Page 72 of The Young & the Sinner

But I was a little sad with the state of his apartment. There were no personal things around that told me what kind man Mason was. It was almost like he wasn’t living here but only occupying the space for the time being. Max said he needed furniture, and I could see that they had bought some, but it covered the bare minimum: an L-shaped couch that took up most of the space in the living room, a small dining room table that seated four, and some barstools.

I was sure he had more furniture in his bedroom, though I doubted it was much.

“Give me a tour?” I asked.

His smile widened. He waved his hand in the general direction, because he had an open floor plan and everything could be seen from where we stood. “Kitchen, living room, dining room. And through that hallway are the bedrooms and bathrooms.”

I walked to the hallway on my left and Mason turned on the hallway light, though it wasn’t necessary. The lights he had on in the living room were enough for me to see. I thought it was because he didn’t want to be left alone in the dark with me again.

I shot him a look; one he pretended not to notice. There were three doors. One led to a bathroom the size of Max’s walk-in closet, which wasn’t bad, and one that led to what I assumed was a spare room that he turned into his office. There was a huge wooden desk placed front and center, a window as a backdrop, showcasing Chicago’s impressive skyscrapers, and at the far end, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with books. I spent a few minutes reading over the titles and was impressed with his collection. There were so many different genres, from fiction to science fiction, nonfiction, and even law textbooks.

Mason stayed behind me, a silent presence I couldn’t ignore. I felt his eyes on me as my fingers skimmed the spines. When I turned around, our eyes met, and I couldn’t be sure what it was exactly that he was feeling. Did he like having me in his space?

This room was obviously one he spent a lot of time in. There was an open book lying face down on the recliner and an absurd amount of paperwork on his desk that gave me a slight headache just looking at it. It reminded me of the state of Max’s office at home, which he spent more time in than his own bedroom.

“I like the books,” I said, when the silence became too much.

Mason looked like he wanted to smile but didn’t. He nodded seriously, and I got the distinct impression that he was amused by me. “Thank you. Max told me you are quite the reader. What do you enjoy reading most?”

“Plays,” I blurted out. “Mostly classics. Typically ones that was written in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.”

My cheeks felt hot under his gaze. Mason nodded, as if he was taking a mental note of that information. I brushed past him on my way out. He dutifully followed behind me.

The last door I opened was to Mason’s room.

I knew it was the master bedroom because there was an ensuite bathroom, a king-sized bed, and at least some personal belongings, like the suit jacket draped on the back of a slightly raised barred footboard.

His briefcase was on the floor, leaning against the wall by the door, and the bed was neatly made. I walked further into the room and took in the impressive size, trying my hardest to ignore the huge bed in the center of the room.

When I looked back at Mason, he wasn’t in the room with me, but standing at the threshold, his arms braced on either side of the doorframe. He was looking anywhere but at me, and he seemed nervous for some reason.

He probably didn’t want me in his room. This was, after all, his personal space. I walked to the door, and Mason moved slightly to the side, leaving enough room for me to past. Just I was about to walk past him, Mason gently grabbed my bicep, stopping me.

We didn’t say anything for a long minute. The place he touched me felt as if I was being electrocuted, with bolts of shock shooting into my system just from his hand.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

I smiled. Dinner with Mason at his apartment? I couldn’t think of anything better. “Starved.”

“Good,” he answered gruffly. “I’ll order some takeout and have them deliver. Is there anything you want specifically?”

I shook my head. “I’ll eat anything that doesn’t have scallions.”

His lips twitched. “No scallion. Got it.”

When he let go of me, I almost fell on my butt. It was as if his touch alone had steadied me, and I had to learn to rebalance myself all over again.

I shot him a shy smile and walked back out to the living room, taking up a small corner of the couch. I could hear Mason talking on the phone. I pulled mine out and texted Max.

Me: Hey, just wanted to let you know you don’t have to order any dinner for me. I’m going to eat out.

Max: Okay, kiddo. Have fun with Lizzie.

I put my phone away, my heart pinched in guilt. Technically I didn’t lie when I said I wanted to drive to Lizzie’s house. That was what I had wanted to do, initially. I didn’t plan on spending my evening with Mason, and I just knew this wasn’t something Max would approve of, even if all we were doing was hanging out.

When Mason walked back in, a dark shadow brewed behind his eyes, but it was gone as soon as his eyes found mine. I didn’t comment on that look. Instead, I met his stare heads on, feeling a slight flush making its way up to my cheeks the longer we looked at each other.

“Twenty minutes,” he said, taking a seat about two feet away from me. I eyed the space with a frown but didn’t say anything.

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