Chapter 3
Dakota
Ten minutes later, we were dashing across the rainy parking lot in front of a small roadside diner.
The red and green sign shimmered from above our heads, buzzing through the raindrops.
Spruce trees stood tall behind the building and dark clouds swirled overhead, eddying and rolling across the low dome of the sky.
Mason yanked the door open and shoved me inside, then guided us over to a booth next to the wall of windows along the front.
Most of the inside of the diner was designed to look like a log cabin, worn green vinyl covering the cushions on the booths and old license plates tacked on any available wall space.
Everything was the same shade of medium-brown wood, save for the square linoleum flooring, which was pale yellow.
A young girl with her hair in a ponytail came over to the table, laminated menus in hand, a notepad and pen tucked in the pocket of her apron. The single pendant light above our table illuminated her face with its dusty gold glow.
“I’m Sofia, and I’ll be taking care of you guys this afternoon.
Can I get you started with anything to drink?
Coffee? Water?” She laid the menus on the table along with two bundles of utensils rolled up in napkins, clicking her pen open while she glanced between us, maybe assuming we were together. If only she knew how we’d just met.
I looked at Mason, half-expecting him to be the one to say something.
I couldn’t exactly afford much extra right now, and wasn’t interested in blowing the small amount of money I did have on diner food I didn’t need.
Though a quick glimpse at the menus showed me the prices were actually quite cheap.
“Two waters and a coffee,” he answered, looking up at our waitress. I breathed out a sigh of relief.
The moment she left the table, I spoke up, “I don’t really want to buy anything right now.”
“I’m obviously buying. Get whatever you want,” Mason answered without even looking up from his menu.
I scrutinized his face, the full lips and strong jaw, the dark slashes of his brows, his long eyelashes and still-damp brown hair.
The low-slung light of the pendant above the table made everything feel closer.
Safer, maybe. Mason’s unnatural intensity seemed muted here.
“It wasn’t obvious to me,” I said, picking up my own menu and running the pad of my finger along the plastic edge. Maybe it should’ve been obvious, though. This was entirely his suggestion—not even a suggestion, really. He’d dragged me here. “Who’s the coffee for?”
“Whoever wants it.” Mason’s eyes connected with mine; his irises were brown like soil and mine were green like ferns. Meeting each other just like the forest did outside these walls. “Or we could share,” he added. “Don’t know how sweet you like it.”
I felt like I should know things about him, something more than his first name and the fact that he liked the feeling of almost drowning himself, but I wasn’t sure how to ask.
Sofia came back with the glasses of water and a steaming mug of coffee, along with a few vanilla creamers, which she set on the table next to the ceramic mug.
“Need a few more minutes?” she asked.
Mason and I both affirmed that we were still looking over our menus.
“Take your time.” Sofia nodded and left, strolling down a few tables to check on another group—an older couple eating with who I presumed were their grandkids.
“Do you want some waffles or something?” Mason asked as he eyed me stacking the little plastic cups of creamer into a small pyramid. “We could share a stack.”
Was this normal for him? Did he often drag girls out of the ocean, offer them his clothes, and then take them to this tiny diner to share a stack of waffles? I narrowed my eyes and looked back at the pyramid.
“You don’t want to talk,” he surmised.
“We can talk. I just want to know how many girls you’ve taken here.” I internally smacked myself upside the head, hating that I sounded jealous, hating that I sorta was jealous. I’d met this man all of thirty minutes ago. The energy radiating from him was making me dumb.
“I’ve never taken a girl here. I’ve actually never even been here.”
“What?” I stared at him. “How did you decide on it?”
“I drive past this place all the time, and I’ve always wanted to see the inside. This seemed as good an opportunity as any.” He reached out and flicked the tower of creamers, sending the few plastic cups tumbling onto the faux-wood surface of the table. I couldn’t determine if he was lying or not.
“I guess I just don’t understand why you’re holding me hostage.”
“Because I don’t want you walking off to fuck-knows-where through that. That’s why.” He jerked his head towards the foggy window, where rain was pouring down the glass in slick sheets. Thunder echoed through the sky and shook the pane in its frame.
“I was going to take the bus.”
“You got front door bus service?”
