“International.”
He raised an eyebrow, flipping through and pulling out that section of the paper for me. “Hm, that’s different. Carrie always asks for entertainment first.”
“My husband reads the comics first.” I looked at the paper just to have something to do. The news was too depressing for me anymore. I didn’t watch or read it. I couldn’t stand to.
“Let me guess,” I mused. “You read sports first.”
“Politics.” He winked. “And health and medicine of course. But I won’t deny checking the NHL standings occasionally.”
I sipped my coffee, surprised at the flavor. “This is really good.”
“Gourmet coffee. One of my indulgences.” He smiled sheepishly. “Kona’s a Hawaiian company. A little bit of tropical heaven in a cup.”
“You guys like warm places,” I observed. “Carrie was telling me about the timeshare in Florida.”
He nodded. “My parents’ place. Yeah, my girl loves the sun. Looks like you’ve got quite a head start on her in that department though.” His gaze moved down over my thighs, lingering there. I’d only been hanging out with Carrie for a week and I was already darker than she was.
“I just have that olive sort of skin that tans fast.” I felt my cheeks flush at the intensity of his stare.
31
“It’s lovely.” He sipped his coffee, our eyes meeting over the rim of the mug. He had dark eyes and the way he looked at me made me wonder what he was thinking.
“Thank you.” I put my coffee back on the TV tray. “Well, I should get home. My husband…” How to finish that sentence? He wasn’t waiting for me. He hadn’t been home since Carrie had heard us fighting, and that had been a bad one. The worst yet.
“We should all get together some time,” Doc suggested.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, changing the subject as I headed toward the door.
“Carrie really likes you,” he said and I stopped, my hand on the doorknob, to look back at him. “I just wanted you to know. She’s had a hard time here, since we moved from Boston, finding people to connect with. I’m glad you’re friends.”
I softened at his words. “I’m glad too.”
My front door was locked. I’d gone out the back into the yard to sunbathe with Carrie and had forgotten to bring my keys. If I hadn’t gone all the way around back, I wouldn’t have known Mason was home until I got inside. His moped was parked in our yard, chained to the fence. It was the fastest way to get around campus and his parents had bought him one last Christmas. Only the best for their boy. My heart leapt when I saw it.
I went through the back door into the kitchen, closing it quietly behind me.
Jezebel came over to greet me with a quizzical “mew,” asking where I’d been all night. I noticed a can of food opened for her on the floor. He hadn’t bothered putting it in her dish and he’d left the lid half-on, the edge sharp, but at least he’d fed her.
32
“Here precious.” I picked up the can. Miss Picky had only eaten half of it. I turned the rest into her bowl, tossing the can into the garbage. Her tail rose immediately and she settled herself in front of her dish as if to say, “This is more like it.”
I took a deep breath and opened our bedroom door. The screen was still propped against the wall—it had been a week and I still hadn’t managed to figure out how to put it back—but at least I’d remembered to shut the window before I left.
“Mace,” I whispered. He was on his back in bed, snoring gently, an arm thrown across his eyes against the light. The sheet didn’t do much to keep out the sun and it was getting bright. I hesitated, part of me desperate to climb in with him, another part of me heeding the “warning” sign flashing in my head. I went past, into the bathroom, turning on the shower. I stood under the hot water for a long time, until it started turning cool, before getting out and toweling off.
“Dani?” His voice was sleepy, eyes still closed as I opened the door.
It was warm and stuffy—we didn’t have air conditioning—especially with the steam of the shower seeping into our bedroom, and Mason had just the sheet tangled around his waist. He was a beautiful man, his arms defined, chest broad. He’d cut his sandy brown hair, buzzed it short for the summer, and I fought the urge to get into bed with him and run my hand over his shorn head.
“Where were you last night?” he asked.
I snugged the towel around me tighter, just looking at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to fight.”