Page 53 of Penalty Box
Outside, the night hit us like a slap in the face—cold, dry, and sharp.
“I’ll drive,” Mason said.
My keys were already in my hand, so I couldn’t help but laugh. “In your cute little Neon?”
“Is there something you want to say to me, Cass?” He did a horrible job at feigning insult.
“I just did. Get in.” I popped the lock on my car, and Mason jogged around to the passenger side.
When he slid in and shut the door, the space between us crackled. Not from something banal like static from our clothes, but from the promise of what was about to happen. The thrill of doing it in secret.
By the time I started the engine, I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. I drove with one hand clenched tight around the wheel, the other resting too close to his knee. Something played softly on the radio, but I couldn’t have said what it was. The only sound I focused on was the breath between us, like it was holding the night still.
“We’re really doing this,” he said when we got to my apartment building. As if it had only just occurred to him.
He sat looking straight ahead, hands flat on his legs. Thinking. If I paused too long, really gave myself the chance to take it all back, I probably would have.
So I hurried out into the cold instead. “We’re doing this, Calder. Get your ass inside.”
He followed me inside, eyes on my back, silent as a shadow. I ignored what I could, trying to avoid his hesitation from seeping into me. I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t to stop.
“Cute.” His eyes swept over my place. Quaint living room and quaint-er kitchen beside it. My latest assignment was strewn over the coffee table, forgotten.
“That’s one word for it,” I replied. “But it’s home.”
Mason gestured toward the thrifted bookshelf crammed with hockey biographies and dog-eared novels, looking impressed. “I read this one last year.”
He was about to go over and pull it out, when I tugged his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Huh?” And he seemed honestly confused.
I huffed a laugh and guided him purposefully until his back met the closed front door. “Why are you still talking?”
His mouth was on mine in the next second, hot and demanding, no more small talk. I rose up on my toes, arms wrapping around his neck as I pulled him into me like it would make the world stop spinning. Mason’s hands gripped my waist and spun me around, flipping positions, and slamming me hard against the door. He leaned in with his full weight, letting his warmth shiver through me.
I let out a shaky breath. “Take it off.”
The questioning hesitation that had been with him all night was gone now. Mason stepped back and pulled off his jacket. I kicked out of my boots, watching as his shirt went next, revealing bruises—new and old—along his ribs and shoulder.
“You’re a mess.”
He smirked. “Heavy is the head…”
“Careful that ego doesn’t turn you into an insufferable ass.” My shirt fell to the floor, and I fell back against the door.
Mason closed the distance again, his bare chest burning against my skin. “Can’t fool me, Cass. You like it.”
God help me, I did.
I slipped under his arm and moved toward the couch, keeping eye contact with him the whole way. He chuckled softly, then followed. Like I knew he would. When I sat down, he leaned down and caged me in with his arms.
“Cass,” he said, soft and rough all at once. The way he looked at me…
I was seconds away from being devoured, and I wanted it more than anything.
“What?”
“I don’t want to do anything you’re going to regret in the fresh light of day.”
