Page 20 of Second to None

Mason grinned and resumed eating his cereal as though this was just your average Friday morning. Christ, I wasn’t ready. At least yesterday, I’d been able to mentally prepare myself. Should I slip away until my idiot heart slowed down, maybe grab some jeans while I was at it? Or would that be too obvious? I wasn’t supposed to care anymore. Not like this.

“Want me to stall him while you grab your tiara, pretty princess?” Mason asked, and that settled it.

“I’m taking you out of my will,” I told Mason. “Also, I’m not trying to impress him.”

“‘Course not,” Mason said. “Anyway, I plan to die young and beautiful. I expect you to cry at the funeral.”

“Big, fat tears.”

“It’s the least you can do.”

Just then, the front door opened, and Cass called out, “Good morning! Mason, Levi?”

Shit.Emily. What if he’d woken her? This wasn’t how I wanted him to find out. Not that I had a plan, but—not like this. Nor through him happening across pictures of us at Disneyland, wondering why I’d brought her here with me only to stumble over the truth. Yeah, I really had no fucking plan.

“Terrace!” Mason yelled back, which, great. With all this shouting going on, even the dead should be awake by now.

“Emily,” I muttered at him, and Mason shot me a look.

“You’ll have to tell him eventually.”

“Says who?” I asked even though he was utterly, completely right. Cass emerged into the sunny morning before Mason could tell me to stop talking bollocks. Bright-eyed, Cass was smiling faintly, a hint of a flush to his cheeks. In his fitted white T-shirt and designer jeans, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine.

Yeah. We weren’t playing in the same league anymore.

“Missed us already?” Mason asked, spoon dripping milk as he gestured for Cass to make himself comfortable next to me on the outdoor sofa. Couldn’t catch a break, could I? I tucked myself up against the arm and acted like I didn’t notice how Cass’s gaze lingered. Nostalgia, most likely. I was hardly a sight for sore eyes.

“Every second of every day,” Cass told Mason, deadpan. “Can’t live or breathe without you.”

Mason fluttered his eyelashes. “Be still, my heart.”

All right, okay. Banter? I could do this. It was my bloodytrademark, and being caught in my pants by my forever what-if wouldn’t stop me. “You two writing the next big love song? Because I gotta tell you, Bob Dylan it is not.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Mason said.

“Oh ye of little originality,” I countered.

Cass flashed his dimples at me, something lurking underneath that I couldn’t quite place. “Morning, sunshine. Got up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“No, I always look this radiant.”

He let his gaze slide down my body, one side of his mouth tugging up. “You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

Jesus, whatwasthis? Joking, obviously. Right.

“You two need a room?” Mason asked. He looked distinctly happy with himself, impervious to the glare I shot his way.

“Actually,” Cass said, suddenly serious as he turned to me before I could dispel Mason’s delusions, “if I could talk to you for a minute?”

Mason hopped to his feet like he’d been waiting for a chance to leave us alone. “I know when I’m third-wheeling in my own home. See ya!”

Subtle. Not.

Awkward silence fell in his wake, broken only by the overhead whir of a helicopter, a distant hum of traffic overlaid by the cheerful chirps of sparrows rustling in the bushes. Sunlight caught the faint shadow of stubble on Cass’s jaw, focused tension in the tilt of his shoulders, his entire body turned towards me on the sofa.

“So.” My voice was a little scratchy, easily blamed on jet lag and the morning hour. “What did you want to talk about?”

The pause stretched long enough to grow uncomfortable. His eyes darted to the sparrows, then back to me as the corners of his mouth pulled tight with resolve.

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