Chapter Twenty-Three
Jennifer
With one backpack slung over my shoulder, and another tucked under my arm, I descend the steps from my apartment, eyeing the truck idling on the cold street.
Mase jumps out of the driver’s seat when I approach and runs around his pickup to take the bags from me. “Is this everything?”
I’m expecting to be gone three or four days, max, and my work outfits don’t exactly take up much room, so everything I figured I’d need fits into these two bags, my sweaters taking up the most space.
I didn’t need to pack my winter jacket since I’m wearing it, my boots are on my feet, and all the stilettos I wear for work are already at the club.
“This is it.”
He opens the passenger door for me to climb in, then places one of my bags at my feet, the other on top of my lap, while giving me a small smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
Ever since that hug last night, I’ve been having thoughts about him that I have no business thinking.
Something shifted in me, and I’m not sure what it means or what to do with it exactly.
Joining in his class last night was a different experience from the first time. I was watching him with different lenses, a blush dusting my cheeks when I caught my eyes lingering on his body a little too long after a demonstration.
I also caught him watching me several times, too, occasionally offering a smile as if he were actually happy that I was there.
Mase hops into the driver’s side a second later. Every movement he makes seems to bring the fresh scent of his bodywash to my nose, and I wonder how the hell it’s going to be living with that sort of delicious torture.
God, forget his scent, how am I supposed to live with him, period?
Too nice. Too kind. I don’t deserve it.
“You ready?” he asks after buckling himself in, almost looking nervous himself.
No.
“I think so.”
The fluttering in my stomach hitches up a notch when he puts his truck into drive and pulls away from the curb, away from my home.
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
I put his friend in prison. His innocent friend.
The fluttering turns to an all-out war in my stomach, and I place a hand over it in an attempt at settling it.
It’s just for a few days, I remind myself. And I think he needs this.
And really, this is sort of a perfect form of punishment for me: being in the presence of someone who will remind me every day of what I did whenever I look at him.
The drive to his building isn’t long, and before I know it, we’re standing in front of his apartment door in the hi-rise complex where he lives.
Mase pauses just before turning the handle, and looks at me over his shoulder, uncertainty suddenly occupying his face. “Shit. I should have asked. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”
A second later, meowing comes from the other side of the door, and my brows lift.
“I didn’t realize you had any pets,” I answer, curious to see what furry kitty is waiting for him. “But no, I’m not.”
Pushing the door open, he reaches down and scoops up a little black kitten with bright blue eyes, flopping it over his shoulder where it seems content to stay.
“Well, I don’t.” Mase carries the kitten and my bags inside.
“My neighbor asked me to watch her for a few weeks while they flew back to Australia for a family emergency.”
I follow him inside, mesmerized by the sight of him, all tall and muscular, walking with a kitten laying over his shoulder. His hand almost swallows her body as he holds her securely there. It’s nothing short of heartwarming.
“She’s adorable.”
We come to a stop, and he places my bags on a chair in the corner of what must be his guest bedroom, where I’m staying.
“This is your room for the next few days. Mattress is brand-new. Pillowcases and sheets are fresh. Bathroom is next door to your right; I can show you that in a minute. I only have one, but I think we can manage sharing it. My bedroom is across the hall.” He says it all while absently stroking the fluffy ball attached to him, and I can’t seem to look away.
Pausing suddenly, he glances at her, then me. “You want to hold her?”
I do. I really fucking do. I cut myself off from animals at the same time I quit volunteering at the shelter, figuring that was something I shouldn’t be allowed to have. But my love for all things furry or feathered never went away.
Mase lifts the kitten off his shoulder and plops her into my hands when I continue staring at her instead of answering him.
“Hi,” I say lamely, cuddling her close to me. “Aren’t you a cutie. How old is she?”
“I think they said four months.”
“So little. What’s her name?”
Reaching out, he scratches the top of her head. She’s so mellow and docile, she hasn’t squirmed once in my hold. “Lulu.”
“Lulu,” I repeat. “That’s a cute name.”
Mase’s smile is a little lopsided. “It’s freakin’ adorable.”
I run my eyes over her small body, and I can’t help but wonder if I would have been happy as a veterinarian. It’s possible that if life hadn’t happened the way it did, I still could have changed paths at some point and not even worked with animals. I guess I’ll never know.
I move to perch on the side of the bed, and it’s only now that I notice the colors of the blanket and pillows, then the candle on the bedside table.
My eyes find Mase’s dark ones for a brief moment before he looks away. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in. Do you want me to take her?”
The kitten looks up at me, and I scratch under her chin before handing her over. That’s all I’ll allow myself for now.
After returning her to the spot draped over his shoulder, Mase turns to leave.
“Thank you,” I say to his large, retreating back.
He disarms me with another smile over his shoulder, followed by a dip of his chin. “Make yourself at home, okay?” Then he leaves me to adjust to my new surroundings.
Flopping back onto the soft, black quilt, I angle my head toward the pink pillows. Surely, he didn’t go out and buy new bedding for me, right? The black quilt cover I can see him owning beforehand, but the hot-pink pillowcases? And the candle? Did he need a new mattress?
Guilt crawls back up my throat and clogs it.
I haven’t had anyone buy me things or try to look after me in such a long time, and I don’t know how to handle it. I’m not supposed to have nice things happen to me, yet it seems everything Mase does is nice.
