Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Hot water sprays from the rainfall showerhead, soothing my tense muscles. Steam fills the glass stall as Mason steps in behind me, arms slipping around my waist. I lean back against his chest, still pleasantly sore in all the right places.
“This is the nicest shower I’ve ever been in,” he says, nosing at my neck.
“It’s alright,” I tease, shrugging casually.
In reality, this bathroom is absurd. Massive countertop, twin glass bowl sinks, mood lighting, and a huge jet tub. There’s even a bidet I once swore I’d never use—until I did. Now I can’t imagine living without it. I’m already planning to install one in my apartment back in Shelby Harbor.
I grab my green loofah and squirt a generous glob of lavender-scented body wash onto it.
As I work it into a lather, I turn to face Mason.
The heat from the shower flushes his freckled skin a soft pink.
His hair is soaked, curls flattened and dripping past his shoulders.
Water beads on his body, sliding down his chest and highlighting every defined line.
I press the loofah to his chest, scrubbing slow circles over his pecs, then down his stomach, watching the suds trail between his abs.
“God, you’re so hot it’s unfair,” I blurt, almost annoyed.
“Hey, I work hard to look like this,” he says, flexing his arms overhead. “I lift four times a week.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” I mutter. “You’re standing here like a Greek god while I look like a wet sewer rat.”
He throws his head back and cackles, the sound of his laughter bouncing off the tile walls. “Wet sewer rat?! That’s what you’re going with?”
I stand on my toes to scrub over his shoulders. “Yeah, you heard me.”
“You seriously must be blind,” he says, still grinning. “You’re the cutest guy I’ve ever been with.”
I blink up at him. “You’re such a bad liar.”
“I’m not lying! You’re hot in, like... a sexy nerdy way. Sneaky-hot.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
“It is a compliment,” he insists.
Rolling my eyes, I hand him the loofah. “Whatever. Wash your dick. I’ll get hard if I do it.”
He snickers but obeys, rinsing off quickly before stepping closer again. With gentle fingers, he tilts my chin up. I meet his eyes—swirls of green and brown like a mossy forest floor.
I feel a little breathless. I’m not sure if it’s the steam or the way he’s looking at me.
“You don’t even know the effect you have on me, Hunter,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss me.
His lips are hot and wet from the shower, water dripping between our faces. His fingers trace through my soaked hair, and I melt against his touch.
When he pulls back from the kiss, he reaches for my chest, loofah still in hand.
I look down and instantly hate the way the suds run down my torso, cutting through the ridges of my ribs, sliding into the dip of my stomach.
The weight of his eyes on me is too much—too intimate.
I clasp my hand firmly around his wrist.
He blinks at me, confused.
“I can do it,” I say quickly, tugging the loofah from his grip. “You should go. Don’t you need to get back to your sister?”
He frowns. “It’s not even her bedtime yet. I can stay a little longer.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
He studies me for a moment, concern etched across his face, but finally nods. “Alright. Have a good night, Hunter.”
He leans in for one more kiss, and I let him. The warmth of his mouth quiets the storm in my head, just for a moment, drowning out the voice that won’t stop telling me I’m not good enough.
“You too,” I say when he pulls away.
Then he steps out, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the shower mat.
I stand under the spray, alone, until the water runs cold.
***
I glance at the rainy forecast on my phone’s weather app and frown.
I could tug on my raincoat and brave the downpour with an umbrella in hand, but the idea of standing in wet sand all day makes my skin crawl. Having to deal with damp notebook paper and water seeping into my boots is a major turn off.
Instead, I retreat to the couch and wrap my body in a blanket burrito. I immerse myself in my guilty pleasure: trashy reality television. By midafternoon, I’m deep into my third episode of a tropical island dating show.
My phone buzzes beside me, screen lighting up.
For a second, my heart skitters. Maybe it’s Mason. We haven’t talked since last night’s shower—aside from the brief text he sent to say he got home safe. It’s been radio silence since then.
But the name on the screen isn’t Mason. It’s Landon.
I sigh and let my head flop back against the couch before swiping to answer.
