22. Mason #3
Her lips pursed. “So you’ve got this expensive creative project that might take years of grueling unpaid or underpaid work to even get a collection shown. After that, maybe it sells. Maybe a fashion house is interested. Maybe you can get someone famous to wear your work. It’s all maybes.”
“But someone’s got to make it. Why can’t it be you?”
“High risk, high reward for maybe one percent of people. Those are odds I’m not willing to play. Practical is where it’s at for me. That’s the plan.” She stabbed an emphatic finger into the cushion beside her.
“How can you—”
She settled her hand on my knee. “Can we not talk about it anymore?”
Her touch became a glowing beacon in my mind. It felt like August all over again. These rambling, revealing, close moments I’d taken for granted. “Done.”
She finished her water and shook the bottle. “You’re probably tired after getting tossed into the pool.” She stood and set it on the coffee table.
I shot up. “You don’t have to go.”
“It’s late.”
“And your house is still empty.”
She folded her arms across her chest, sliding back into protection mode. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“Stay here.”
With an arched eyebrow, she tilted her head, suspicion lacing her gaze.
“You take the bed. I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms.”
“And when your family comes back and I’m the random girl lying in your bed?”
“Fine, I’ll sleep on the couch in here. You take my bed. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”
“You know how to make breakfast?”
“I guess you’ll have to stay to find out.”
She shifted from one foot to the other, thinking about it, glancing over at my bed.
I braced myself, not wanting to seem too eager and freak her out again.
“Do you have anything I could change into?” she whispered and peeked up at me, so sweet and simple I had to catch myself.
Was she still thinking of our kiss? Was it replaying in her mind like it was mine?
And she’d be sleeping in my bed tonight.
I stomped down the urge to kiss her. Kiss her so long she’d look at me flushed and gasping all over again.
No, slow. I needed to lock that shit down and go slow.
“Anything you want.” I pulled out some thick flannel pajama pants and a soft long-sleeved t-shirt. Stacked on top of each other, I held them out to her. If she wore this, maybe I wouldn’t have to balloon animal my dick to keep from scaring her.
Lilah took them, letting her fingers linger on mine. “Only sleeping.”
Hell. I was in literal hell and heaven all at the same time. My thick swallow reverberated in my ears. “Only sleeping.” I stepped back and she padded into the bathroom. The click of the door broke through the rib-denting crash of my heart.
I grabbed some gray sweatpants and a T-shirt, all while willing my erection to go down. I don’t make this request often, but just lay back down. No such luck. I tucked it into the waistband of the pants and prayed for cooperation. I was tugging on the shirt when the bathroom door opened.
Lilah stepped back into my bedroom and my heart stopped.
The hungry swell of my cock dislodged it from my attempt at hiding, catching me off guard.
I jumped onto the couch and slammed a pillow over my lap.
Well, the whole cover-up-Lilah thing hadn’t worked out how I’d planned.
Who knew seeing her in one of my shirts and flannel pants would be the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen?
The sleeves covered most of her hands, so only her fingertips peeked out.
“You’re sure your parents won’t be upset I’m here?”
“They won’t be back until Sunday.”
She smirked and walked closer with a sway in her hips. “That didn’t answer my question.”
I squeezed my fists at my sides, so I didn’t reach for her. “If anyone got into trouble, it would be me.”
A gentle pat of her hand against my chest. “What did I tell you about getting yourself into trouble for me?”
“You might have to repeat it. I don’t think I heard you.” I stretched, bringing our faces closer together.
She pecked me on the cheek. “Night, Mason.” Her breath skated across my skin and sent a brutal shudder down my spine.
“Night, Lilah.”
She crawled across the bed from the bottom to torture me even more.
I turned toward the light panel with my fist pressed against my mouth. Fuck, she didn’t know what she did to me, or maybe she did. Lilah had come out with me tonight, her good-night kiss lingered on my cheek, and she was in my bed.
“So you took my origami?” Her question carried across the room.
The silence stretched, making me cringe at what she might’ve been thinking about the collection. “Yeah.”
“For a long time.”
“From the first day you started at Hawthorne Prep.”
“Why?”
“Because they were beautiful, and I hated the idea of them being thrown away and forgotten.”
“But they’re just paper.”
That you folded, molded, touched. “Not after you were done with them.”
She made a small noise, and I didn’t know what it meant. “Night, Mason.”
“Night, Lilah.”
Having Lilah here was a direct move against my father. He’d warned me off her, but I’d have to explain the truth of it all to him.
Correcting my father would have consequences. For now, I basked in Lilah’s presence only a few feet from me. This moment was worth the incoming gut punch.