Chapter 12
Lila
“Let me drive you home,” Mason said, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we stepped out of the club. The balmy Miami night wrapped around us, alive with the distant thump of bass and late-night laughter.
I hesitated. “Are you sure you should be driving?”
He let out a quiet laugh. “I had one drink hours ago, Lila. I’m good.”
I bit my lip, sneaking a glance at his profile. The streetlights caught the edge of his face, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and trace it with my fingertips. I wasn’t ready for the night to end. Not yet.
“Okay. I’ll take you up on that.”
We approached his car, a sleek black Audi R8.
“Wow,” I said, running my hand along the glossy hood. “This is fancy.”
Mason unlocked the doors with a soft beep and opened mine. “Picked her up last week. Still smells like new.”
I slid into the leather seat, instantly wrapped in the scent of fresh upholstery and something uniquely him.
He climbed in, started the engine, then gestured toward the center console. “Go ahead and punch in your address. I’m still getting my bearings in this city.”
I leaned forward to type my location into the touchscreen. “I’m about twenty minutes from here. Hope that’s not too far out of your way.”
“It’s no problem.”
I glanced at him as he pulled onto the road. “So hockey, huh? How long have you been playing?”
Mason’s hands flexed on the steering wheel, his focus steady as we merged into traffic. “Since before I could tie my shoes. My dad had me skating almost as soon as I could stand.”
I smiled at the mental image of a pint-sized Mason wobbling on the ice. “So it’s always been the dream?”
He nodded, his tone quieter. “Yeah. Hockey’s been everything. It didn’t leave much room for anything else.”
Traffic hummed around us, the city flashing by in soft streaks. I broke the quiet. “And how long have you been in the pros?”
“This is my seventh season,” he said, eyes still forward but lips curling slightly. “Went straight from juniors into the league.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest, stealing another glance at him. “You must’ve been incredible to go pro so young.”
He shrugged, the movement casual. “I worked hard. Still do. It’s a competitive field. No coasting.”
“Where did you play before Miami?” I asked. “Let me guess... somewhere in Canada?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, there and gone again, before he eased his shoulders back against the seat. “Yeah. Toronto. Played my entire career there until the trade. Grew up a couple of hours north of there. It’s all I’ve ever known. Cold winters, early practices on frozen ponds. That was home.”
There was a weight to his voice, pride tangled up with something softer. Sadder.
I turned slightly in my seat, angling toward him. The city lights washed over his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw and the furrow between his brows. “And then you got traded to Miami,” I said softly, watching his face.
Mason let out a low chuckle. “Yep.”
“That must’ve been a big change.” I tried to imagine the culture shock of swapping Canada’s largest city for Miami’s sun-soaked chaos. “How are you adjusting to life in the Sunshine State?”
His mouth curved into a wry smile. “It’s been... interesting. I hate the heat and humidity. And I haven’t gotten used to palm trees everywhere instead of maple leaves. But I’m working on it. It’s a fresh start. Or so Gideon keeps telling me.”
I leaned back, relaxing into the seat. “Fresh starts aren’t always a bad thing. So how’s the new team? Are you guys on a winning streak? Scoring lots of points?”
Mason glanced over, one brow arching. “Winning streak?” He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that sent a flutter through my chest. “Season doesn’t start for another month, Lila. And I’m a defenseman. I don’t score goals. I stop them.”
My face flushed with heat. “Right. Of course. I totally knew that.” I groaned and covered my face with my hands. “Sorry. I’m not really a hockey fan. But it seems like an exciting sport.”
Mason rubbed his chin, like he was hiding a smile. “No worries. I appreciate the effort.” He glanced over, one brow lifting. “I’ll have to get you tickets to a Fusion game. Maybe convert you into a fan.”
The idea of watching Mason on the ice sent my heart racing. “You might have your work cut out for you. But I’m game to give it a shot. Just don’t expect me to understand the rules right away.”
“Deal.” He flashed me a quick smile. “We’ll start with the basics and work up from there.”
I sank deeper into the seat, ridiculously at ease. “So if the season hasn’t started yet, what have you been doing? Just lying on the beach, sipping pina coladas and admiring your own billboards?”
Mason shook his head, amused. “Not quite. We’re deep into training and conditioning right now. Preseason starts soon, and I need to be ready. It’s long hours at the rink, strength training, drills. Not glamorous, but that’s how I stay sharp. Especially if I want to keep up with the younger guys.”