“Hey, Land. What’s up?”
“Hey, bro! Haven’t heard from you in a while. Just wanted to make sure you’re still alive out in—what’s it called again? Clemson Shores?”
“Claremont Shores,” I correct with a tired exhale. “And yeah, I’m fine. Just busy.”
“Busy,” Landon mocks. “I guess those plants aren’t gonna count themselves, huh?”
My grip tightens on my phone. Landon often dismisses my work as if it’s a quirky side hobby I’ll eventually outgrow. If you’re not wearing a tailored suit or a white doctor’s coat, he doesn’t think your job matters.
“How’s your internship going?” I ask, desperate to shift the conversation away from myself.
With Landon, that’s always easy. He loves talking about himself.
He happily rambles about his law firm internship. He launches into a monologue about paperwork and reviewing case files. I zone out as I stare through the window, watching the rain drizzle in the street, collecting in potholes.
“Anyway,” he says, snapping me back to attention, “I wanted to ask if you were planning on coming home for our birthday next month. Mom and Dad want to throw us a party.”
My stomach sinks. Our birthday is July thirteenth, and growing up, my parents always made a big deal about it. I suppose it was because we’re twins, and they wanted to make us feel special. Like they could bottle up the excitement of two birthdays and combine it into one spectacular extravaganza.
This year, though, I planned on ignoring my birthday entirely. I knew I’d be busy with the fieldwork and preparing for my research presentation.
“I dunno. Maybe,” I say noncommittally.
“Oh, c’mon! It’ll be fun. I was thinking Derek and Oliver could come, and I could bring my girlfriend, and maybe Travis—”
“If Travis is going to be there, then I’m definitely not coming,” I interrupt firmly.
Silence. For a moment, I wonder if he hung up.
If only I could be so lucky.
“Dude,” Landon says finally, voice dropping. “It’s been almost two years since you broke up. You gotta get over it. He’s my best friend.”
“He’s also my ex. And a manipulative asshole.”
He exhales, the sound of his breath fizzling through the speaker. “Well, that’s your perspective.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you ask Travis, then you were the manipulative one in your relationship.”
My jaw actually falls open. “Excuse me?!”
He groans like he’s annoyed. “Hunt, as I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not picking sides.
I’m just saying that you both have different stories about what happened between you two, and honestly, I don’t want to get caught in the middle.
You’re both important to me. Can’t we all just move on and get along? ”
My teeth clench. “It’s not that simple.”
He scoffs. “It is simple. Travis has moved on. He has a girlfriend.”
The back of my throat stings. “Land, I gotta go.”
“Hunter—”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say sharply, then hang up before he can argue.
Afterwards, I pull my fuzzy blanket over my face and stare into the dark abyss, listening to the heavy patter of rain on the roof.
***
It’s almost nine o’clock, and I’m halfway through a pint of cookie dough ice cream when Mason finally texts me.
Mason: hey, u up?
I stare at the screen, frowning.
I don’t know why it bothers me that he hasn’t texted until now.
It’s not like I reached out either. It doesn’t make sense for me to be mad at him, but I can’t shake this hollow, unsettled feeling.
Maybe it’s a lingering vulnerability from yesterday—the sex, the intimacy, the way he looked at my naked body in the shower.
Either way, seeing Mason’s name pop up now stirs a mess of emotions.
Hunter: Yes, I’m up.
Mason: cool. can I swing by in 5 min?
Hunter: I’m not in the mood for sex…
Mason: that’s ok! just want 2 hang out :) b there soon
Well, shit.
I look like a disaster with my ice cream-stained sweatpants, wrinkled hoodie, and messy hair. But whatever. If he wants to ignore me all day and then surprise me like this, he’ll have to learn to live with it.
When he knocks, I wait a few seconds before answering—just because I’m petty.
He’s standing there, a little out of breath, sweaty. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray T-shirt. His curls are tucked beneath a backwards baseball cap, his cheeks flushed.
“Hey,” I mutter.
“Hey,” Mason replies, his voice scratchy and tired.
