Page 57 of Off Plan
Mason rubbed his lips together, and I wondered if he could still feel me there. My cheek burned where he’d kissed it.
“Hey! You said not to think too much!”
“Lame.” I ran my fingertips over my face, touching the spot where his mouth had been. Every muscle in my body was gripped with sudden tension. “I could think of a thousand more exciting things without breaking a sweat. Pecking someone on the cheek isn’t wild. I used to kiss my aunt that way.”
“Kissing aguyon the cheek is not typical. Not for me,” he said quietly.
My gaze followed his to the phone in his lap. In the photo on the screen, Mason’s eyes were closed and his lips were pressed firmly against me, but he was smiling, too. Pleased with himself. Maybe pleased he’d taken this dare.
And me? My eyes were half-open, my lips parted in surprise, but though the image was still, I could feel my whole body leaning toward Mason,wantinghim. Longing.
How fucking awkward.
When a peck on the cheek turned a guy like me into a yearning idiot, it was a sign I’d had enough beer… and enough trading confidences.
“Well, the dare was for you to challenge yourself,” I said dubiously. I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms against my nylon shorts. “So Iguessthat counts. The real challenge will be posting it on Instagram where all your friends could see it. No hashtags. No apologies. No explanations.”
I was almost positive he’dnever, and maybe reminding myself of that would help me get over this infatuation.
Mason looked up, his eyes searching mine in the near darkness. “This was for me.” He shut the phone off. “This is nobody’s business but mine. And yours,” he added.
“Let’s be honest. It’s mostly yours.” I forced myself to speak dismissively, as though the image of him pecking me on the cheek wasn’t indelibly inked in my brain. “Straight guy fun. Always amusing, until it’s time to share the joke.”
“That’s not—” Mason’s voice was small. Hurt.
I hated that. I hated this whole situation thatI’dstarted by inviting him here tonight when I had really known better.
“Kidding, Loafers! I’m kidding. Hey, I’m hungry,” I interrupted, clapping a hand to my stomach. “You hungry? I’ve got some chips upstairs, I think.”
“No, I—”
“Yeah, just as well. Getting late anyway, huh?” I gestured to the skyline like maybe he hadn’t noticed the sunset. “We should get back up there, otherwise we’ll be stumbling around on the boardwalk with our flashlights in the dark, and I know you don’t dig the dark.” I waved at the forty-foot bridge over the sand dunes, which was less than ten feet from where we sat. “This was fun, Loafers!” I adopted a bright expression as I clambered to my knees. “You’re a great guy, and I’m glad we cleared the air. We should grab a beer together again sometime.” Just not this much beer. And not anytime soon.
“Stop!” Loafers commanded, pushing his hand firmly against my chest, preventing me from standing. “You’re freaking out again. And you’re running away again, too.”
“Once again, not running. In fact, witness me, stillon my knees.”
He shook his head, his hand still poised above my heart. “Tachycardia,” he murmured. “Racing heart. Dead giveaway. Either there’s a hungry T. Rex behind me and you’re paralyzed with fear, or…”
“Or?” I shot back.
“Or.” He licked his lips, and his cheeks blushed pink. “I don’t know.”
Except he did. That blush said hedid.
Fuck.
“Illuminating, Dr. Loafers!” I wished like hell that he’d remove his hand from me, but felt like me forcibly removing it would be giving too much away. “Don’t read anything into it. Some guy once told me stimulus is stimulus.”
He swallowed and looked up, his green gaze slamming into mine. My breath hitched.
“That guy sounds like an idiot,” he whispered. He bit his lip. “Hyperventilation, too, Fenn?”
“Don’t do this, Loafers.”
“Do what?” His fingers dug into the skin of my chest, but he sounded honestly curious, like he hadn’t a clue what he was doing. Like maybe he hoped I’d tell him.
“You don’t want my stimulus anywhere near your stimulus. Remember, Mason?”
