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rebellious, living a life where women told him exactly what to do to pleasure them and thinking this
was his only form of giving them the finger.
He wanted to break free and live his own life. He wanted control over himself.
I suddenly understood why I d always felt connected to him. We were similar souls who d been
made to feel repressed. After years of Jeremy telling me how to wear my hair, what kind of clothes to
buy, what kind of food to eat, I had grown the same rebellious, make me attitude.
The sad thing was, Mason was still living under his suppression, and he had the means to break
free; he just wouldn t. He wouldn t stop doing what he was doing until he knew without a doubt that
his mother and sister were going to be okay. But oh, Mason, you poor deluded thing. They ve
already made you.
His tat also reminded me I was acting like every other woman out there, treating him like a sex
object by sneaking a stolen peek at him. Tears stung my eyes. I was about to cover him back up, give
him back his dignity, but at the last second, I reached out and touched the dried ink embedded into his
skin, silently apologizing for my part in making him this way.
He sucked in a breath at my touch and rolled toward me, onto his stomach, where he winced and
buried his face in my pillow.
No, I didn t plan on washing that pillowcase ever again, now that you mention it. Sex object or
not, he was still Mason, and I would relish every little scent he left behind on my bed.
Retreating to the doorway, I wiped my cheeks dry and snagged up both cups as if I d just then
come into the room. Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. By my perky tone of voice, you d never guess
I d just been on the brink of weeping my eyes out.
A second later, Mason whipped his head off my pillow. What the hell? His voice was hoarse
and confused as he jerked his face around until he spotted me. Eyes widening, he gasped. Reese?
Morning, I chirped and took a nonchalant sip from my cup. So, I went out and bought us some
breakfast. There are doughnuts in the front room. When he just stared at me, I rolled my eyes. I
know, I know. Reese, you re so amazing and wonderful. Thanks for thinking of me. You shouldn t
have. But, really, it s no problem. Anything for my buddy. So& de nada.
He blinked and licked his lips, smacking them together a few times, probably to moisten a dry
mouth. Glancing slowly around the room, he winced when he got to the window and morning sunlight
blinded him, doing wonders to his hangover, I bet.
This is your room.
I opened my mouth to spout out something sarcastic and snide, but he looked like he was in pain,
so I found pity and took another sip. Yep.
He nodded slowly and directed his bloodshot eyes my way. What am I doing in your bed?
I shrugged. You said the couch was too short.
He squinted as if he was trying to remember saying any such thing. Focusing on me again, his face
paled as he asked, So, did we& ?
This time, I couldn t help myself. I had to torture him just a little.
Hey, don t judge.
Seriously, Mason. I gasped in mock outrage. How could you forget the magical night we
shared together? I pressed my cup to my heart as if in heartfelt pain. It was& beautiful.
He choked out a sound of denial. Oh, God. We didn t.
Hey! I flipped up my middle finger, which was quite a feat since both my hands were full. You
could at least pretend as if the idea of sleeping with me doesn t completely repulse you. Gah. I
thought you were into me at least a little. I mean, what about your stupid horny guy urges and that
freebie you said I could have if I just said the word?
I& God, Reese. I m sorry. I didn t mean it that way. I just& shit. This was not something I d want
to forget. He gulped and ran a hand through his sexy rumpled hair, looking a little green. Umm&
was it at least good for you?
I burst out laughing, choking on the last sip I d taken and barely avoiding spitting it across the
room. Wow. You don t remember anything at all, do you?
He winced, utter devastation flushing his cheeks. No. Nothing.
Well, relax, Casanova. Nothing happened.
If anything, he looked even more disappointed. It didn t?
Nope.
He totally didn t seem convinced. You re saying I came in here, crawled into bed with you, and I
didn t come onto you at all? Why do I find that impossible to believe?
Probably because it was. So, for this one, I had to lie. I shrugged. You were tanked. You just
stumbled into my room, burrowed in beside me, and passed out cold. Oh! And then you hogged three
fourths of the mattress and all the sheets. Which is something you really need to work on, buster,
because if you ever plan on getting married one day, no wife is going to appreciate that.
His lips quirked in amusement. I ll keep that in mind. He studied me a second longer, looking as
if he needed to say something else. But instead, he swallowed and scrambled upright. Bathroom?
I pointed. Right there.
Thanks. He was out of bed and streaking across the room in a flash, gifting me with a blurred
peek of him in nothing but dark boxer briefs.
Oh, the hardships of having a sexy, tanned beefcake for a close friend.
Though I wouldn t have minded another glimpse of him in that snug, form-fitting cotton, I left my
bedroom to give him some privacy, because it was kind of strange listening to him pee through the
bathroom door.
Leaving his latte on my dresser, I retreated to the living room and was going to hang around in
front of the television until he emerged when I spotted his shirt and jeans crumpled in a pile on top of
the blanket I d covered him with last night. After picking them up off the floor and taking a nice, deep
whiff of the Mason smell lingering on them, I carried them back to my room. I d just tossed them onto
my bed when I heard the toilet flush. So I hurried back out again.
This time, I shut my bedroom door before I returned to the couch. I d just folded the blanket and
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