Chapter 17 - Mason
Mason
If pretending nothing happened was part of today’s press schedule, someone should’ve given me a damn script.
Kids in oversized jerseys crowded the tunnel, all wide eyes and sticky fingers, as a local photographer called out my name for the fourth time.
I forced a smile and tugged the cap lower over my brow, half-listening while Bob Trent rattled off a rundown behind me.
Meet the players. Press skates. Team-building crap. All part of the deal.
Cass was here. Somewhere.
I felt her the second I stepped onto the ice for the community demo. Like static under my skin. She wasn’t on the roster, but the staff policy meeting meant she could stick around.
“Equipment checks done?”
I turned to see one of the rink assistants, and the woman in question. Cass was dressed in her usual hoodie and jeans, looking like a million bucks. But I couldn’t do anything about it, of course. Not after how we left things this morning.
How she left things.
“Everything’s solid,” I heard her say, acting like my attention was on something in a whole other direction.
“What about ice temp readings?”
“Like I said, I’m on it,” Cass said, the annoyance edging her tone.
Maybe I imagined it, but I could’ve sworn her eyes had landed on me a second ago. Was I the reason for the shift in her voice?
“Okay, good. We need you on top of that, and of course the surface,” the assistant said. “Not just because of the kids, but photos. You know how it goes.”
I strained to hear Cass’ response, but things suddenly picked up around us and made it impossible.
“Calder!” A little kid pulled on my sleeve. “You’re Mason Calder. I saw you play the other day.”
“That’s me,” I said, crouching a little. “You skate?”
He nodded emphatically. “I play center. My coach says I got hands.”
“Bet he’s right.” I knocked my glove to his and got a proud smile in return.
Cass had moved to the other side of the rink, ball cap pulled low. Probably a deliberate distancing, if I had to guess.
My jaw tightened.
We hadn’t spoken since I left her apartment. After the night we had. After she shut the door on it with six little words.
We can’t ever do it again.
She didn’t owe me anything, and I didn’t force it. But God, the silence sucked worse than a loss in overtime.
“Smile, Calder. We’re surrounded by cameras,” Tucker muttered as he skated by.
I did. Barely.
By the time the last round of photos was done, a rink tech signaled that the kids would have a chance to get on the ice. Half skated like baby deer, but a few already had some real glide. One of the PR staff trailed behind, her heels slipping every few steps.
Cass appeared at the entrance of the tunnel with the Zamboni chugging behind her. She didn’t look up, just climbed into the driver’s seat. The beast roared once, then sputtered. A couple kids laughed, but her posture stiffened.
She tried again. Nothing.
I skated over to the bench and leaned on the boards. She mumbled something and popped the access panel near the front.
A media guy next to me groaned. “We need that ice cleaned before the next shoot. Can someone get her moving?”
“Keep your panties on. I don’t think you’d be able to do any better.” I stripped off my gloves and ducked under the gate, boots thudding on the rubber mats as I crossed to her.
Cass was bent over the open panel, hands moving with precise skill. But I could see the frustration in the straight set of her lips, the tension in her shoulders.
“Need a hand?”
She looked up, her mouth opening and closing without sound. Like she didn’t know what to say, or that she should say anything.
I crouched beside her. “Take it easy. This doesn’t have to be weird. What do you need?”
“I think it’s the belt,” she said finally. “It slips sometimes. This thing is ancient. Must’ve overheated.”
“You want me to push while you steer?”
She hesitated, and glanced over her shoulder as though she were expecting the hook-up police to come rushing at us.
“Look, you said we couldn’t sleep together,” I whispered. “Not that talking was off the table. Or helping.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Cass.” My tone was all the explanation needed.
She held my gaze a second too long, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Thanks.”
I got behind the machine and braced a shoulder.
She climbed into the seat again, and between the two of us, we got it moving.
Slow and steady. As the nose passed the curtain line, she turned to look at me.
The moment stilled. No reporters, no kids.
Just her and me and the scrape of old wheels on concrete.
She climbed down once we were clear, and dusted her hands on her thighs. Nervous, but acting like she wasn’t.
“You doing okay?” She didn’t look at me when she asked.
I didn’t answer right away. Her arms stayed folded like she didn’t know what to do with them. Like if she didn’t keep them closed like that, she might be tempted to touch me.
“I’m fine.”
Cass tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t have to be, you know.”
“No?” My mouth twitched. “Pretty sure you made that call.”
The quiet stretched, and she dropped her eyes to the floor. I saw her throat move as she swallowed. I could still smell her on me, and wanted to reinforce it with sweat and passion like we did last night.
But I could tell that wasn’t where she was at.
“I just want you to know,” I said, keeping my voice down. The place was packed, but there was no telling who’d overhear. “I’m here. That doesn’t change because we crossed a line. No funny business, either. Just me, helping you clear a beat up Zamboni, or whatever.”
Her eyes met mine again. There was a soft ache in them I didn’t know what to do with. It felt almost like she was dealing with the same thing as me. Like she also wished things were different.
“Calder! You’re up for the wrap shots!”
I waved Bob off, then looked back to Cass with a silent apology.
“Go,” she said.
“But—”
“You’re right.” She did another quick scan to make sure we were alone. “We’re grown ups. We hooked up, and that was it. No need to make things weird. Go do your thing, superstar.”
I sighed, and did as I was told. But right before I hit the ice, I looked back one more time.
Because no matter what she said, the look on her face told me we weren’t done. We could pretend as hard as we wanted that it was nothing, but we both knew it was the opposite of that.
What happened at her place couldn’t just be a one-time thing.
*
The garage was quiet except for the sound of a socket wrench clinking against the concrete and the low hum of my favorite country playlist streaming from my phone.
