Page 69 of Played
Holdingonto my glass of Scotch like it’s a comfort blanket, I spot him walking up the stairs of the theater bar. He smiles when I catch his eye. Dressed in a fitted white shirt with dark dress pants, he looks fucking edible.
I will my legs to stay still and not run in the opposite direction. It’s only a show. There are hundreds of people here, all with friends, family, and partners. Nobody is paying any attention to us. Well, except for the usual admiring glances he always attracts.
Mason winks when he reaches me, a rolled-up program in his hand. “That looks good.” He nods toward my drink.
I didn’t think to get him one—another stark reminder of how rarely I do anything like this. “I probably should have gotten you one too.” A bead of sweat trickles down my back. “You want a sip?”
He laughs. “Seems like you need it more than me. Relax, okay? It’s only a play.” He nods toward the doors. “You ready?”
I down my drink and place the glass on a nearby table. No, most definitely not ready, but I follow him inside the theater anyway, and we take our seats. I’ve been too nervous to pay attention to the name of the show or who’s starring in it, but as soon as I look at the program Mason is reading through, I recognize the name of the star performer—Tommy Castle.
“Didn’t you used to date this guy?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Mason shrugs, still poring over the pages. “A lifetime ago, yeah.”
An unexpected growl rumbles in my throat, and that gets his attention. His eyes narrow. “That’s not why we’re here, King. He’s a friend.”
I roll my neck, feeling uncomfortable. We’re in the front row, some of the best seats in the house, and I feel on display. “I know. I just…”
The house lights dim, and he gives my thigh a subtle squeeze. “It will be fine.”
It’s more than fine. The play is engrossing. Tommy gives a great performance, confirming he’s much more than an action-movie hero. But sitting here with Mason is the most incredible part. His warm thigh rests against mine, and the occasional brush of our hands ignites the constant spark between us.
When the play ends, Tommy gets a standing ovation. We join in, and Mason whistles for his friend. Tommy flashes him a wink.
“You want to come backstage to say hi?” Mason asks.
“To Tommy?” Your ex? The guy who eye-fucked you from the stage? I don’t voice those last two things. “I thought we were going for food. I’m starving.”
“We will,” Mason promises. “It will only take a few minutes, and then we can get out of here.” He weaves expertly through the crowd, and I follow close behind. A hefty-looking bouncer with half a dozen facial piercings stands at the stage door. He recognizes Mason and waves us through to Tommy’s dressing room.
There are several people in here already, but as soon as Mason walks in, Tommy makes a beeline for him. “Mason, you came!” He’s beaming, and who can blame him? Mason James has that effect on people.
Tommy looks like he’s about to hug him, but Mason holds out his hand to shake. “Of course, Tom. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Tomtakes Mason’s outstretched hand and then glances at me, and I realize I’m probably scowling. Mason introduces me as his buddy, which pisses me off. Yeah, it’s exactly what I asked for, but I didn’t know I’d be meeting his fucking ex.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Tommy asks me.
“Yeah. It was really great. Congratulations.”
He nods. “Thanks, man.” He refocuses on Mason. “You guys want to come to the after-party? It’s nothing huge. Just the cast and a few select people.” I don’t miss the way his eyes rake over my boyfriend. It’s obvious he’d much prefer to attend a party that involved only the two of them.
Mason shakes his head. “Can’t. I have an early meeting tomorrow. But thanks for the invite.”
Tommy’s eyes dart between the two of us before fixing on Mason once more, and he raises an eyebrow. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends,” Mason assures him.
Tommy licks his lips. “Shame about the party then. Maybe next time?”
“The play was incredible, Tom. I’m really pleased for you,” Mason says, expertly dodging his question. “We’d better get going.”
We say goodbye, and a few minutes later we’re being let out of a back door into a quiet alley. “You didn’t want to go to their party, did you?” Mason asks.
“No. But did you?” There’s no cause for the accusation in my tone. Mason gave zero inclination he wanted to do anything with his ex, but the guy is a Hollywood star with abs of steel and an ass that looks like it’s been carved from marble—I’ve seen it in movies.
He stops in his tracks. “You know I didn’t, King.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. He’s standing close, his hands by his sides, and I can tell he’s trying hard not to touch me. It’s every bit as difficult for me. I want to push him against this building and remind him that he’s mine, but I can’t. Not even in this quiet alley. “I hate that I can’t touch you,” I whisper.
