33. Callie
Chapter thirty-three
I can barely hold it together as Mason’s enthusiastic moans echo in the air.
“Seriously, Mason?” Beth glares at her brother as she lets the ball sail past her.
“Welcome to my Wednesday nights.” Tristan spins his racket in his hand as he stands beside her.
“I’m sure it’s the only action you see, so don’t complain too hard.”
“Was that you trying to see what I get up to when you’re not around?”
“As if I care.” Beth snorts, swinging her tennis racket back and forth. “So you guys actually practise this every week, right?”
For the record, I’m terrible at tennis, but I love watching Mason get sweaty in his little shorts.
We spend more time missing the ball than hitting it, and by we, I mean me.
Beth is marginally better, but I think that’s more her sheer determination to not let Tristan have the upper hand on literally anything.
“Yes.” Tristan rolls his eyes.
“Huh? So why aren’t you good?”
“Because we play for fun.” Tristan pulls a tennis ball from his pocket, bouncing it a few times. “Do you know what that is, Princess?”
He serves the ball, and it goes sailing past Mason, who’s standing still, observing the two of them like I am.
“Sorry, I was distracted by whatever the fuck is going on between you two.” He points his racket at them. “Can we just play, and like Tristan said, have fun? You’re totally ruining my first experience of my girlfriend in a tennis skirt.”
I chuckle, looking down at my new outfit. I had normal athletic clothes on when we arrived—full-length leggings and an oversized T-shirt—but Mason took me straight to the club’s shop and loaded me up with a selection of what he deemed essential for game play.
“Can’t I just get the first one I saw?” I ask as Mason hangs at least five different outfits in my dressing room.
“No. My sister has drilled into me all my life that a woman must have options.”
“And that specifically pertained to tennis outfits… even though I likely won’t play often enough to warrant a full wardrobe?”
Mason holds up one of the dresses, a stretchy fabric in butter yellow that looks barely long enough to cover my arse. “I will drag you to more tennis games for this. Although we could just use it in a little roleplay.” He bobs his eyebrows at me as he stalks closer.
I laugh, taking the hanger from his hands and pushing him out of the dressing room. “Okay, let me try them on.”
“Don’t forget my fashion show,” he calls through the curtain.
“You need to see all of them?”
“Yes! Especially the white skirt.”
I shake my head, chuckling as I strip out of my clothes and into the yellow dress first. I was right, it barely covers my arse, but when I pull the curtain open and do a little spin, Mason’s tongue practically falls from his mouth, and I decide I can get on board with it.
Every outfit is met with his enthusiastic approval.
The pale blue skort with the scalloped edges and the hidden pockets—that was my favourite.
The two-piece baby pink halter top and pleated skirt—that made Mason bite his fist.
The black dress with the long sleeves and cut-out over the cleavage—that made him readjust his shorts.
Then the final one, the white sleeveless tank with a deep green collar and a matching skirt with green stripes along the hemline.
It’s even shorter than the yellow dress, but it has green bloomers stitched underneath.
That was the one that had him out of his seat and pushing me back into the changeroom, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
It had him pressing me against the mirror, hoisting my legs around his waist, pulling the underwear aside as he pushed his shorts down and thrust straight into me without any fanfare.
With the first moan that fell from my lips, he slammed a hand against my mouth and drove into me hard and fast, his eyes locked on mine.
The way he looks at me every time he’s inside me is enough to get me off.
It’s the dedication, the devotion, the crippling need, as if he can’t get enough and won’t ever get enough.
His hands are always so tight, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip from his grasp if he doesn’t hold on.
Whenever he gets closer to release, he always holds himself deeper and drops his forehead to mine.
Being with Mason is like facing the reckoning.
Embracing every part of yourself until you transform into this being of truth and acceptance.
Because if Mason can love me like this, I can love myself too.
I can accept my mistakes and my flaws. I can embrace the will to keep learning and growing, because an untroubled heart is not careless, it’s acceptance. It’s clarity and joy in the journey.
Suffice it to say, I wore that outfit out of the changeroom while Mason paid for it and all the others I tried on. Determined to make tennis an ongoing part of our weekly routine, whether real or fantasy.
“Pretty sure you already enjoyed the outfit.” Beth glares at her brother with one flawless eyebrow raised. “They have signs for one person in the changeroom at a time for a reason, Mase.”
“Keep telling us you don’t know how to have fun, Princess.” Tristan smirks while I hide my burning face behind my racket—pointless, since it’s see-through.
“You’ve hooked up in a changeroom?” Beth narrows her gaze at Tristan.
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Beth folds her arms over her chest. “Okay, so tell.”
“Fuck me, let’s have a water break, and when we return, we’re switching teams!” Mason says, pointing his racket at Beth and Tristan as he ushers me off the court, his free arm slung over my shoulders as he nuzzles into the side of my neck.
“Having fun?”
“It’s very entertaining.” I grin.
“Oh my god, they’re driving me up the wall. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s my sister and best friend, I’d tell them to fuck already.”
“They’re not my sister and best friend.” I shrug. “I’ll do it.”
Mason gives me a warning look. “Don’t.” I back away, hands held up in surrender. “Callie Mildred Moore.”
“My middle name’s not Mildred.” I laugh, still walking back as Mason squirts water into his mouth. It runs down his chin, but I feel like I’m seeing it in slow motion. Jeez, he’s hot.