I slammed my palm down on the table, irritated with his tone. Our silverware rattled. “I’ll split a stack of blueberry waffles with you and then you’re going to let me leave. Okay?”
Mason didn’t give any indication of yes or no.
“And I’m going to drown them in syrup, so I hope you like that,” I added. If he really cared so much about me getting home safe, he could deal with a small flood of maple syrup.
“I love it.” His gaze lingered on mine, almost challenging me. I thought I could see something predatory in his eyes. Something mildly untamed.
I need to leave.
I dumped all four cups of creamer into the coffee then stirred it around with my spoon before lifting the mug to my lips and taking a tiny sip.
The liquid was hot as it went down my throat and into my stomach, pleasantly heating me from the inside out.
I kept my hands wrapped around the warm ceramic.
When our waitress came back, Mason ordered the food and handed her our menus.
“So, Dakota,” he started. “What were you doing on the beach?”
“I like going there. Watching the waves. It soothes me.”
“Most people wouldn’t find that sort of weather calming—at least not being out in it,” he commented, then motioned for me to give him the coffee. Reluctantly, I slid the mug across the table.
Mason turned it and took a swig from the exact same place my mouth had been prior.
I had to look out the blurry window to be able to ignore the things it did to my insides, though the glass mostly showed a reflection of our table illuminated against the stormy afternoon.
“I’m not most people.”
“No. You’re not. I don’t know many who would risk their own life for a stranger like that.”
“Well I do know many people who’d at least thank the stranger that tried to save their life,” I grumbled.
“Thought the food and dry clothes were evidence enough of my thankfulness.”
“Those things are evidence of you wanting to control me, and ignoring my bodily autonomy.”
“You want me to ignore your bodily autonomy some more?” He leaned forward, forearms pressing against the table, and it took some bravery not to lean back away from him, not to give up any ground.
I fidgeted in my seat, the forest-green vinyl creaking under me, my elbows still planted on the table. “No,” I answered.
“Are you in college?” His eyes slid to my mouth, then back up.
“I’m not telling you that.”
He leaned back, putting more space between us again so I could breathe. But his eyes didn’t leave my face.
Thankfully, he didn’t really seem to mind my attitude. I really couldn’t figure him out. Who he was, what he wanted, why he was here and buying me food. The whole thing was strange. Maybe he just wanted to fuck me.
Maybe I’d let him.
“Is there anything you will tell me?” he questioned.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how I’m feeling.” I tilted my head to the side.
“And do you feel like opening up for me?”
My legs or my mouth? “Not especially,” I answered, ignoring the slutty thoughts prodding the back of my skull.
“I’ll get you there,” he promised as he inclined his head towards me, the words sounding ridiculously filthy in his low voice. I honestly didn’t know if he was talking about emotionally opening up or physically opening up at this point. Both?
He scared me just as much as he excited me. It was unnatural.
The waffles arrived back at the table along with a pitcher of warm syrup and a couple foil packets of butter.
I placed a pad of butter on top of the stack, and spread it around with my knife as it melted.
Then, I poured on a ridiculous amount of syrup, the sticky sweetness filling every square on the waffle and dripping over the sides, puddling on the plate.
I cut myself the first bite of our meal, and had to stifle a moan when I put it in my mouth. The sweet syrup and fluffy waffle combined with the slight fruity tartness of the blueberries was heavenly.
Mason didn’t take his gaze off me the entire time, and I felt him watch my throat as I swallowed. Heat flushed my cheeks and burned low in my stomach. The way he was looking at me wasn’t subtle at all.
I cleared my throat. “Do you want some?”
“Looks like you’re enjoying yourself. I’d hate to interrupt.”
I used two fingers to push the plate in his direction. He raised a brow.
“So, are you in college?” I asked, although he couldn’t have been younger than late-twenties. He had a subtle surety I didn’t often see in guys my age.
“Not in college, no. I never went to college, actually.”
“Interesting.” I tilted my head. “Do you work?”
“I do work. It’s not interesting, though. Just boring shit I’m doing to make ends meet. Random shit.”
“I see. I am in college, by the way. Graduating in the spring.”
