Page 45 of I Choose You

“You’ll make it there first.” It sounds reassuring, but I don’t trust the downpour on the other side of the car door. “On the count of three.”

My hand is stiff on the handle as I prepare to push the door open and sprint.

Pulling in a deep breath, I blow it out when he says three and fling the door forward, hoping it’s enough to push it open and force it closed without turning back. A half a second later, I hear it slam and push one foot in front of the other. My shoes slap the cement walkway as I race my way to cover. My nerves hush from the combination of adrenaline and rainstorm.

Mason yells out behind me. “Go, go, go!”

Like it’s possible for my muscles to work harder.

Still, my brain tells them to go faster. Mason is hot on my heels as my feet thump off the ground with each step. I lift a hand over my head as if it’ll protect me from the rainfall. A beat later, I move forward another step, only for my foot to slip. My entire body careens. My feet no longer take turns pushing off the path leading to the porch. Instead, they fly into the air, competing in height. My body twists slightly, my one hip demanding to win the plunge to the ground. I yell out when my hip hammers against the wet path, and pain spreads over it.

And poor Mason. He tries to catch my fall but ends up clattering to the ground, half underneath me.

20

Mason

With my back against the sidewalk, I cough out, “You had one job.”

She winces, lifting her head from my leg. “Be glad your hip isn’t searing with pain like mine.”

With my eyes skyward, I blink away droplets that hail down before covering my face with my arm and tucking a hand under Mack’s armpit to help her up. While I may have broken part of her fall, most of her body smacked the hard pavement. She came down like a ton of bricks. Quick and hard. Oh, and we’re also soaked.

“We need to get inside before the storm washes us down the street,” I tell her. I’m slow as I wedge my body from under her, careful not to move her too abruptly since she’s experiencing pain, her wailing shriek as she fell evidence enough.

Once on our feet, I move my hand around her back and guide her gently, aware that the last time I was this close to her was when my mouth was on hers. It comes back in a rush, all too real. Does she taste different now? Does something else replace the taste of alcohol coating her tongue?

Fuck. I can’t think about that right now or the fact it’s strangely exotic, wondering what’s been in her mouth.

I dig my keys out hastily and embrace the safety of being under the porch roof. She leans against the side of the house, and I do my best to twist the doorknob and usher her inside.

The doormat absorbs a puddle of water when I comb a hand through my hair. “Sit on the bench.”

She shakes the suggestion away as I slam the door behind us. We linger for a minute, deciding our best course of action. Our clothing is sticking to us as if it’s a second skin, but I’m not keen on tracking a trail of water through the house. Unfortunately, it seems like our only option. We can’t strip in the foyer, not after Layla’s dare.

I would combust from the pressure alone. Not out of embarrassment, no. From arousal and the needy desire consuming me more as each day passes. Mackenzie is doing shit to me I never thought would happen. Yeah, I fucking care about her, but that kiss persuaded everything I feel for her to come to the forefront of my mind, making it nearly impossible to push them to the side.

Her hair wildly sticking to her skin and her red-tinted nose from the cold makes matters worse. Those tiny beads of water on her cheeks do nothing for my sanity.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, trying to sound convincing, though I can tell by her pursed lips that she’s trying her damnedest to hold back a grimace. The wrinkle between her brows is another tell-tale sign. I wish I could take my thumb and rub it away, along with the pain.

“You’ve been limping since you stood up.” I point to the foyer bench and lower my brows. I’m intent on not letting her skate around this. She took a nasty fall. No way in hell am I going to let her ignore that. “Sit down for a second.”

She emits a breath, half-annoyed that I’m telling her to cool it before going about her daily routine after work. “I need to get out of these clothes, Mase. I’m sopping wet.”

I place my hands on my hips as I watch her favor her better side. “The clothing is the least of our worries if you’re hurt.”

She frowns, narrowing her stare at me. “I’m not eighty, Mason.”

I motion for her to turn around so I can help her with her jacket, then hang it on the hook by the door next to mine. She uses the wall as a crutch, her palm splayed against it as she hops an inch away.

“At least let me help you to your room,” I implore. “That way, I know you’re good.”

Her back arches, and her nostrils flare every time she lets out a teeter-totter of air. Any tension from the car evaporates, and her discomfort replaces it. A mix of emotions grips me. As much as I’d love to yank her to me and show her how I really fucking feel, I hate seeing her this way.

“Bathroom,” she says after a wince when she tries to apply too much weight to the side she fell on. “Help me to the bathroom instead, please.”

My arm loops around her waist, and I offer my other arm for support. Slowly, we make it down the hall, our clothes rubbing as I push the door to the bathroom open. I loosen my hold when she’s close enough to sit on the tub without my help. As she slips her shoes off, I take in the wetness of her jeans. They’re nearly black from the rain, and I have no clue how she plans on getting them off without adding to her pain.

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