“What is your middle name?” he says, pulling off his hat and running his fingers through his long, damp hair.
“Faith. Callista Faith. Yours is Luke, right?”
He nods thoughtfully. “How’d you know that?”
“I saw it on the settlement documents your realtor emailed through.”
“Snooping, Trouble?” He smiles.
“Just doing my job.”
“Callie, come to the bathroom with me,” Beth says, interrupting our flirting as she loops her arm through mine and starts to drag me across the court.
“What’s going on with you and Tristan?” I ask, once we find the bathrooms, pushing into a stall each.
“Ahh, nothing?” Beth calls over the partition.
“You could spread the sexual tension like icing on a hate-sex cake.”
Beth lets out a screeching gasp of outrage. “As if I’d give him the pleasure.”
I chuckle, finish up my business, then step out of the stall. A blonde woman is observing her reflection in the mirror. I offer her a brief smile as I wash my hands.
“Just once to get it out of your system? There’s a fine line between love and hate.” I try to ignore the way I can feel the woman’s eyes on me.
“Maybe,” Beth says, joining me at the next sink. “But the line between hate and loathing is thick.” Beth washes her hands, eyes flicking to the other woman, who’s still watching me. It’s starting to get weird.
Thankfully, she flicks her long, blonde ponytail over her shoulder before strutting out the door, leaving Beth and me alone.
“Wow. Hostile much.” Beth widens her eyes, then fixes her hair and smooths out her black tennis skirt. “Okay, let’s get this night over with.” She hooks her arm through mine, leading us out.
“I’m so happy my brother has found you, but if he wants to continue to double date, he’s going to have to ask Gage or Caleb.” Beth tilts her head. “Wait, but then I want to see Iz and Lex. I don’t want to be left out cos I’m the only single one.”
“Looks like you’ll just have to find a way to get along with Tristan,” I tease, my eyes falling to the guys once we reach the courts. Unease coils in my gut when I see who Mason and Tristan are talking to.
It’s the blonde woman from the bathroom. Her boobs bulge over the neckline of her hot pink dress, looking way too comfortable as she laughs and places a hand over Mason’s arm. He gives her a tight smile back as he glances at Tristan.
Tristan rolls his eyes, then nudges his shoulder against Mason’s when he sees us coming. “Hey, you ready for another round?” he calls.
Mason’s head snaps to mine, and he pulls away from the girl. Does he know her?
“Hey, baby. You’re gonna pair up with Tristan now, and I’ll play with Beth.”
“Ugh, so now I have to look directly at his face?” Beth grimaces, reaching for her water bottle.
“Don’t act like you don’t picture my face when you’re alone.”
“The world would be a happier place if more women sat on men’s faces,” Beth says with a sigh. “At least they’d be too busy to talk.”
“Are you offering?” Tristan grins, holding his racket across his shoulders and making his biceps flex.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I prefer my thrones a little more rugged.” Beth tosses her drink bottle back in her bag and heads onto the court, while the blonde girl still hovers around us, staring between me and Mason.
“I like them clean-shaven,” she says, eyes boring into Mason as she slowly steps away, flicking me a challenging glance before she turns.
Maybe it’s a coincidence. Finding her here, flirting with my boyfriend, but the fact that she wouldn’t stop staring at me in the bathroom makes her sudden appearance now feel all the more intentional.
“Friend of yours?” I say, and the familiar burn of jealousy feels heavy on my chest.
Mason shakes his head. “Just someone from around the club. She works at the front desk.”
I’m being paranoid.
The times when Derek would brush off my insecurities when women flirted with him, right in front of me, rearing its ugly head. Of course, he would dismiss my feelings only for me to discover I was right to question him.
“It’s okay if you’ve hooked up with her,” I say, even if I don’t really want to know. I just want the unwelcome anxiety to go away. I know Mason’s nothing like Derek, but sometimes wounds don’t heal completely. Sometimes they deceive you, lying dormant in the background.
“We all have a past.” I shrug.
But it’s one thing to know your partner has a past, and another to have them walk right up to you in all their perky-bosomed glory.
Mason wraps an arm behind my back, pulling me into his chest. “I only care about your future,” he says, running his nose along my jaw.
“Don’t worry about Emilia. She just works here, and she always flirts.
Besides—” He presses a kiss behind my ear, then hits me with his duo-coloured eyes.
“You’re the only one here stirring up trouble and corrupting me in the dressing rooms.”
I push his chest with a laugh. “That was you!”
He winks and pulls off his hat, followed by his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I stare at his smooth chest, covered in a light sheen of sweat, and his gold chain shimmering under the court lights with every breath.
“Getting ready to whoop your arse.” His hat goes back on… backwards.
“Not likely, Mase,” Tristan says, walking behind him.
His hat’s been turned backwards, and he’s lost his shirt too.
I’d already seen the tattoos on his arms plenty of times when I worked at Lee’s company. The tattoos on his thighs surprised me when we got here earlier, and now his chest is covered in more?
“Come on, Callie. This game is ours.” Tristan holds up a fist for me to bump, and I meet his challenge as we take our places on the opposite side of the court.
“Finall—” Beth’s words die as she looks at Tristan.
For the record, Tristan and I won. Both our opponents were far too distracted by the view.