Page 23 of What are the Chances

“Sorry. Uh, never mind.” I grip my whiskey and throw back the rest. “None of my business,” I choke out, the whiskey warming my throat on its way down.

Why did I ask that?

“For the record, I don’t,” Mason says with a smirk. He reaches forward to pull my glass away from me, and I give him a smile. Silence falls between us, just staring at one another. Finally, he clears his throat.

“What’s the story with you and Kyle? How come he didn’t come with you on this trip?”

Right. My boyfriend. Shit.

I release a heavy sigh and lean forward to snag something breaded from the spice bag.

“Work. He couldn’t get the time off to come. He said something urgent came up.” I lick my fingers while Mason looks down at the table. The muscle in his jaw jumps a bit, and I want to reach out and touch it. “That’s what he says, anyway,” I add, shrugging.

“What do you mean?”

Replaying the complications of my relationship in my head, I try to sip from my empty glass and frown.

Mason laughs and scoots his beer along the table, offering it to me. I take a tentative sip and continue.

“It’s just, ever since last year, things between us have been awkward and strained.” I’m slightly aware I’m oversharing, but the whiskey has this magical ability to make it to where I don’t care.

“What happened last year?” Mason carefully asks, still digging through the greasy bag of food.

Suddenly, worried he’d eat the whole bag, I reach for it to snag a few pieces of fried fish. He laughs under his breath at my thieving ways, then allows me to continue, his face filled with curiosity.

“I came home early from a work conference and found him video chatting with a girl, trying to break up with her from the sounds of it, saying he couldn’t keep doing this to his girlfriend. I caught the tail end but saw the woman on the screen crying. When he saw me, he freaked out and slammed his laptop shut, trying to reason with me, telling me it was nothing but an emotional affair.” I shrug, trying to let loose the emotions still attached to finding out the man I loved started loving someone else.

I eyed the beer in front of me, but as soon as I look up, Mason’s face is filled with red hot anger. His eyes have an entire hurricane brewing in them. His teeth are tightly clenched, the muscles under his jaw continue to tick, and his fists are clenched tight on the tabletop. I swallow, feeling like his anger is almost a living thing.

“Did he ever tell you where she was from? Was she from the States?” he finally asks, after a few tense seconds.

I narrow my eyes in confusion at his very specific question but answer just the same. “Spain. She was from Madrid.”

Something lights in Mason’s eyes, more anger than worry. They’re red and fierce, a stark contrast to the way they were a few moments ago before the conversation about Kyle and his infidelities. I can’t tell, but I feel like he was done with the conversation and with our evening. He slaps a bill on the table, paying for our drinks and food, then walks around to my side. He places his hands on either side of me, gripping the top of my barstool, caging me in.

Leaning in until he’s next to my ear, he whispers, “And you forgave him?”

I swallow back the lump of unrelenting attraction I have to this man and nod.

“I’ve been trying. We separated for three months, but he begged me to come back to him. He promised it was only me. I don’t like giving up on people.”

Mason sighs and turns his face a fraction, and I can feel his lips graze my ear.

“You deserve better.”

He steps back, creating distance between us, not allowing me the chance to conjure up the right words. It’s like my mind had all the answers but couldn’t deliver them to my mouth. He keeps his gaze on me.

I still don’t know what to say, but I accept his outstretched hand and let him tug me to him. We stand close, my forehead level with his lips. I could be wrong, but it almost feels like he barely lets his lips press against my skin. The whiskey is clouding my ability to discern how close he really is. Mason could be twelve inches from my face but still feel like he’s only centimeters away. I have to remind myself I was likely drunk if not at least more than buzzed, and regardless, I’m not a cheater.

Suddenly, pulling me away from my thoughts, he tilts my head back a fraction and runs his thumb along my bottom lip. The motion takes my breath away, my chest feeling like it’s about to cave in. I close my eyes, willing my heart to stop hammering, willing my body to stop pressing further into his. Then without warning, he steps back and grabs my hand.

“Come on, let’s go home.” His mouth turns down in a slight frown, then in a flash, his frown disappears and is replaced with a reluctant smile.

I let him lead me out of the building and call us a cab, letting him continue to hold my hand. His words have sunk into some very broken place inside my heart. I did deserve better, I had for a long time. If I was here to find a piece of my history, maybe it was time to let go of my past.

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