Chapter 1 #2
I take a sip of my beer, which does nothing to calm my nerves. My heart is practically rattling in my chest.
“You make it through the party alright?” Brookes asks.
His voice is softer and smoother than Mason’s, with a gruff edge that makes me pay attention.
“I did.” I turn toward him. Up close, the details sharpen. Dark eyes. A mouth that looks like it holds back more than it gives away. Dark stubble that would rasp against my skin. Handsome features that are challenge to face head on. I flush. “Your cousins threw a pretty intense first birthday.”
“They went all in,” Mason says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Kid won’t remember any of it.”
“Joelle will, though.”
“That’s the point. Wade and Caleb are stupid for that woman. It’s nice to see.”
I smile, relaxing despite myself.
“Well,” Mason says after a moment, tipping his bottle toward me, “I think the real question is how much cake you actually managed to put away tonight.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“I counted at least two slices,” he continues, completely unbothered by my sharp tone. “Maybe three.”
I laugh, startled into it. “I didn’t realize the cake was on ration.”
“Not on ration,” he says. “I like a woman who knows how to enjoy good food.”
“I know how to enjoy good frosting.”
Brookes huffs out a quiet breath beside me, just shy of a laugh. “Pretty sure you were enjoying it more than the kid was.”
I turn toward him. “Maybe.”
“Mmmm.” His gaze flicks over me briefly. “If tucking into frosting with that much enthusiasm is what makes a woman look like you, they should make it part of the recommended dietary guidelines for all Americans.”
I flush, embarrassed and flattered, my stomach flip-flopping.
Mason nudges my knee with his. “You had frosting on your lip at one point. Just sat there talking like nothing was happening.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, covering my face for a second. “Why would you even notice that?”
“Hard to miss when you’re staring at a woman’s pretty lips,” he says easily.
Before I can react, he cups my face and runs the pad of his thumb over my top lip. He leans in. “Just here.” I freeze, mesmerized at his touch and the intensity of his deep, chocolaty brown eyes.
Brookes takes a slow drink. “Yeah. It was impossible to look away.”
Warmth floods my cheeks. “You should have told me.”
“You were busy,” Mason says.
“Doing what?”
“Talking.”
I shake my head, trying to recover some ground. “You two spend all night watching other people eat cake, or am I special?”
Brookes’s mouth curves slightly. “Special. Definitely special.”
I gulp from the bottle, suddenly aware of how close they both are, how easily the conversation has slipped into one that feels… pointed.
“So,” Mason says after a beat, “Joelle said you work with animals?”
They talked about me with Joelle? “Yeah. I spend my days wrangling sick beasts into accepting treatment they don’t want or understand.”
He snorts. “That so? What kind?”
“Mostly farm calls. Some clinic work. Whatever comes my way.”
“That explains it,” he says.
“Explains what?”
“You’re calm,” he replies. “I bet you’re good with animals. They can sense a person's energy.”
I glance at him, catching the brief flicker in his expression before it settles again, controlled as ever.
“Yeah. You have to stay calm, or they'll get skittish. Especially the bigger animals. It can be dangerous to get close.”
“Not all big animals are dangerous,” Mason says with a wink. “Some of us look intimidating until someone scratches behind our ears.”
I snort, but it’s a cover for the swell of heat that runs beneath my skin.
“Or rubs our bellies,” Brookes adds.
I give a startled laugh. “Is that what turns you on?”
“Maybe,” he smiles. “Men like to be touched. We’re easy on where.”
“That so?”
“Well…” He turns to me. “There are some favored places.”
“I’m sure there are.” Without meaning to, my gaze drops to the seam over his jeans bulging over his crotch.
It’s his turn to laugh. “Exactly.”
My cheeks are an instant inferno.
“What about you?” Mason asks.
“What about me?”
“Where do you like to be touched, Janey?”
His big, calloused hand rests on my thigh, as strong and rough as I imagined it would be. Before I can answer, a sound carries down from upstairs.
A soft laugh followed by a breathless moan.
I freeze, recognition hitting almost instantly as Joelle’s voice filters through the quiet, followed by a lower groan.
“Oh my God,” I murmur, pressing my lips together as a laugh slips out anyway.
Mason lets out a low chuckle. “Sounds like someone has plans for the night.”
Brookes takes a slow drink, his gaze fixed where the horizon would be, his whole body tensed.
The sounds fade after a moment, leaving the silence, heavy with awareness. Every point of contact sharpens. The press of denim against my skin. The heat on either side of me. The slow, easy sway of the swing beneath us.
I should go inside.
That thought comes and stays, clear and reasonable.
I should.
Of course I should.