Page 4 of Gin and Lava

“You’d look great with ten extra pounds on you,” Mason compliments, nodding to my long legs and narrow frame. “Skinny thing like you.”

“Are you skinny shaming me?”

“No?” He makes a face at me like he doesn’t even know what that is. “Naomi, you could gain fifty pounds and still look like a supermodel.” He gives me a once-over like he actually means that, and I’m surprised that I actually want to take his compliment. I work hard to keep this figure. I work out, do yoga, eat all the green leafy things. I try hard.

Too hard, maybe.

“That was surprisingly sweet, Mason,” I reply, causing him to contort his face like I insulted him.

“Cake would also taste amazing on your pussy,” Mason says brashly, and I laugh. “Hey, I don’t want you thinking I’m too sweet.”

“Would that really be so bad?” I tease.

“I dunno,” he counters, shrugging dramatically. “Would it really be so bad for me to plant my face between your legs?”

“Uh …”

“That’s what I thought,” he replies, pointing at me like I ought to avoid messing with how the universe has organized things.

“Mason,” I turn and look at him as I bite my lip. This is probably a bad idea, but in the vein of not giving a crap what people think, I decide to go for it. “Do you want to dance?”

Mason twists his head to the side like I’m insane. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it.” He shrugs. “Fucking with me is three words shy of actually fucking me, so, let’s do this.”

“Mason,” I throw a hand on my hip. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Naomi,” he scolds, throwing my name back at me with the same tenacity. “I know that part already. But Idoactually like to dance. So, are you game?”

He offers me a hand.

I hold my ground, staring at him for a second, assessing if he’s going to read all the wrong things into this gesture.

“It’s cool,” Mason says. “You could also go back to playing third wheel to Esme and Desmond and dream about whether or not he’ll let you lick her pussy.”

“I’m not into Esme! She’s my best friend.”

“What about ‘don’t take anything I say seriously’ did you not understand?”

“Oh?” I lift my eyebrows dramatically. “So you don’t really want to dance then?” I spar.

“What?” He crinkles his brow, then frowns, realizing the loophole. “Okay, ignore all thesexshit I say.”

“You could trynotsaying it,” I offer.

“I could also pretend I’m the prince of Istanbul with fifteen wives who all like to pleasure me at the same time.”

“I don’t even know how that would be physically possible.” I shake my head.

“That’s because it’s a fantasy, Naomi,” he replies. “Just like you hoping I won’t say perverted shit. But if I had to think through the logistics of fifteen women—”

I slap my hand over his mouth.

“Shut up, Mason,” I laugh, and surprisingly he does, his green eyes sparkling. “If we dance, you don’t get to talk. Deal?”

“I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not,” his muffled voice says against my hand, and the movement of his mouth tickles.

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