Page 107 of Gin and Lava

“Naomi, my cock didn’t fall off. It’s not covered in blisters. It didn’t get burnt at the stake. It just needs a break.”

I’m surprised at his harshness. Things have been good between us lately. More than good. Three cups of spilt coffee and he’s doing a one-eighty.

“Do you mean …” I bite my tongue.

Of course, it’s not the coffee he’s pissed about. I heard what he said before he shut the door in my face. But how do I prove to him that he isn’tjustone big throbbing male appendage to me? We’re friends. The benefits part makes it complicated, sure, but Mason’s actually a nice guy. That’s the part he’s pissed about, the need for a qualifier:actually. Ultimately, I’m like everyone else. Ididthink he was what all his lewd comments, and penis shirts, and naughty drink names implied.

I raise my chin, not cowering. “Do you meanweneed a break?” I say more confidently.

“We’rea fake relationship,” Mason replies, opening his driver-side door. “There’s nothing to take a break from.”

That hits harder than it should. But, it’s true. If his penis is out of commission, then the part that needs any definition is already on hiatus.

“I know that,” I say quickly. “I mean—” Only, I don’t know what I mean. We aren’t together. We’re having sex, but the public part is all a big show.

“Look …” Mason’s eyes soften, momentarily calming the ants crawling under my skin. “The sex is incredible. We both know that.” A blush colors his cheeks and it warms my chest. “But it’s not like we’re going to have any sex here.” He motions to the beach house. “So my coffee cock is moot at this point. I just need a break from the drama, and your ex needing to one-up me every ten seconds. Okay? Plus, I still have a business to run. Go hang out with your friends. Have fun. I’ll be back later tonight for whatever’s on Shauri’s itinerary.”

“You will?” I ask, eyeing the bag he put in his car. “I mean, I’d like it if you were here.”

“Then I’ll be here,” he assures me. “We can still do the fake fiancé thing. It’s fine.”

Those words feel like a trip wire, ready to catch me at the first misstep and blow up in my face.

“You don’t have to,” I say quickly. “It’s a big ask.” I’ve been selfish. I’ve made this all about me. And he’s had to put up with Sam being a jerk. “If Sam and Shauri make you feel uncomfortable—”

“Wrong question,” Mason interrupts. “Does the fact that I’m around your friends makeyouuncomfortable?”

“No,” I say quickly—maybe too quickly, because he winces. He feels out of place. These aren’t his friends. His humor can be grating, and it’s hard to deny the looks that shoot in my direction. “I like you here.”

I glance at the beach house, but it feels far away. It isn’tmyhouse. I’m a custodian. I bent over backwards for Shauri, but she feels far away too, living on the mainland, about to get married and start a family. She’s nowhere near the life I have now, and I barely know half of the people in that house. I wish Esme was here, or some of my tangential friends from Flambé. And Mason … Mason feels easy. He reminds me that we can make jokes about everything and brush off what others think.

“I want you here,” I assert.

He nods, flipping through the rings on his key chain. “Then I’ll be back later, Tate.” He sits down and puts his key in the ignition. His car is old, no key fob, but the kind that requires turning.

“Are you sure your penis is … fine?” I ask, and a shield of armor seems to wink over Mason, manifesting itself in a wicked grin.

“You really do love my cock, don’t to you, Tate?” he teases, looking me up and down with a leer. It’s the first time I realize the humor is a defense mechanism. It’s how he keeps me—and everyone else—at arm’s length.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. “It’s a tender part of the male anatomy, and injuries shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“You want to kiss it and make it better?” he plays, continuing to push me away with the joke. “I bet you do.”

“Seriously, though,” I press. “You’re not—?”

“Broken?”

That feels too heavy.

“No, Tate. The equipment will still work.”

“That’s not why I asked,” I say, honestly worried.

“Sure, it isn’t.”

Mason turns the ignition on his old Chevy, and lets his joke hang between us. It’s easier that way, and we both know it, but it causes a prickle to creep up my neck, and the uncomfortable fake-smile on Mason’s lips reminds me too much of the men my mother dated.Keep it simple, sweetheart. Light. No need to talk long term, let’s enjoy tonight.

Mason’s pulled out of the driveway before I’ve even parsed that thought.

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