Page 93 of Grand Love

What the fuck are we doing?

She reaches past me, riffling around on the shelf behind me. She grabs what looks like a pillowcase. “Follow me,” she demands.

And like a damn dog, I do.

* * *

Nina

“I am not wearing that!”

“Yes, you are.”

“It’s a pillowcase.”

“It’s an extra-wide case. I never use the pillows, they’re too big.”

I take the scissors from the draw and begin to cut out holes. My hands shake as I cut through the fabric, and I know it’s because of what just happened. I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting to want Mason as desperately as I do. I want to feel ashamed, or mad at myself, but I don’t. Not when it feels so natural to want him.

He still feels like mine, like I could reach out and touch him, as if he belongs to me and no one else. And that’s why I pulled away, because Mason Lowell isn’t mine anymore.

“You’ve lost it, you know that?”

“Maybe.” I finish and turn it in the right way, then hold it out to him. “Here.”

“You really can’t control yourself any better? This is needed?”

“Put it on or drive home half naked. It’s your choice.”

Snatching the pillowcase, he curses under his breath, pulling the cotton over his head and fighting his way into the makeshift armholes.

Because of the size of the case, it fits him, and it’s still loose in places.

“Well?” he asks.

My first dimple pops and then I am gone, bent over in hysterics at the beautiful specimen standing before me, wearing a pillowcase.

“Only you could make it look semi-hot.”

“Ridiculous.” He shakes his head, storming past me and dropping down onto my sofa.

I continue to laugh as the corners puff out at the shoulders.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll take it off, and then all hell will break loose. Do you want that?” he asks, completely serious.

“Are you threatening me with sex?” I laugh harder.

“I never implied sex, Nina.” His face gets even more serious, and he rearranges himself again. “Jesus Christ.”

“Your clothes won’t be long then you can go home.” I sit down on the opposite sofa—feeling like it’s the safest thing to do—and try not to look at him, remaining focused on the TV.

After ten minutes, I feel his eyes on me and when I turn to face him, he jumps straight in. “I think we should have an evening a week where we have dinner together. For Ellis.”

Shit. Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. The evening has been good. Ellis loved having Mason here, but do I really want to tie us to one night a week, putting us both in a position to be around each other. We rarely last five minutes without disagreeing on something.

“You could come to the penthouse, or I could come here,” he suggests.

“I wouldn’t come to the penthouse.”

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