Page 136 of Gin and Lava

“I’ve never met your mom,” Mason says calmly. “But I’m sure it’s not easy raising a child all on your own. It sounds to me like she was really fucking brave. Maybe not perfect, Naomi. Maybe she made mistakes.Lotsof mistakes. But she was brave. Which you can also be, if the idea of being like your mom didn’t blind you so easily.”

What does that mean?

Mason turns around and walks toward the beach house, leaving me alone in the shadow of my aunt’s perfect Hawaiian property—the one everyone thinks my parents own. That lie is everything I want to be, but Mason seems to think what I need is to be more like the woman I can’t forgive.

And as much as I want to tell him to fuck off, all I can hear is him saying,She was brave. She was brave. She was brave …

Which you can also be.

43

MASON

Isleep on the floor.

Naomi doesn’t protest. She comes to bed late, after talking to Shauri and her girlfriends until 3 am. She steps over me onto the air mattress, and I pretend I’m out cold. For a moment, she leans over the side of the bed and traces a finger against the curve of my ear. It tickles so bad, I almost grab her hand. But somehow, I manage not to move.

She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me for a long while, then I hear her roll back over and go to sleep.

It’s sweet—that gesture.

Not exactly an apology.

That’s the perfect phrase for everything between us, everything physical, everything emotional: not exactly.

Not exactly something.

Not exactly nothing either.

* * *

My back aches like a motherfucker in the morning. Did I sleep? I guess. Does it feel like three-hundred tiny gnomes have been bashing mushroom-sized mallets against my head all night? That’s the best way I can describe it.

I need an Advil smoothie, stat!

Note to self: go home. The last thing you need is sleep on the floor in some misplaced attempt at chivalry.

I pop some pain killers and go for a run. I don’t normally do shit like that. I’m not Trifecta who probably live-streams his sunrise workout (#iwokeuplikethis #blessed #doctorsdoitbetter). But today, I need to get the kink out of my spine.

When I return, the house is awake, and people are making breakfast and pouring coffee. I open the door to the sunporch and Naomi walks up to me, looking fresh and gorgeous in a flowy dress that hugs her hips. She smiles widely in the morning light and puts a hand on my arm, her eyes hardening on me with a determination that makes her look completely breathtaking.

I’ve got to stop spending time with this girl.

Whatever she’s about to say, I’m going to crumble. I’m not stubborn like Ned. I’m the asshat who just caves.

“I want you to know,” Naomi begins, “you’remorethan an asshole with a good cock.”

I laugh. That’s not what I was expecting.

“Man, have I got you fooled,” I sass to keep things light. She’s trying to apologize, which is nice. My problem is I can’t look at her without feeling clouds in my head. This girl messes with me—badly.

“We’re friends, right?” Naomi asks, her tone getting softer as she glances back to the crowd in the kitchen, flipping waffles out of the iron and onto expensive-looking plates.

Friends? I shrug, not wanting to get pulled into whatever mental game she’s about to play. “Sure,” I say noncommittally.

“You deserve better, too,” Naomi admits. “More than some girl using you.”

That catches my attention. “Are we breaking up, fake girlfriend?”

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