time, I need to get away from Mason’s stare and the weight of that night. We may need to discuss what happened but doing it in the confinements of his car isn’t the best place.

“How are we going to do this?” I question.

“We run and hope for the best.”

“That sounds promising,” I reply sarcastically.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about. You have less distance to cover than I do,” he says, ignoring the irritability in my tone.

“You have longer legs. So, it’ll equal out.”

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