Page 28 of The Associate

The Mustang roars to life; I can feel the rumble in my core. The gates open for us and then we’re speeding out onto the street and towards our destination.

His eyes are focused on the road, occasionally glancing in my direction. I watch him the whole time. I know he is driving fast and weaving in and out of traffic, and any normal person would be holding the door handle with a death grip and pressing for that invisible brake pedal, but I feel safe with him. I know he will make sure nothing happens to me.

“So where are we going anyway?” I ask as he slows to make a turn.

“Just a little coffee shop I know.” He gives me a quick smile, the panty-dropping kind. The kind of smile that I feel inside me to my core. “It’s a quiet little place, just down the road from the bar.”

“Granny’s Diner?” I ask. My mother used to work there part-time and every weekend we would go for coffee.

“That’s the one, have you been there before?” His hand reaches over towards my leg, but he hesitates, pulling his hand back and placing it on the wheel again.

I want the touch, the warmth of his palm, and I can’t help the pang of disappointment I feel as he pulls away.

“I used to go there with my mother before she passed.” I pick at my fingers in my lap, sadness washing through me at the thought of her, but also stopping myself from reaching out to him for comfort.

“It made you happy coming here. But you haven’t been back for a long time because you wanted to keep those happy memories?”

I just nod.

The rest of the drive is quiet. My thoughts are on memories of my mother.

The chicken noodle soup she would bring me when I was sick as a child, and even in the last few years of her life. She never once stopped taking care of me. It wasn’t until her last few months, where her health declined, thatIwas there byherbedside every step of the way, until she took her final breath.

She took my hand, squeezing it tightly, her eyes becoming glassy as she said, “Make sure your father never controls you again. You need to do what you must to avoid him controlling you,” and then her eyes closed and her hand went limp. It had been that moment that I vowed to my mother and myself that I would do anything I could to take out Salvatore De Luca.

The feeling of Mason’s hand on my shoulder jolts me out of my memories and I jump slightly. “Whoa, it’s ok.” I instantly feel the cold as he moves his hand away again. “We are here.”

“Oh, sorry.” I move to undo my seat belt, but his hand lands on mine, silently asking me to wait. Nerves run through me and my eyes look at his lips for a moment, internally begging him to kiss me.

I look up at him with a questioning look, and he leans in closer to me. His face is mere inches away from my own. Now I want to taste his kiss. I’m breathing in his scent, whiskey and leather.

I could get used to this scent.

“Where did you go just now?” he whispers, a hint of mint coming off his breath.

“I– how– I was right here.”

He shakes his head. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.” His head tilts to the side. “In your mind, where did you go?”

I glance down at my feet in the footwell of the car. “Back to the day my mother passed.”

His hand moves up to my cheek, sparks coursing through my body and I am wondering if he is feeling the same. With a gentle swipe across my cheekbone, he leans back, unbuckling his own seat belt. He climbs out of the car and makes his way around to my side, opening my door for me.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” He smiles and closes the door after I step out.

The diner is just how I remember. White wood tables, red bench seats with a silver metal trim around them. An old jukebox at the back near the bathrooms with music playing in the background. Occasionally skipping. The bar area has a few people sitting at it but the diner is empty otherwise. Which is good for what I want to ask Mason to help me do. I just hope that he won’t go running back to my father and tell him my plans.

“Let’s go and sit back here.” Taking my hand, he pulls me towards the back booth. One where he can see everyone walking in and out of the place.

As we sit down, I look at him. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“Have you eaten?” he asks, changing the subject.

“You know damn well I haven’t eaten.” I raise a brow at him. “If you didn’t notice this morning, I had just woken up when you came knocking on my door.”

“Well,” he chuckles. “It’s not my fault you were up at stupid hours of the night, now, is it?”

That smirk of his will be the death of me. “I would have been asleep if I weren’t so worked up from being locked inside the house like it is a prison.” I sigh.

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