Page 72 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
“We were leaving the front for you since you’re largest,” I tell him when he squeezes in next to me.
“You know I get car sick, Willow,” AshLynn says from the front seat. “I have to sit in the front seat.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” I say.
“Well, I do.”
She doesn’t sit in the front seat in a town car. But I refrain from bringing that up for now.
The driver confirms the address and we are on our way. Only instead of heading to dinner, I feel like we are on our way to a firing squad and I’m up first.
I try to make myself as small as possible between the two men flanking me. Zach is nowhere near as big as Mason, but he’s still a big guy. I squeeze closer to Zach in an attempt to not touch Mason. It doesn’t work. As soon as I free up a little bit of room, Mason takes it. I scoot my legs to the other side of the hump in the back seat and he spreads his legs a bit more. I lean to the side, he’s able to straighten his shoulders. His upper arm presses against mine, our thighs fuse together, all I feel is heat everywhere his body touches mine.
My face warms even though there’s nothing touching it. I can’t get enough air to my lungs and I’m fairly certain my heart is going to beat out of my chest. I place one hand to my throat, hoping the coolness of my fingers will temper the boiling under my skin.
His cologne makes me dizzy. I indulge in a quick fantasy where I climb all over him and roll in his scent, he smells that good. I don’t know what kind of cologne he wears, but it’s light and spicy at the same time. Maybe with a bit of sage or sandalwood? He hasn’t worn it before when we’ve been working.
Tonight is the first time I’ve smelled it on him. Which makes it seem as though I go around smelling him, and I don’t. If I pass by him I might take a whiff. And it’s possible I smelled his shirt once when I accidentally put it in with my laundry.
Accidentally on purpose.
To be a nice host who caters to his needs.
I’ll show you how to cater to his needs.
I bury my laugh in my hand and go back to my less lecherous thoughts. Like how I almost tripped over myself when I first walked into the living room earlier tonight and saw him sitting there with Zach laughing over something that was said. To say he cleans up well is an understatement. Dirty, sweaty Mason is delicious. But dressed-up Mason is like the cherry on top of the delicious.
He’s dressed in all black. Black slacks, black button-down shirt, black shoes and socks. Which is not an easy look to pull off. I know from experience. There are way too many variables in shades of black. But Mason makes it work.
Zach scolded me earlier for my crush. But in the same breath admitted that he has one on him too. Only his crush is allowed because “Lil’ Brooks is not his sister.”
I wish I could pinpoint what it is about Mason that makes him so desirable. He’s good looking, but so are a ton of other guys. My dog loves him and vice versa, but she loves Zach too. He’s good with his hands, but construction workers are a dime-a-dozen in the Seattle area due to all the expansion work. His smile makes my heart swell. And, well, yeah, no one has ever done that before.
Sigh.
Mason is out of the car quickly when we arrive at the club. He helps me out first, then turns to open AshLynn’s door. I like the feel of his callouses against the palm of my hand. Which makes me wonder how they would feel on the rest of my body. Which makes me pinch myself so I can snap out of this senseless train of thought.
It’s just a crush.
You’re testosterone starved.
Zach chooses that moment to put his arm around me, and I lean into him. Sadly, he doesn’t count as testosterone. I mean, he does, but not the kind I need.
We’ve arrived five minutes before we are supposed to meet my parents and are told they are having a pre-dinner cocktail.
That sounds good to me.
We file through the bar area in a single line following the hostess, with AshLynn taking the lead and Mason bringing up the rear. I love this time of day, when the sun is setting behind the water and the entire bar is cast in its pinkish glow.
“Oh look, Willimena, it’s so romantic,” Zach murmurs in my ear from behind.
“Dork.” I laugh.
We reach their table, which only seats two, forcing us to stand there in a half circle in front of them.
Ready for inspection, sir.
Not one to disappoint, Cassandra gives us all a once-over, subtly nodding her approval.
