Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
And Mason does.
He holds him like he doesn’t want to let him go.
He holds him like he loves him because he does.
“Thank you,” I find myself whispering.
Mason’s head snaps my way, as if for a moment, he forgot where we were and that I was even here. When he really looks at me, his expression morphs from confusion to something…more.
“For?” he asks softly.
It’s a fair question. We both know there are a million things I could be thanking him for.
Like the incommensurable gift of Deaton’s grave location and that very first day I arrived in Oceanside. For this very moment.
For all the time, thought, and care in between.
“Everything.” Keeping my eyes on his, I lay my head back on the cart, my vision blurring, but for once it’s not in sorrow. “You mean a lot to me, Mase.” More than you know.
“You mean a lot to me, too, Pretty Little,” he whispers.
You love me, don’t you?
I swallow hard, the question sudden and the answer terrifying, because as my mind conjures it, the answer isn’t one that needs to be spoken. It’s obvious.
Mason Johnson is in love with me, and I think he has been for a while now.
I wonder what Deaton would say if I told him this when I see him in my dreams tonight. Would he be angry? Happy?
I honestly don’t know, but I like to think it would be the latter.
Mason stares into my eyes, so much written in his deep brown irises, but he says nothing, just places his hand on my knee in offering, and something inside me liquifies.
Reaching out, I cover his hand with mine, our fingers threading together in a perfect little fit.
I close my eyes as we grow closer to the ground, settled in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. “Okay,” I rasp. “We can do whatever you want to do now.”
Mason squeezes my fingers.
We stay on the ride two more times, and somewhere in the back of my mind, a low, loving voice I know all too well whispers…
What if this is a ride you never get off?
Mason
After two long days in the park, we only lasted until after lunch on the third and final one, deciding to head back to the hotel to hit up the tiki-style restaurant beside the pool for an early dinner.
We order a few items from the appetizer menu and sit out on the patio, the weather in March as nice as it is in May here, with maybe a little less heat depending on the day. When Payton comes back from the restroom, she spots the two frozen daiquiris in front of our plates and raises a blond brow.
“It’s little man. Makes people think I’m older,” I tease. “Well, that and the fake ID Brady got me.”
Payton laughs, shaking her head and eyeing the fresh, fruity drink before her. “What if they ask for mine?”
“Just pick up Deaton, and she’ll forget all about it.”
“Doubtful.” She chews her lip, gingerly reaching out for the drink, but pushes it my way with a small smile. “I appreciate it and it looks amazing, but I can’t have alcohol quite yet.”
Leaning forward, I push it right back. “I know. That’s why yours is a virgin and mine is not.”
She stares for a moment, and then a smile spreads across her face, and she yanks it back. “Well, in that case.” She takes a long drink, wincing. “Oh my, good, so good, but holy brain freeze.”
Chuckling, I slouch in my chair, spinning the little toy hanging from the arc of Deaton’s stroller again and again, loving the squawky sounds he makes as he does his best to grab it. He’s kicking his feet like crazy, and I can’t help but reach out and tickle the bottoms.
“Oh, so you’re ticklish, huh, little man.” I tickle up his thighs and back down.
He squirms and stuffs his hands in his mouth, smiling around his chubby fingers and sending drool down his chin.
I smile, and when I feel her eyes on me, I glance up.
Sure enough, she’s staring, straw stuck between her lips, hair lying down her back for the first time in a while.
I reach out, tugging it gently, and her mouth curls over the straw, a softness settled across her.
“He likes you,” she says.
“Pshhh.” I grin, looking back down at my guy. “Of course he does. I’m his favorite, ain’t that right?” I lean in, pretending like he’s whispering something. “Oh yeah? Well, let’s see.” I play it out, winking at him for show, and then I thrust my hand out, tickling his mama along the ribs.
She squeals in laughter, tossing her head back, fingers wrapped around the drink. I bend in more, pressing my fingers high on her ribs, and she twists and shifts, her ass sliding right off the chair, but I catch her, half standing over her as I tug her back up. The move has me leaning over her completely, her head dropped back, staring up at me with innocent yet indulgent eyes.