Page 44 of Played
“It’s probably no less than I deserved. Could have been the perfect revenge.” I laugh, but the poor attempt at a joke doesn’t land well.
“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice full of concern now.
I shake my head. “Kind of numb. There’s so much to do. The funeral. The will.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot. You need any help?”
I blink at him, confused.
He clears his throat. “I mean lawyer wise. I’m sure Drake would help out.”
“Honestly, I don’t know yet. Gonna have to take each day as it comes.”
There’s a knock at the door, and Hayden is back. “What is it?” Mason asks with a sigh, like he’s annoyed at being disturbed, which is unlike him. He’s the kind of boss who always has plenty of time for his employees.
“Just wondered if you needed any help,” he offers breezily. “You know, with Deborah being sick today.”
“I’m sure I can cope for one day. And I’m in a meeting.” He gestures at me.
Hayden looks flustered. “Sorry, sir.”
I suppress a smile at his dismissal of Hayden. He’s never done that to me when I’ve interrupted a meeting, which I’ve done both purposely and accidentally.
Mason leans forward in his chair. He has his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and he rests his forearms on the desk. I distinctly remember trailing my tongue over a thick vein there last night. “Did you mean what you said?”
Fuck, he wants to talk about that? Maybe if I feign ignorance… “About what?”
“About the reason you came to my place.”
I could lie, but I owe him the truth. “Yeah. I meant it.”
He doesn’t reply but simply nods and leans back in his chair. As we stare at each other, the room grows thick with unspoken words and sexual tension. While we agreed to one night, I know we both want more.
I can tell by the way his dark eyes keep drifting over my torso, his pupils blown wide. By the slightest change to the rhythm of his breathing.
He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt, and I stare at his neck. The place I had my mouth last night. The sweet, salty taste of his skin has my dick aching to be let out of my pants.
“You know we can’t do this, right?” His voice sounds pained.
“Why not?”
He pinches the spot between his brows. “I just can’t. We agreed it was one time. We both said that.”
I know I hurt him, but fuck, that was eighteen years ago. How long will he make me pay for it? “Fuck, we were kids, Mase.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
The light in his eyes dulls. “Yeah. You’re right, King. We were kids. It meant nothing. Right. You told me that already.” He’s hurting now too. I can hear it in his voice.
“I never said that,” I growl, my temper flaring. “I only meant… How long can you go on punishing me for something I did eighteen years ago?”
“How long?” he repeats. “You say that like you didn’t ghost me for eighteen fucking years and then walk back into my life a few weeks ago expecting me to forget everything that happened. And you know what? I wish I could forget it. I really fucking do.”
I don’t understand him sometimes. He’s so full of compassion and forgiveness, but he refuses to get past this one thing. I fucked up. I hurt him. But how can he not see that I always loved him?
“I think you should leave. You’re good at that, right?”
I take a deep breath and stop myself from telling him to go fuck himself. Stop myself from kissing him until we can’t breathe. Neither of those scenarios are likely to end well.
So I do what I do best.
