Something’s shifted.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mason
I can’t explainwhat drives me to chase after her.
Something about the way Daisy looked at me, like I was some kind of asshole, has me twisted up inside.
The ache sitting heavy in my chest only gets worse as I watch her walk off. Did she really think we’d said all that shit about her? The idea gnaws at me.
Before I know it, I’m jogging to catch up. When I spot her standing with Kieran, I slow my steps, running a hand through my hair like that’ll do anything to calm the tension rolling through me.
“Hey,” I say, nodding at Kieran as I step up.
He glances at me, then back at Daisy. “Hey, I’m sorry to cut this short, but we should head out. I’ve gotta meet the seller downtown.” He looks at her like he’s genuinely sorry, which, honestly, annoys me more than it should.
Daisy shrugs. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“I can drive her,” I say before I’ve even thought it through. The words just come out. Kieran arches a brow at me, clearly surprised.
“You sure?” he asks, but there’s no suspicion in his voice, just that easy trust he always throws around.
“Yeah, no problem.” I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to act casual when my chest’s about to implode.
Daisy glances at me, her expression unreadable. “I don’t mind,” she says quietly.
Kieran leans in and kisses her, soft and quick, but it’s enough to make her blush. She turns to me, face pink, and I don’t even try to stop myself from noticing how good that damn shirt looks on her. His shirt.
I clear my throat. “You wanna swim some more, or should we head out?”
“I need to get home,” she says, then hesitates. “But can we stop by a pet store first?”
“Of course.”
She looks at me for a beat, then says, “Thanks for not telling Kieran what we were talking about.”
I shrug. “Not sure he’d have minded.”
Her lips press together like she’s not so sure about that, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls the hem of the shirt down like that’s gonna cover her bare legs any better. It doesn’t. My throat dries up as I force my eyes to stay on her face.
When we pull up to the pet store, she glances at herself, then back at me. “I can’t go in like this,” she says, gesturing to the oversized shirt. “What if someone recognizes me?”
She’s right. Kieran’s name comes with fame, and the last thing she needs is a picture of her in his shirt splashed across some gossip site.
“I’ll go,” I say, already stepping out.
Her brows lift. “You?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“It’s for a kitten,” she says like she’s warning me, reaching for her wallet.
“Seriously, I got this,” I tell her.
Inside the store, I grab the basics—food, a little bed, toys, even a damn scratching post—because if I’m doing this, I’m doing it right. By the time I get to the register, my head’s spinning. I’ve never even had a pet, and now I’m playing errand boy for a kitten.
When I get back to the car, she’s still in that shirt, her legs tucked under her like she’s trying to disappear. I shove the bags in the back and hand her the receipt.