“What about your new teammates?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “Do you like them?”
His expression shifted, softening a little, and a hint of a grin played on his lips.
“They’re good guys. Talented, for sure. But a little less.
.. disciplined than the guys I played with in Toronto.
Our captain, King, is a beast. The guy’s got hands like magic and a shot that could knock out a goalie from the blue line. All business, all the time.”
“And the rest?” I prompted, already guessing from the look in his eyes.
Mason smirked. “Sawyer, Cade, Brody, Roman... they’re wild cards. They keep things loose. Which is... different for me. I’m used to more structure.”
I tilted my head, intrigued. “What do you mean by wild cards?”
Mason’s grin widened as he shot me a brief glance before focusing back on the road.
“Well, for starters, they’re always messing around, pulling pranks, stirring things up.
And they don’t follow strict diets. At least not in the offseason.
I’m pretty sure some of them drink during the season, which makes no sense to me.
Back in Toronto, we had a nutritionist practically living with us, tracking every bite.
Here? It’s more like, ‘Want a burger before practice? Go for it.’” He shook his head, a mix of disbelief and amusement coloring his voice.
“And don’t even get me started on the locker room. ”
I leaned in, fascinated. “Okay, now you have to tell me. What goes on in there?”
Mason let out a short laugh, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel in an easy rhythm. “It’s a circus. In Toronto, it was all business. Everyone had their structured routines, quiet focus. Serious stuff. But here? Pure chaos. Guys are goofing off, cracking jokes, pulling stunts.”
“Oh, come on. That sounds like a blast,” I said, giggling. The champagne had me a little buzzed, and talking to him felt stupidly easy.
He snorted, brow furrowing. “Fun or insane, hard to say. Cade apparently dances on the locker room bench before every game, and Brody? He gives pep talks to his stick. Like, full-on, eye-contact, motivational speeches.”
I burst out laughing, picturing a grown man whispering encouragement to a hockey stick. “That’s... actually kind of adorable. Like they’re just big kids at heart.”
Mason shot me a sidelong look, lips twitching. “Adorable? Maybe. But also totally disruptive. But I’ll give them this, they’re tight-knit. Supportive as hell. It’s just a new environment for me, so it’s taking some time to adapt. Sometimes, I feel like an outsider.”
I caught a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “That makes sense. Moving to a new city, joining a new team. It’s a big change. Finding your place takes time.” I paused, watching his expression shift in the passing light. “But you will. Just give it time.”
His shoulders dropped a fraction, and a softer smile curved his mouth, almost like a thank-you he didn’t quite say out loud.
I turned to the window, mostly to keep myself from staring at his lips again. We were already nearing my apartment.
Before I knew it, we were pulling up to my building. Mason walked me to my door, his presence solid and quietly reassuring beside me. I turned to face him, pulse spiking despite the easy rhythm we’d found all night.
“Still up for showing me around Miami tomorrow?” he asked, voice casual, but his eyes intense.
“I’m in, if you are,” I said, heart fluttering at the thought of spending the whole day with him. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’ll pick you up early afternoon. We’ll do some sightseeing, grab dinner after?”
“Great.” Excitement bubbled in my chest. “Sounds perfect.”
He leaned in, brushing his lips against my cheek with a kiss so sweet it made my heart stutter.
Suddenly, it wasn’t nearly enough.
Blame the cocktails. Or maybe just Mason. But I grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric, and pulled him toward me. Our lips met in a kiss that made my body ache for more. For a split second, he froze, then his arms wrapped around me, and everything else blurred.
His mouth was hot and urgent, all pressure and hunger. I melted into him, my hands tightening in his shirt. With our bodies pressed close, I could feel him. Every hard inch. I was wound tight, barely holding it together.
By the time we broke apart, I was breathless, heart pounding with a desire so visceral, it left me dizzy.
If a kiss could feel like that, what would… No. Don’t even go there.
The hunger between us was undeniable. I wanted him—his hands on my skin, his body against mine, my fingers tracing every inch of those muscles I’d been admiring all night.
“I should go.” Mason’s gaze held mine.
“Yeah. Okay.” The words came out thick and slow. “See you tomorrow?”
“Definitely.” He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Night, Lila.”
“Night, Mason.”
I watched him walk away, already missing the heat of his touch. Fumbling for my keys, I slipped inside. The taste of him lingered when I closed the door behind me.
I wished I could fast-forward straight to tomorrow.