Chapter 10 Mason #2
Everything in town shuts down on Mondays and Tuesdays—not enough out-of-towners coming through on those days to support the local businesses—and we’re deep into our third poker hand of the night.
The bar is closed. The cider house is closed.
And even though there’s always work to do when you run a family business, nearly every Monday night for the past few years has been poker night for me and my brother and our best friends.
Sometimes we don’t even get around to playing poker. But we all take turns hosting and cooking dinner, and tonight, it’s Evan’s turn.
He lives across town, meaning on the other side of Cherry Way—past the pier, his house overlooking the water.
We’ve set up at a table on his back porch to play cards and enjoy the view, and the chill, country-leaning rock that is Evan’s thing.
And even though Evan isn’t much of a cook and kind of cheats by bringing in takeout sides he picks up in Cobble Hill to go with the steaks he grills, I’m glad he’s hosting this week.
If we met up at my place, there’s too good a chance someone would overhear something I don’t want them to.
Like my grandpa, who’s already given me grief several times about “falling for June Spencer’s trickery” ever since he found out about the smoothie bar opening up at the pier.
He’d definitely have words for me if he knew I’d seen June today and that she was considering letting some woman from the city have Pier Seven—possibly long-term.
I’m not planning to mention anything related to June Spencer or Sierra Daniels or Pier Seven, but someone—inevitably—brings it up.
“What’s Tommy think of that?” Evan asks.
“Exactly what you’d think,” I say. “He’d probably rather burn Pier Seven down at this point than let June keep it. He’s entirely irrational when it comes to that woman.”
“Well, don’t look at me for any help with that,” Jace says. “I’m on thin ice with Tommy already. I say one word about June Spencer in his presence, he’d probably ban me from the Grant family’s illustrious properties for life.”
“Thought you were already banned,” Evan pokes.
Layne grins. “Yet he keeps coming back.”
“The fact that you think I’d come to you for help about anything is stunning,” I say to Jace.
“At least I’ll admit that I like the old bastard, even if he doesn’t like me.” He looks pointedly at me. “Some of us are having a little trouble naming our feelings lately.”
I flip a middle finger at him.
“Meaning what?” Layne asks.
Evan looks from me to Jace and back. “Yeah, am I missing something?”
“Just that Mason’s deep in self-denial mode,” Jace announces. “That shit kicked in hard when that fuck-hot brunette came to town. He’s been worked up about her ever since. Terrible company. Grouchier than ever.”
“What brunette?” Evan asks. I guess Jace hasn’t blabbed to him yet.
Shocking.
But I am so not getting baited into this.
“Self-denial?” Layne raises an eyebrow at me in question.
“You know. That thing he does where he won’t go after what he really wants,” Jace explains, “because he’s so busy holding the entire town together, taking care of what everyone else wants.”
“I do not do that,” I say flatly. What the hell is he even talking about? “I do not do shit because other people tell me to. What the fuck.”
“No,” Jace says, “you do stuff for other people, before they even ask you. You’ve always put other people’s wants and needs before your own.”
“Not true.”
“Very true,” Jace counters. “At this point, you probably don’t even know what you want. Which is why I’m here to help you see the light. And for the record, it is shining out of that woman’s pussy.”
I scowl, but glance at the others, just wondering if they’re actually listening to this shit.
“What brunette are we talking about?” Evan repeats, still clueless.
“Sierra Daniels,” Jace blabs. “She runs the smoothie bar at the pier. Miss Behaving, from the bachelorette party.”
“Oh,” Evan says, totally getting it now. “Her.”
Jace cocks an eyebrow at me. “Care to deny?”
“Sorry, man,” Evan says to me. “I don’t know anything about this woman, but I definitely saw you with her.
And the rest of it’s true. Not that there’s anything wrong with being selfless like you are.
Some might even call it heroic.” He gives Jace a look.
“We can’t all be unrelentingly self-interested like Jace. ”
“I mean, it’s not hard,” Jace drawls. “You just take what you want.”
“Noble,” Evan says.
“You just haven’t been yourself since Sierra came to town,” Jace informs me. “So maybe you should give that some thought.”
What he doesn’t know is that I’ve given that—her—way too much thought already.