Before I can say anything else, he steps forward and wraps his arms around me.
I hesitate for a second before melting into him.
I press my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, smelling the fading scent of my soap on his skin.
My hands settle on his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.
He pulls back slightly and gives me a small, tired smile. “Sorry I couldn’t text sooner. I had to take Mom to a doctor’s appointment this morning, and then my boss asked if I could cover a closing shift at Beachside. I just got off.”
Well, shit. Now I feel like an asshole for assuming the worst—for spiraling into my own head instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt. Admittedly, my insecurity turns me into a jerk sometimes.
“Oh,” I murmur. “That’s… fine.”
We head to the couch. I sit first, curling into the corner with my blanket and clutching the half-melted ice cream. Mason sits beside me, but I keep a deliberate few inches of distance between us. I twirl the spoon around the inside of the pint, avoiding his gaze.
“You look cute,” he tells me, eyes raking over me slowly.
I pretend I don’t hear him.
“You okay?” he asks. “You seem a little… off.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“You sure?”
I hesitate, then mumble, “Just tired.”
Mason exhales slowly. “Are you sore? You know… after last night?”
My cheeks flare with heat as I shift on the couch. “A little. It’s not bad, though. You were gentle.”
“Okay, good. I was worried. You seemed quiet afterwards, in the shower. I didn’t know if I’d crossed a line or something.”
Guilt pierces my chest. Mason may be a grump on the outside, but he’s got a soft, gooey center. He’s a total sweetheart. I don’t know why I ever doubted him, even for a second.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, finally looking at him. “I promise. Last night was… perfect.”
He lets out a breath of relief. “It was perfect for me, too.”
A silence settles between us, and I spin my spoon around my pint, scraping melted ice cream from the sides.
“So… do you want to talk about it?” Mason presses gently. “About why you were upset?”
I close my eyes and pull the blanket tighter around my body, taking a slow breath. I’m twenty-three years old. I should be able to talk about my goddamn feelings.
“It’s just… I have issues with my body sometimes,” I say finally.
He doesn’t speak—just nods to show he’s listening.
I fiddle with the blanket, pulling at the loose threads to avoid looking at him. I can tell he’s waiting for me to elaborate. The words crawl up my throat, raw and unfiltered.
“Growing up with a twin brother, there were always comparisons between us. Landon was always bigger, stronger, more masculine. I was just the lesser version of him. The copy that didn’t measure up.”
Mason shifts closer, brushing his fingers against mine before lacing our hands together. “That sounds really difficult,” he says quietly.
I blink back the sudden sting in my eyes.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “And when I was twenty, I dated this guy, Travis. He was—still is—Landon’s best friend.
The whole time we were together, he made comments about my body.
What I should eat. How I should work out.
What I should wear. Like I was a project he was constantly fixing. ”
I inhale a deep breath before continuing. “So being in the shower with you earlier—it just triggered all that. Having my body exposed like that. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything wrong with me, and I was scared you’d see it, too.”
Mason’s mouth pinches, and for a split second, I worry I’ve said too much. That I’ve scared him off. That he’s about to bolt out the door and never talk to me again.
But then he reaches out and gently cups my face. His thumb smooths along my jaw, tilting my head until I’m looking straight at him.
“I don’t understand any of that,” he murmurs. “You’re… so fucking beautiful, Hunter.”
My throat clenches. All I can do is stare into his eyes, lost in the depths of his sincerity.
“You don’t have to change anything,” Mason continues. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek before lifting the blanket. He slides in next to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His thumb rubs gentle patterns across my hip. I bury my face in his chest and let his warmth seep into me.
“I’m going to spend all summer showing you how beautiful you are,” he promises. “And when you go back to Shelby Harbor in the fall, you’ll be a confident piece of ass. You’ll find a super sexy boyfriend who’s obsessed with you.”
I laugh into his shirt, but there’s a stinging pain hidden beneath it I can’t shake. I know the end of summer is inevitable, but I don’t want to think about it.
For the next two months, I just want to pretend that our time together doesn’t have an expiration date.