Page 6 of Meant to be Falling
“It’s been a long time since I had fun, and today was definitely fun.” I pause, biting my bottom lip and watching as his gaze drops to my mouth.Huh, that actually works.“I just don’t know what happens next.”
Taking my hand, Mason tangles his fingers with mine before bringing them to his mouth. Pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles, he holds my gaze as he says, “You let me buy you ice cream and we go from there.”
“You want to buy me ice cream?” I ask in disbelief.
“I want tostartwith buying you ice cream.” He brushes my hair off my face and tucks it gingerly behind my ear. “I like this thing between us, Lana, and I don’t want it to end when I walk you to your car.”
His words are sexy—romantic and demanding all at once. It’s the perfect combination, and I can feel myself nodding before the words even leave my lips.
“I want that too.”
“Good. I know the perfect spot.”
I followedMason from the dirt lot to a small, roadside ice cream place that had a fresh coat of white paint and a red awning and only about half the flavors of the bigger shops.
“Have you been here before?” I ask as I peruse the menu, deciding between mint chocolate chip and chocolate.
“I have; everything’s good.”
“Sampled them all, have you?” I tease as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his side. It shouldn’t feel so natural being this close to him—wantingto be this close—but I can’t deny the way my soul is absolutely singing at the contact.
“A time or two.” His lips quirk up and I shake my head. “Can I help you make a decision?”
“I’m stuck between mint chocolate chip or chocolate.”
“Are they both your favorite?”
“No, strawberry was my favorite, but after having my daughter I’ve developed an allergy.” I gulp, the sound audible because I hadn’t meant to just drop that bomb without warning. I expect Mason to make up an excuse and bolt, but he just smiles and tilts his head toward the menu.
“Allergic to strawberries and looking for a new favorite—got it. I’d go for mint chocolate chip.”
“Sold,” I say, completely in awe at the way he didn’t even flinch.
After we place our orders, we grab a seat at the picnic table. When our ice cream is ready, Mason jumps up and grabs them both, mint chocolate chip in a cup for me and black cherry in a cone for him.
The ice cream is delicious, the mint and chocolate working together in perfect harmony. It’s nice.
Comfortable.
But it doesn’t take long before my need to self-sabotage rears its ugly head, the words falling out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I have a lot of baggage, Mason, like a lot and I just…” I laugh softly. “Making out with strange men I just met isn’t me.”
“We already established you had fun, but if you want to exchange traumas, I guess we can do that too.”
I stare at him, surprised, the questionwhat could you possibly know about traumaon the tip of my tongue.
But the words never leave my lips, because devastation swirls in his bourbon-colored eyes, and I have no doubt the scars he carries are far worse than mine. So instead, I try for levity because for some reason, I can’t let this go. I want him to know what he’s getting—even if it’s just for one night.
“I’m a divorced, single mom with two kids and a jerkwad of an ex-husband who cheated on me with an unknown number of women during our marriage. My best friend is actually oneof his mistresses who didn’t know he was married, and after he cheated on her with hiscurrentwife, started digging and found me. I had to get a job after being home with the kids for over eleven years, which is fine but humbling when you have to explain to people why you have such a gap in work history. Even though stay-at-home moms should be celebrated because that shit ishard…they’re not.”
“Anything else?”
“I can’t remember the last time I had sex and didn’t thinkI could have done it better myself.” I nod. “Now I’m done.”
“I’m twenty-three, placed in foster care at the age of seven. My father killed my mother and he was paroled a couple of years ago. After my mother died, I was placed with my aunt, my mother’s sister, but she died not long after due to heartbreak and a prescription meds cocktail. I bounced around homes for a while, and then when I was nine, I found Bodhi.” Mason looks out at the nearby field. “He’s my brother in all the ways that count. Saved me. Protected me. Loved me.”
“You’ve lived a long time,” I say, acknowledging all the things he’s not saying, and his lips kick up just a little in one corner.