It’s sickening how often that woman is in my head.
I’m fucking busy.
After my morning workout, and sometimes a walk with my brother’s dog, I have breakfast with my family, then I have plenty of work to do as general manager of the cidery.
Most days I head over to the bar to work in the office sometime in the afternoon, because I manage that, too.
I usually leave when the evening bartender comes in just before the dinner rush, to eat with my family.
Some nights I go back to the cidery or the bar to work some more.
And right now, I’m also juggling the renovations on the house and helping out Layne with the final fixes on his cottage so he and Kaylie can move in.
I have more than enough going on to occupy my time and my mind, and yet there she is, taking up too much fucking space.
Definitely doesn’t help that I know she’s sleeping on June’s property, right next door. And her smoothie bar is right across from my bar, which means I see her going in and out all the time. And everyone in town is talking about Cutie Fruitie—and its beautiful owner from the city.
I’m annoyed as hell that both Layne and Jace have been in there. Layne on opening night, last week, and Jace yesterday. And both of them felt the need to report back to me, in detail, about how “hot” Sierra looked and how “adorable” the smoothie bar is.
“I already told you,” I grit out. “I have no interest in her. She’s just standing in my way.”
In truth, I’ve been feeling weirdly conflicted ever since I declared war against her on the beach. I need June to deny her the extension on her lease. But deep down, I’m fucking disturbed that I don’t love the idea of her leaving town like I should.
I can’t fall for Sierra Daniels. I can’t even like her in any amount. What would be the point? I’d just get hurt. She doesn’t live here; not permanently. Anyone can see she doesn’t belong here. We have nothing important in common. And I’m way too old to let my hormones make decisions for me.
I don’t even approach one-night stands that way. I’m incredibly pragmatic about who I sleep with. Have to be, so they don’t get attached, and I don’t have to feel guilty about it. Sex is just sex.
And Sierra Daniels is a walking thorn in my side.
I can’t risk fucking her and growing feelings, but I can’t seem to forget her.
I’ve even tried to pretend that the owner of that smoothie bar is some faceless corporation so I don’t have to feel anything about fighting over Pier Seven with a live human, or the fact that that human is her.
Impossible.
For nine nights straight I’ve been plagued by memories of that night we shared. And they’ve only gotten worse the more I revisit them.
More vivid. More intense. More real, like they’re happening right here and now.
I’ve zoned out countless times at the bar, remembering how we clung to each other outside, in the dark.
And remembering how we clung to each other after we tumbled into that narrow bed together. How she kissed my neck. Flickered her tongue along my throat, tasting me.
Skimmed my earlobe with her teeth, making my balls throb.
I wasn’t nearly drunk enough that night to have mercifully forgotten the details.
I wonder if she remembers them, too.
If they replay in her head all damn night and day, like they do to me.
I’ve zoned out at the house while working with tools, remembering the sound of her voice and the feeling of her breath on my skin. Her little moans. Her whispered words. I smashed my fingernail with a hammer yesterday and have a bruised nail bed to show for it, but luckily no broken bones.
I’ve zoned out fucking driving.
You’d think after what happened to my parents, I’d be smart enough never to let that happen.
I had to pull over yesterday at the side of the road to get my shit together because I got lost in a memory of our hips sliding together, clothed bodies grinding .
. . her thighs wrapping around me as she sought friction, rubbing herself against my erection . . .
You taste like sex, Mason.
You feel like bliss . . .
The lust-drunk, euphoric sound of her sweet laughter.
That woman is a danger to my health.
And my sanity.
I can’t remember wanting a woman so much in a long damn time. Or . . . ever?
I wanted more. More of her, that night.
And if I’m being honest, every night since.
I lie in bed at night fucking throbbing with the want.
“Mason. Yo. Where the hell did you just go?”
I blink at Jace. “What? Nowhere.”
“Really? It’s been your turn for like a decade.”
I glance around the table. They’re all waiting on me.
I finish my turn and take an irritable swig of beer.
“I’m telling you. You’re trying to control what you can’t. At least be honest with yourself. If you’re feeling her, so be it. No matter how inconvenient it might seem.”
“We’re still on this?” I growl.
