Page 31 of You Girl (The Lucky Girls 3)

“Oh.” Hit and run? Seriously? He’s got a boyish charm that draws me in and makes me forget what I’m trying to do here.

“I’m serious when I say I want to spend some time with you.”

I shake my head. “I’m here for Michelle, on the company’s behalf.”

“So, you’re not going to let me see you again?”

No, I can’t see him again. Not when he makes my stomach erupt in butterflies and sets my skin on fire just by the way his eyes linger on my lips or his hand brushes against mine when he tells me something interesting. He’s trouble, and if I let him get too close…

The server appears with our food, and I’m saved by the distraction. I ordered grilled chicken with a side salad. Mason ordered a steak and vegetables. The server refills our wine glasses before he leaves, and I watch Mason pick up his steak knife and get up close and personal with the piece of meat he ordered.

He’s delicious to look at. I can’t deny that—Mason is tall and broad with square shoulders and muscles that bulge beneath his suit jacket like they want to burst free. He wields the knife with ease, and the piece of meat is putty in Mason’s hands.

His square jaw is set in concentration.

When he looks up and catches me staring, I blush. He offers me a grin that makes me feel even more off-balance than I already do.

Damn it, compose yourself.I blame the wine for making me feel so loopy.

This happened the last time I drank around Mason, too. That’s got to be it—it’s the alcohol. It takes away my inhibitions and smashes my carefully constructed walls so that I can’t think straight and I do stupid things.

Like sleep with him.

God, I want that again. I want him to strip me naked. I want his mouth on my skin, his cock buried deep inside me. I want him to murmur my name with his deep voice right up against my ear.

Heat washes through my body and pools between my legs.

No, I scold myself.

I can’t let that happen again. I can’t lose control like that.

We make small talk while we eat. I talk about my job at Ruby Blue and how Michelle head-hunted me herself. He tells me about how he earned a scholarship, got drafted for a team, and how things unfolded from there.

While I listen to him talk and we compare our lives, I realize we have a lot in common. We don’t have the same background, but we know what it’s like to have to fight for survival, to make it work despite the odds.

Not a lot of people understand that about me. It makes me feel warm when I think about it. It’s nice to think someone gets me. When I compare this Mason to the one that didn’t call me back, he’s not the same man. I created an asshole in my mind, a jackass who used me. But this man isn’t anything like that.

“I’ve never been much of a fashionista,” I say when we talk about ending up in a situation we never thought we’d find ourselves in. “But I think I’m learning as I go along. I have a big project lined up that I’m excited about. Turns out the fashion world works better for me than I ever imagined.”

“It’s good to have something to look forward to. I think that’s what I missed the last couple of years.” He puts a forkful of creamed spinach in his mouth and his square jaw moves as he chews. Even when heeats,he’s hot.

“What’s that?”

“The part where I get excited. I always loved football but the past while I just wasn’t excited about games and I wasn’t so pumped about wins. I think that’s when I knew it was time to move on.”

“Are you sad to let it go?” I ask.

He nods. “In a way. It defined me for a long time. It’s a big change to give it all up.” He tugs at his tie. He’s been doing it all night. It’s endearing. He has a lot of money if his football career and this restaurant are anything to go by, but he seems almost out of place.

“I can’t imagine dedicating my whole life to something like that,” I say. But that’s not true. I know what it’s like to dedicate my whole life to a cause—I’m a mother. It’s the very definition of sacrificing everything and living for someone, or someone, else.

When I think about Kylie, I shut down. What am I doing? For a moment, I allowed myself to enjoy this dinner, to believe that getting to know Mason and seeing him again could work. But I’m not the carefree college graduate I was back in the day. I have so much baggage. And I have a daughter. Nothing about me is simple and uncomplicated.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Mason asks.

“I don’t know.” I struggle to put on a face when dread fills my gut. I scold myself for thinking I could be happy in a snap. “I guess I’d hope to get a promotion or two on the way and have responsibility. Maybe run one of the offices if Michelle goes to the next.” I swallow hard, the salad in my mouth not as tasty as it was a moment ago.

“That sounds great,” Mason says. “I’m working on my five-year plan. I’m not quite there yet.”

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