I can’t just accept it all and be happy, yet my insides want to melt at the fact I was even a thought in his mind. It’s a dizzying cocktail of push and pull in my thoughts that makes me want to bury my head in the newly bought fabric and scream.
Sucking in a deep breath, I try to remind myself that this is for him. This will make him feel better.
I figure I might as well get settled in for now and give myself a tour of the place, starting with looking around my bedroom.
It’s far more modern than my apartment. The walls are painted a simple light gray, with plush dark gray carpet covering the floor.
The bed sits stretched out from the middle of the wall, with wrought iron bars at both ends.
A few framed, hand-sketched drawings—that are quite detailed and amazing—are hung on the wall above the bed, but otherwise, the walls are bare.
A peek in the closet reveals an exercise ball, a few tension bands, and a gym bag with the Fit For A Lifetime logo on it.
I slip off my jacket and hang it on one of the hangers. The temperature here is much warmer than in my apartment, and I wonder if that simple luxury will spoil me for when I go back to my ice box in a few days.
Slinking out into the hallway, I turn right to check out the bathroom.
Curious as to what he uses, I glance into the shower, noting the brand and scent, but then I do a double take when I see full bottles of what looks to be women’s shampoo and conditioner, as well as a coconut-scented bodywash.
Either he keeps a supply here for any lady guests he may have over, or he went and bought them for me at the same time he got the bedding. They aren’t the brand I use, but coconut is my favorite scent, and he must have noticed that.
Turning away from the shower, my eyes land on myself in the mirror, and the moment I see the slight smile on my face, rotten thoughts start sneaking their way back in.
Life-ruiner. Coward. You disgust me.
The smile drops and my fingers itch to reach for a blade. Out of habit, I grab the drawer handle but don’t open it. I doubt he’ll keep anything in here that I can use, anyway.
Plus, it’s always best to do it after work, giving my arms a bit of time before wearing my silk gloves the next day.
I wonder if I’ll still have this urge once Jacob is released. Probably.
I tug on the ends of my long-sleeved shirt and leave the bathroom to peek into Mase’s bedroom across the hall.
It understandably shows much more character than my room, though it has the same-colored wall and floor.
An acoustic and an electric guitar hang on his wall, along with more hand-drawn sketches and photos.
His bedding is dark gray, and instead of a metal frame like mine, his is dark wood.
Matching bedside tables are on either side, with lamps on top of both.
And in the corner sits a dresser, with a couple of drawers half open, a cologne bottle and a chain with a square pendant resting on top.
The room smells exactly like him, and I find myself pulling it into my lungs.
Having snooped enough, I go to leave, but I just about jump out of my skin when I see Mase leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, quietly watching me, the kitten circling one ankle.
“Shit, you scared me,” I breathe, placing a hand to my chest. Then, remembering I’m inside his bedroom, my cheeks warm. “Sorry, I was just looking around.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “I did tell you to make yourself at home.”
Awkwardly, I gesture at the guitars. “Do you play these or are they just decorations?”
“Occasionally,” he answers, pushing off the doorframe and walking into the room, hands in his pockets. “I find it soothing when the thoughts get too loud, you know?”
Loud thoughts are a daily occurrence for me, but his comment makes me wonder what type of thoughts might plague him. What runs through his mind on those sleepless nights?
Mase takes the acoustic off the wall and sits on the edge of his bed, plucking a few strings with his long fingers. “I can take you to work today and tomorrow if you like, since I’m off on weekends.”
“That’s not necessary.”
He huffs through his nose like he expected that answer. “Well, there are no night owl routes close by, so I’ll be picking you up.”
“I can walk or something,” I offer.
“Like fuck you can.”
“Mase . . .” I sigh, exasperatedly. “You can’t give up all your time and sleep running me back and forth to work. What about your friends? Social life?” I suddenly realize I don’t know much about his life outside of the gym or walking me home, and it doesn’t feel right.
He continues playing, not looking up at me. “I’m not letting you walk home at night by yourself. So, either I drive you home or we’ll be taking a stroll together at two a.m.”
Lips pursed, I watch him for a moment, the sounds of the strings coming into focus. It’s not just random chords now. He’s playing a song, and he’s pretty damn good.
“Do you have any siblings?” I blurt.
Surprised by my random question, he looks up with a raised brow, still playing the song. I recognize it now. Broken by Jonah Kagen. “No.”
“What do you do in your free time?”
He wiggles the end of the guitar. “Besides play this? Workout, visit my mom, go to the women’s shelter to organize more classes with them. Not much.”
I can’t help but notice the lack of friends mentioned.
“Was that why you were at the club that night? Finding women who want to take your class?”
“Yes.”
Soft, gooey warmth surrounds my heart at his answer. Such a selfless pursuit by a selfless man.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Mase smirks, amused, though confusion crinkles his brow. “Black. Although it’s not technically a color.” Setting the guitar aside, he leans back on his hands. “Any other questions?”
Why are you never busy with friends? Why don’t you have a girlfriend? What are the secrets you keep hidden?
I look around the room. “Maybe just one. Did you draw those sketches?”
Looking up, he brushes his gaze over the hand-drawn pictures. “My mom actually did those. When she could still hold a pencil, that is.” A touch of sadness coats his words, and I feel it in my soul.
“They’re quite lovely.”
Mase hums in agreement before returning his gaze to me. “All right. My turn for questions. What time do you have to start work today, and will you be eating dinner here?”