Page 30 of Making It Burn
"This is ridiculous," Mason said, but he was smiling.Actually smiling.
"This is freedom," I corrected."No parents, no arctic temperatures, no Gracie judging my life choices."
"I liked Gracie."
"Everyone likes Gracie.She's a national treasure."I took a bite of pizza, savoring the greasy, perfect comfort of it."Thanks for helping today.I know Patsy voluntold you to help, but you didn't have to stay."
"I wanted to."The words came out quietly, almost reluctantly, like he hadn't meant to say them out loud.
I looked at him, and he looked back, and for a moment the air between us felt charged.Dangerous.
"Mason—"
His phone buzzed, shattering the moment.He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted to something more guarded."It's my dad.I should—"
"Take it.No problem."
He stood and walked to the window, phone pressed to his ear."Hey, Dad...Yeah, I'm just helping a colleague move...No, it's fine...I know...Yes, I'll be there for dinner tomorrow...Okay...Bye."
He ended the call and stood there for a moment, staring out at the canal, his shoulders tense.
"Everything okay?"I asked.
"Fine.He wanted to confirm I'm coming to Sunday dinner."Mason turned back to me, and the mask was firmly in place again—polite, professional, distant."I should probably head out.Let you get settled."
"You don't have to—"
"I've got some work to catch up on."He was already heading for the door, grabbing his keys from the counter."Thanks for lunch."
"Mason, wait."I stood, following him to the door."Did I—did I say something wrong?"
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and for a second I thought he might actually answer honestly.But then he just shook his head."No.I just need to go."
"Let me drive you back to get your car."
"I'll get a ride.It's fine."
"Mason, your car is at my parents' house.That's ridiculous—"
"I said it's fine."His voice was sharp.Then he softened it slightly."I need...I just need to go.Okay?"
He left, and I stood there in my new condo, surrounded by unpacked boxes and half-assembled furniture, feeling more alone than I had in my parents' house.
* * *
By eight o'clock, I'd unpacked half my books, assembled my bed frame, and hung exactly three pieces of art before admitting defeat.My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't stop racing—replaying every moment of the day, every word Mason had said, the way he'd looked at me before he left.
I just need to go.
I stood in the middle of my half-unpacked living room, surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap, and felt the walls closing in.I didn't want to be alone.Didn't want to spend my first night in my new place obsessing over someone I couldn't have.
Mason and I worked together.We had a massive case to win.Getting involved would be complicated at best, career-ending at worst.He was off-limits.Period.
Which meant I needed to stop thinking about him.
I pulled out my phone and opened Google Maps, typing "gay bars near me."A pin dropped immediately—Therapy, on Grace Street.Less than four blocks away.
I could walk there.Have a drink.Talk to someone who wasn't Mason.Remind myself that there were other men in Richmond, men who were available and uncomplicated.