“He’s right,” Layne says. “You haven’t been yourself lately. I was trying to stay out of it, but when I went into the smoothie bar the other day with Kaylie, Sierra said something about you telling her she’s not welcome here. That we’re enemies? What’s up with that?”
“She’s not welcome,” I mutter. “As far as I’m concerned.”
“Why? Because of that old building? We don’t need it.”
It’s got nothing to do with need.
Honestly, Layne doesn’t have a clue what we need as a business. It’s not his job to manage these things. His concerns, as our cider master, are the unique flavor profiles of our products, cider production, and quality control. And, of course, Kaylie.
This is about history and tradition and what’s right. It’s about our parents and what they wanted.
But how can I tell Layne that? My brother’s been through enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this.
“I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry about it.”
Layne gives me a doubtful look. “Well, you can’t really control if you like her. You can choose what to do about it, sure. But it kinda seems like you want to do something about it.”
“If I wanted to do something,” I growl, “I’d do it.”
My friends exchange a look with my brother at my expense, like I’m not even fucking sitting right here.
“I can see you guys when you do that, you know.”
“Years ago, you would’ve done what you wanted,” Jace says.
“But you’ve changed. Ever since what happened with Jenn.
You got really jaded about women when you came back to town after the breakup.
But it’s been fourteen years, man. Isn’t it time to let it go?
You’ve been a one-and-done man with every woman you’ve met since. ”
“Not true. I slept with that woman from up island at least three times.” I mutter, “What was her name . . . ?”
“Yeah. Congrats.” Jace makes a wanking-off gesture, unimpressed. “Sounds like an epic romance.”
“Said the man who hasn’t had a woman spend one complete night in his bed, ever.”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
“And why is that, again?”
“Because you’re the one who needs our help right now.”
“He’s right,” Layne says. “This is tough love, brother.”
“So, what is this, group therapy?”
“Think of it as more of a casual intervention,” Jace says.
I glance at Evan across the table, wondering if they planned this, or if Jace’s big mouth is just getting away from him.
Evan’s been quiet, focused on his cards, but not suspiciously so.
The man doesn’t tend to interfere in other people’s business.
Sometimes I wonder how he and Jace are even friends.
“Hate to say it,” Evan drawls without looking up, “but they’re right.”
“Fuck off.”
Jace slaps Evan on the back as Evan says, “You’re too good a man not to share what you’ve got with some amazing woman, Mason. You’re good-looking, built like Hercules, smart, loyal, and decently funny. You’re inheriting a whole fucking empire, and you deserve a queen. Did I mention you’re hot?”
“Wow, Evan.” I’m actually a little speechless. That’s more compliments than I think I’ve ever heard out of his mouth, directed at anyone. Women included. “I didn’t know you’d noticed.”
“I’d be jealous,” Layne quips, “but that was beautiful.”
Evan gives me a solemn nod. He lies his cards face down, curves his hands together into a heart shape, and holds it to his chest. It’s something a ten-year-old girl would do. He probably learned it from Kaylie.
“And that’s my cue to call it a night,” I announce. “Before one of you starts braiding my hair. By the way, I’ve got a full house. Queens high.”
I lay out my hand, and the rest of them toss their cards onto the table with a round of curses.
I grin. “See? I’ve got all the queens I need.” I scoop up my winnings and stand, shoving their cash into my jeans.
Layne downs his beer and gets up with me. “I’m out, too.”
Evan gets up to see us out, but Jace sits back in his chair, studying me.
No, challenging me.
“So that’s it? You’re just gonna live in denial?”
What the hell is up his ass tonight?
“You know what, Jace?” I level him with a look. “Sometimes you need to know when to just shut the fuck up.”
“And sometimes you need to take a fucking risk,” he fires back. “The truth is, you won’t make a move on her because it’s not safe enough for your liking. You never take risks anymore, man. And that is exactly why you should.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, irritable. “You’d understand not taking risks if you ever worried about anyone other than yourself.”
But he doesn’t let me bait him, either. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t.”
But my best friend ignores that. “And here’s why,” he says. “Sierra fucking scares you.”
I grunt a laugh and shake my head. “That is so off base,” I tell him, “I’m not even gonna bother.”
But his words stay with me, long after Layne and I head out into the night.