Page 96 of Gin and Lava

Work I’m going to do naked and turned on, after Mason Haas has walked away from me.

I’m in an alternate reality, because none of this makes sense, and yet, I’m actually kind of excited to make some boards on Pinterest.

That’s easy.

It’s fun and inconsequential.

It’s not like I seriously have to do anything with it.

“Goodnight, Mason,” I say softly, knowing he’s still lingering on my porch, watching.

“Goodnight, Princess,” he whispers back, and when I turn to look at him, he’s gone.

I don’t know why that feels disappointing. Sure, I wanted to have sex again, but that’s not really it. Some piece of me just wants him to sit on my couch and watch television while I’m working.

It’s a silly thought, because we’re not together. And still, without him in the room, pinning pins is starting to feel big and important. My brain is overinflating it, and I want him to tell me it’s nothing.

Odd. I never would’ve thought that Mason Haas would be the one to make me feel calm.

27

NAOMI

The beach house is stuffed to the gills with people, airbeds, and French toast.

French toast is a generous word for the gluten-free, dairy-free, fat-free slabs of toasted cardboard that Sam is cooking over the stove and drizzling with sugar-free syrup. For a health nut, his “cheat” breakfast seems to be one-hundred-percent chemicals. I’ve yet to take a bite to see if it tastes as awful as I expect, finding myself distracted by the 3Ms who are gushing over Sam’s culinary skills and making it clear they’d like to take a bite of Sam for breakfast instead.

Sam’s eyes cut to me as the 3Ms worship the carb-free ground he stands on, a twinkle in his gaze asking if I’m jealous of all the attention he’s getting. I ignore the ping in my gut that loved it when other women fawned over Sam when we were together. He got to be my trophy as much as I was his. When you both see each other as a trophy it’s equal, isn’t it?

“I’m going to finish setting up the airbeds,” I announce, pushing my blonde hair into a bun and ignoring the 3Ms giggling. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Sam holds up a spatula and pouts. “But you barely touched that.” He points to the super-food toast I’ve left on the plate for the 3Ms to swoop in like vultures and prey upon.

“Oh, I ate before I arrived this morning.” I shrug.

That’s true if you count half a cup of black coffee a balanced breakfast. Honestly, I spent the morning pinning boards on Pinterest and buying bed linens. I could definitely eat, but the last thing I want is to be a 3M groupie groveling at Sam’s feet. If Mason was here, he’d make a joke about how I already got my fill of sausage and sticky syrup. And last night, I did. Oh, I did.

I consider making the joke just to make Sam’s face curdle. But I don’t give in to the temptation, smiling to myself like I’ve got a secret. The creases in Sam’s face deepen. He’s not sure what to do with me when I don’t bend to his puppy-dog pouts. In the past, I would’ve gobbled up his taste-free breakfast and praised his culinary genius. A tiny white lie to stroke his ego. Mason, on the other hand, would point to his pants and make a joke that he’d rather I stroke his ego with my hands.

I laugh out loud.

Even without Mason around, I can still imagine every lewd thing he’d say to make this situation more bearable. And weirdly, that makes me feel lighter.

“What?” Sam asks. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks redden. “Just a stupid Mason thing.”

“What kind of a Mason thing?” Sam presses, his eyes boring into me and trying to dig up my shame. It’s a judgment for dating Mason, but there’s another layer under the anger that’s jealous. Sam wants to know what could possibly make me laugh and blush so furiously.

“Don’t worry about it,” I dodge. I’m untamed with Mason in a way I never was with Sam, or any man. I’m a whole other woman when Mason’s inside me—which is a thought that makes my face flush even hotter.

Sam glowers. He could tear Mason’s head off, even though he’s not here. It’s clear my pink cheeks have something to do with sex, and that flips Sam’s polished composure to a primal dominance that wants to reclaim what he threw away.

It’s invigorating to have this kind of power over Sam for once. All that anger bundled up. All that polished cool threatening to come undone. Regret is finally inching into Sam’s gaze.

I smile again and saunter into the patio, snagging the final airbed and linens as I go. I’ve only pulled the airbed out of the box when Sam strides into the covered sunroom that overlooks the ocean. I pretend not to notice him, laying the bed out in the furthest corner and plugging it in.

“Where is he then?” Sam asks, not bothering with his normal decorum. “Your foul-mouthed fiancé?”

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