Page 15 of The Spare
My mouth waters. His forearms are thick with prominent roping veins that cause my pussy to clench at just the mere thought of him working out.
Fuck, I love watching a sexy ass man do arm day in the gym.
My brow raises at the sight of his expensive watch glinting in the sun when he raises his hand to rub across his jaw. He used to laugh at Hendrix for stuff like that. Not now, I guess. Now, he's embracing everything he used to sneer at.
Mason screams money, and here I show up in a frumpy black shirt and Dollar General leggings. The whole outfit probably cost half the amount of one of his shoes. Teresa's obviously judging me, her brow raising when she sees me, though she keeps quiet. The only time I ever let her touch me is for an event.
Richard turns his head and pins me with his eyes, breaking out into a fond smile. At his father's distraction, Mason's speech ceases, and he turns his head slightly to no doubt see what's distracted his father.
Our eyes lock, causing my heart to begin to bang out of control, but I keep going.
Breaking our eye contact, I head to the table to take my usual seat across from Mason and smile politely at everyone. Ready to get brunch over with and leave.
Isobel and Hendrix finally make their way in. Vivian, Teresa and Brody's daughter, races over to fling her arms around Mariah,thankfully distracting everyone. However, there's always one person who manages to keep their eyes on me.
Mason's mom Maribel, leans over and gives me a wink. "Hello, beautiful." She greets me with her softy accented voice. "How are you?"
"Ohhh." I smile back and reach for my glass of water. "Not much has changed since last week other than I'm now seven days older since the last time I saw you, Maribel."
I inwardly panic as a broad smile curves her lips and a spark enters her eye. She waits until Richard sits down and Mason pulls his chair out, obviously trying to catch my eye, but I keep my gaze averted, picking at my nail as the chatter escalates while everyone finds their seat at the table.
Just when I think I'm in the clear, Maribel leans forward again.
"Dearest," she says, bringing my eyes back to her where I give her a closed-lipped smile. "Speaking of getting older-"
Oh no.
-"I was speaking with Isobel. And, well, because she's so close to the end of her pregnancy, she graciously relented to letting me host your twentieth birthday party this year!"
My brows raise."Oh, Maribel. There's no need for-"
My words die, obliterating to nothing as Isobel leans over, gushing over Maribel and thanking her and Richard for being so amazing and helping her out. Offended, I sit back in my chair and sip my water again. Not even bothering to speak up. It doesn't matter anyways.
It never does.
Mason's stare burns a hole into the side of my face, but I keep mine on Mariah and Vivian, dedicating myself to a life of no children. Because there's no way inhellI'd subject a child to this kind of life. A life where you have no autonomy and have no say over anything.
A life you can't live for yourself.
His stare is unrelenting, so I turn my head to meet his gaze head-on while I take another sip of my water, almost jumping in my seat when I feel his foot press into the side of mine. He gives me a cheeky smile and a wink, not saying anything. But Mason and I rarely talk in front of our family. Instead, we leave our discussions to the four walls of Richard and Maribel's study, or my dorm, or the park when we run.
They don't know how close we are.
I press my toes into the top of his foot before giving him a playful little kick. His brow arches and he tilts his head as he puts a bite of pancake in his mouth. We hold each other's eye contact. His eyes flick across my shirt, and I can virtually hear him teasing me about my outfit without him even having to open his mouth.
Teresa's voice breaks through my bubble, though, but Mason can't tell.
Orwon'ttell. It's hard to know with him sometimes.
"Your sister's talking to you," I say simply.
He blinks, turning his face to the side to see Teresa scowling at him."What's up?"he says in a bored tone.
"I said how's work going, jerk?" Teresa asks, rolling her eyes. "Jesus. Why even come to breakfast if you aren't going to talk to any of us?"
His eyes slide back to mine, and I blush, looking down at my plate of food. Chasing around the diced potatoes as his foot presses just a little harder against mine, and I foolishly let myself imagine he comes to these breakfasts for me.
"Work is going well. Thanks, Teresa," he says in his smooth voice.