I was elbow deep in the guts of my Ford.
Thinking time. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but didn’t have the energy to go back inside and pretend I was okay in front of Hunter.
Tires crunched on the asphalt out front, and I glanced out from under the hood.
Cass stepped out of her car, all ripped jeans and guarded expression. The same one she’d worn all day. A few strands of hair had slipped loose from her ponytail, framing her flushed cheeks.
I straightened slowly, wiping my hands on a rag that had seen better days.
“Didn’t think I rated a visit.”
She shrugged like it was nothing, her showing up here like this. “Grown ups get to feel sorry for each other. Platonically.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You feel sorry for me?”
“Do you ever want to drive this thing, or are you happy to just tinker around with it for eternity?”
My heart sank, but I managed to hide it well. “You’re here to help.”
“If you want,” she said, coming into the garage. “Or I could just watch and tell you when you’re doing it wrong.”
I tossed the rag aside. “Wow. What a generous offer.”
She smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. We both knew this wasn’t really about the truck.
“Be my guest, grease monkey.” I motioned to the front of my truck.
She came around, sniffing the air. “Still smells like stale beer and achy breaky hearts in here.”
“That’s not heartbreak,” I chuckled, handing her the wrench. “It’s the ghost of the last guy who tried to change out the busted starter.”
Cass took the wrench, turned it over in her hand, then placed it down gingerly before picking up the tool she actually needed. Good start.
“And speaking of beer…” I went to the fridge and grabbed two cold ones.
“Show me,” she said, exchanging the spanner for a can of beer.
I took a long sip, then went back to what I was doing before. A whole lot of nothing.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” The way she leaned over my shoulder made a familiar heat start up low in my stomach.
“Sure as I am that you didn’t just come here for car talk.”
She stilled. Just for a second. Then, breezy again, she said, “Maybe I missed your sparkling personality.”
“Careful,” I glanced at her, smiling. “Flattery’s how accidents happen.”
A beat passed. The tension stretched between us, tight and barely contained. Her arm brushed mine as she came to get a closer look under the hood.
“It’s going to cost more to get her running than if you were to buy a new truck,” she murmured. “Unless you like just hanging out with a pile of scrap metal.”
I snorted. “Joke’s on you. This truck and I are in a committed relationship.”
“Should I be jealous?”
I turned to her, leaning back against the truck, arms folded. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Something flickered behind her eyes, there and gone. The deep shade of pink in her cheeks stuck around a little longer, though. “Not my business, is it? We’re just friends.”
“Could be your business if you want,” I said with a shrug. Nonchalant when everything in me was decidedly nothing close to that.
Cass fiddled with stuff I wouldn’t have been able to name if someone paid me. “You like playing with fire, don’t you?”
I nodded slowly. “Never much cared about getting burned, though.”
That’s when something shifted.
Whatever thread we’d been walking, pretending things were fine, acting like last night hadn’t rewired everything… it snapped. I felt it. I saw it happen in the way she breathed. How her eyes flicked to my mouth before she turned away again.
I caught her hand.
She stopped. Didn’t pull back.
“What do you say we forget about the truck, and what you said this morning?”
“And then what?”
And then I kissed her.
Not careful, or slow. I kissed her like there was no getting enough. And even while our tongues brushed against each other, I knew it would never get close to ever being enough.
She pushed into me, hands balled up in my shirt, dragging me closer until we were flush against the side of the truck.
I spun her around, lifting her easily as I set her down on the tailgate.
Her legs parted instinctively to wrap around my hips, and I pressed in tight, groaning at the contact.
Fully clothed, the friction between us was blinding.
Cass gripped my shoulders, breath hot and ragged against my mouth. “You’re making it very hard to pretend we’re just friends.”
“Wanna know what else is hard?” I kissed down the line of her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone as I bucked my hips hard.
She gasped, grinding against my cock as it got even harder. I used the small moment of surprise to pull back and lift her shirt over her head. No bra. Arousal flooded my cock to the point where it ached with how much I wanted her.
I bent and took one nipple into my mouth, dragging my tongue over it until she moaned, low and helpless. Her fingers raked through my hair, guiding me, holding me in place.
She rocked against me and I moved to meet each roll of her hips, harder than before. Trying to push through the barrier of clothing keeping me from feeling her fully. I still remembered how warm her pussy felt wrapped around my throbbing cock. How wet…
“Mason…”
“Yeah?”
But before she could finish her sentence, my last restraint faltered and I pushed her jeans down just enough to hook my fingers into the elastic of her underwear.
A desperate moan shuddered through me as I made contact with the slick arousal waiting for me there.
She was already soaked, and my fingers slid easily up and down over her clit. Again and again.
She was panting now, eyes wide and pupils blown. I kissed her hard, swallowing her strangled cry of pleasure as I dipped a finger inside. The memory of her tight pussy clamping down on my cock was still fresh, and I was sure I’d go mad if I didn’t feel it again.
But then she tensed up, and not in a good way.
I felt it the second she pulled back, just a fraction.
“No,” she said, breath catching. “I— I can’t.”
I didn’t know what to say. I eased my finger out, and just looked at her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, cheeks burning. She shifted, taking herself totally out of my reach. “I just… I have a late assignment, and my professor isn’t going to grant me another extension.”
I nodded, throat tight. “It’s okay.”
She slid off the back of my truck and fumbled with her shirt to cover up quickly. My hard-on wasn’t that easy to hide, and I sank onto the workbench with one foot crossed over my leg.
“We’re going to run out of excuses before either of us stops feeling this,” I said, watching as she slowly turned to face me.
She didn’t reply, even though I could see at least a million thoughts rushing in her eyes. And like that, without saying anything, she grabbed her jacket and left. Wrecking me for the second time in one day.