“What are you studying?” he asked, cutting himself a large bite of waffle.
“Chemical engineering.” I stole the plate back from Mason as he chewed. My answer made him pause for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t expected it, or something else. Most people were shocked when I told them.
“Smart girl,” he murmured. Fuck me. “That’s really good, Dakota.”
His praise caused electric heat to prickle in my face and I busied myself with stabbing another huge bite with my fork, then stuffed it in my mouth. My thighs clenched together under the table. I chewed and swallowed, then froze as Mason reached a hand towards my face.
My pulse kicked up and my stomach tightened.
He paused, before swiping his thumb over the corner of my mouth, catching a stray drop of syrup.
The warmth of his finger seeped into my delicate skin, the light touch of his palm on my jaw making my breath shaky.
He brushed his thumb over the center of my bottom lip, then dropped his hand back to the table.
“I could’ve gotten that myself,” I said, hating the ache blossoming strong in my core.
“Thought I’d help you out.” He smirked.
“Or you just wanted to touch my mouth.”
“Observant,” Mason said, confirming my suspicion.
“It’s rude to touch people without their permission.”
“Yeah?” he teased. “I’m being rude?”
“Forcing me to stay with you against my will, dragging me wherever you want to go, and touching me without my permission? Yes. You’re being rude. Not a good way to start a friendship.”
Mason’s eyes darkened.
“I don’t want to be friends with you, Dakota.”
And in that moment I knew I would let him do things to me.
Bad things, if he wanted.
The current of him was so strong, and I was so weak.
I don’t care.
Silence claimed the air between us, my pulse throbbing just below the surface of my skin. Mason was breathing a little harder, too. And still fucking staring at me.
I was the first to look away.
We took turns eating parts of the waffle until we were both full and the plate was empty. Then I darted out of the booth and headed straight for the family bathroom in the back corner, locking myself inside and inspecting my appearance in the mirror while attempting to settle my nerves.
Dark makeup was smudged around my eyes and I swiped my fingers under my lash line to rub some of it off, the black of my mascara contrasting with my pale skin.
My hair was dirty blonde, darker now that it’d been submerged in saltwater, and my long braid was leaving wet spots on Mason’s hoodie.
The flush staining my cheeks and lips was more obvious than I’d been hoping it would be.
Essentially, I looked like a desperate mess.
I felt like a desperate mess, too. Horny and confused and shamefully eager.
I don’t want to be friends with you, Dakota.
His words in my head.
Then what do you want to be, Mason?
Something worse?
The poisonous type of desire I felt now was something I’d struggled with for a long time. It scared me. It was stupid to want to be anything with him.
I tucked the silver heart locket dangling from my neck back inside the collar of Mason’s sweatshirt, the cool metal pressing into my chest. There weren’t any photos inside it.
There used to be a photo in it though, and thinking about that made me want to rip it off my neck and flush it down the toilet.
Sometimes I considered putting a picture of Mila on one side, but I’d never done it. I kept it empty now.
The image of Mason’s face was etched into my mind as I let a cool stream of water trickle over the inside of my wrists, over the veins there.
His skin was so flawless, his proportions so perfect, his irises so richly brown.
I still couldn’t decide if his attractiveness drew me in or scared me off. Both, likely.
He was wicked in every sense of the word, cutting along some razor-sharp edge of my consciousness, trying to edge deeper.
Mason was exactly the sort of man I needed to stay far, far away from.
He felt like the sort who knew how to reach the darkest parts of me with nothing more than the brush of a fingertip, or the glint in his eye.
That was dangerous. And I’d hardly known him an hour.
But, God, I wanted to be touched. All the reasons I shouldn’t give in to whatever it was Mason was exuding were seeming less and less important with each passing second.
Besides, Mason could never hurt me more than he hurt me. The man I couldn’t talk about.
Once I’d given myself enough time to restore my confidence and gather my thoughts, I headed back to the table and dropped my ass on the seat.
“Do you want anything else?” Mason asked.
I shook my head.
Mason waved over our waitress and she brought us the check on a small ticket. He left a wad of cash on the table, and if I was calculating correctly, tipped her double the price of our meal. I let him lead me out of the booth, then back into the pelting rain.