Page 57 of I Choose You

I lift a shoulder and smile. “I’m rewarding you for a job well done.”

He smiles and looks at my lips, the promise of more kisses in our future translating through. “Okay, one for the road.” He presses a quick kiss to my mouth before bending to pick up our goggles and pushing my pair into my chest. We both reposition them on our heads, then he grabs his gun from the ground.

Before he leaves, he looks back and winks. “May the best team win.”

26

Mackenzie

Pained whimpers beg for release as water pelts down on my skin. The protective gear did well except near my shoulder. The bruise is still there, but the welt looks better than it did. After giving Mason a five-second head start, I darted out of the wooden structure only to be met with an unexpectedly fierce Nelly. She didn’t offer a warning or call out, just fired shots. Most hit my gear, except for one.

I twist the shower lever, turning the water off. Carefully, because of the lingering bruise on my hip, I step out of the tub and wrap a towel around my body. The reflection in the mirror makes my shoulder look like a sunset. Where my skin rises from the welt, tiny blisters outline the bruise. Unlike when Luke threw the remote at Mason, this does hurt as bad as it looks.

I open the cabinet above the mirror to search for the vitamin K lotion we have on hand. I forgot to put it on yesterday and don’t want to go without it any longer since it will cut down the healing time. “Where the heck is it?” I move Band-aids and antibiotic ointment out of the way and search.

“Aha! There you are.” I snatch it, twist the cap off, and set it on the sink.

The door creaks, swinging halfway open, just enough for me to see a mop of dark hair as I check for an expiration date on the container, and then it is closes again.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Mason yells out.

“It’s fine. I’m almost done.”

Mason’s voice is unclear behind the door, preventing me from hearing what he says. He must have gotten in early from work. It’s the only explanation for why he’s home shortly after me on a Monday. “Just come in. I can’t hear you!”

The door pushes open, and he makes his way in, resting his back against it when it closes. “I said I didn’t realize you’d be in here. I figured Luke shut the door and forgot to open it like he always does.” His stare creates tingles across my skin. “I’m not used to being home this early. Is he even here?”

I shake my head. “His car isn’t out front.” At least, it wasn’t when I got home.

He scratches his cheek. “Didn’t think to look. Sorry, it’s been a day. Richard is pumping me with information for the move,” he tilts his head to the side to ease the tension, “and my mind is elsewhere.”

I curl my finger into the ointment jar and spread it over my bruised skin. Trying my best, I gulp down a twinge of discomfort that moves to the center of my chest, though I’m not sure if it’s because of the mention of his move or my sore skin. “It’s not much longer, is it?”

His voice is small and careful. “Three weeks.”

My finger stills—three weeks?—until I catch myself.

No, it can’t be. How did it go from over two months to three weeks this fast? Time really does fly by, and I can’t help but feel let down. It’s no one’s fault but my own. I know that, but it doesn’t stop Mason from trying to soothe me.

He makes his way over to the sink, placing a hand on my bruise-free shoulder to turn me in his direction. “Let me help?”

I’m too afraid to say a word, so I shift toward him. His thumb dips into the lotion before he smears it over my skin. “She got you good.”

I look down and try to bounce back from my sudden onset of emotions. “Don’t tell her that. She might think she has a chance next time.” I pause, looking straight at him. “If I wasn’t distracted, your team wouldn’t have won.”

A devilish smirk covers his mouth. “Maybe so, but if we went back in time, I’d do it the same each and every time.”

I grow quiet at the thought of what happened. My memory conjures images of his hand in my panties, running his fingers over me in circles until I couldn’t see straight. The coiling of my nerves only for them to rush throughout my entire body like the Tasmanian devil.

I clutch onto the top of my towel while he finishes. He twists the cap onto the container, rinses his finger, and dries it using the hand towel next to the sink. When he turns back to me, his expression turns serious, like he’s conflicted. “I don’t want you to overthink the move.”

I don’t expect it, but it turns my anxiety on. Are we really going to address this? Right now? We’ve been so distracted by the shift in our relationship that we’ve been pushing off the discussion of what happens once he leaves.

I shake my head, looking down. “Mason.”

I don’t want to talk about it.

“No.” He lifts my chin. “I mean it.”

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