Page 41 of Mase
But his words are also striking because it’s not dissimilar to his mother’s past relationship, where she was the victim just like he is. Only, I’m not sure he realizes it yet, and that’s something he needs to come to terms with himself, so I don’t mention it.
I scan over Mase and his gorgeous self. “She’s insane.”
He chuckles, and his lip lifts at the end. “Well, that may be so, but our divorce left me with a lot of issues.”
Pulling into the parking lot of a diner, he turns the engine off before facing me. His fingers toy with the strands of hair that have broken away from the braid he insisted on me wearing.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Sum. But I can’t have you getting into bed with other guys. You’re either all in or not at all, sweetheart.”
I find myself nodding to his words, but deep inside, I know it’s me who’s going to hurt him with my secrets.
TWENTY-TWO
MASE
The diner is justhow I remember it, so much so, I swear it hasn’t even been painted. The thought should turn my stomach, but the nostalgia from bringing Summer here has me smiling from ear to ear.
The last time I was here was with my best friends and fresh out of high school. It’s where we planned our dream of building STORM Enterprises and everything in it.
I never could have imagined where it would lead us today, and I sure as hell never imagined sitting here in the exact same booth with a girl almost young enough to be my daughter, whom I’ve quickly become infatuated with.
Summer sucks on the straw of her milkshake, and my cock twitches at the reminder of her perfect lips suckling me in the truck the other day. It’s without a doubt the most sexually vulnerable position I’ve ever been in before, and it’s something I want to experience with her again and again.
The bell above the door chimes, and I grimace as another group of teenagers pushes into the diner.
There’s already one group in football shirts becominglouder by the minute, and Summer has taken it upon herself to slink into the corner away from their view. When I asked her what was wrong, she pointed out one of the guys from the office. The one who poured a drink over her head, the very same one I will be speaking to before he leaves here, but I need to pick my moment. I’m not going to make a scene in front of her. The last thing I want is to cause more waves, knowing how pissed she is that I switched her phone out. What she doesn’t know is I’m having someone check through all her messages to be sure there’s nothing to be wary of. Especially with Hugh’s comment about me watching Travis around her. Maybe the little fucker is not the friend she thinks he is. Just another reason to keep them apart.
“Hey, Summer, why the hell are your messages bouncing back to my phone?” As if the devil himself summoned him to fuck with me. I snap my gaze up toward the punk she calls her best friend. Travis. Just the sound of his name has me gritting my teeth. Fucking Travis? Sounds like his parents were groupies and he got caught up in the middle of it.
Summer flushes bright red, and if that color was on her cheeks because of me, I would like it a whole lot more, but I find myself irritated by the fact she’s been made to feel uncomfortable. My knuckles ache from the tightness of my balled fists, and I move them beneath the table to disguise my inability to control my simmering temper.
“I-I… I need to use the restroom,” she blurts out, and I realize she’s turned pale really quickly. She springs up from the booth and pushes past Travis before rushing off in the direction of the restroom, holding a hand to her mouth, and my eyes narrow. What the fuck?
“You’re keeping her from me.”
I slowly trail my gaze up toward the kid who is glaring down at me like I’m something he stepped in, a sneer on his preppy-boy lips. Turning my attention back to my meal, Ipick up a fry, dunk it in the mayo, then take my time chewing it, not so much as giving the kid another glance.
“She’s my best friend,” he snaps, and I have to hand it to him; the kid has balls to stand up to me.
Still, I ignore him.
“Did you hear me? I said, she’s my best friend.” His tone has darkened, and I love the fact I’m pissing the little shit off.
“Not anymore,” I grunt out with a sly smile.
A whoosh of air leaves his chest as if I’ve punched him. Then he scoffs and shifts from foot to foot. “Wow, you’re just like him, aren’t you?”
Languorously, I lift my gaze and nonchalantly raise my eyebrow, though my body is standing at attention.
“Your father. You’re just like him. Like father, like son.” Then he turns on his heel and heads toward the restroom, leaving me frozen at his words.
Am I just like him?
He’s controlling.
Manipulative.
Abusive.
