Page 29

This is not serious.
This isn’t something that needs to be more.
This is for fun.
This is pretend.
My pen stops on the last line. I stare at the words I’ve scribbled into the notepad, but my mind is blank. I don’t know what I intended for this poem to be. Inspirational maybe?
It all just looks like lies to me.
I click the end of my pen over and over.Click.Click.Click.Click. Debating ripping this sheet out of the notebook and balling it up for the round cabinet … a.k.a. the wastebasket.
The clink of several ceramic mugs being stacked together makes me turn to look over my shoulder. I inhale the rich smell of coffee in the small shop. The floors are checkered and the walls painted plain white, but this place serves the best coffeedowntown. It’s also right across from Mason’s office and I told him I’d meet him here. My eyes drift up, my thumb still on the end of my pen.
The Rising Falls Building is sleek and modern. It looks like a polished black sheet of glass all the way up with a thick steel frame outlining everything in matte black, separating the panels. It’s tall and dominating, dwarfing the small buildings across from it.
It’s everything Mason is. The clicking stops when I drop the pen.
With both hands wrapped around the mug, I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not room temperature either. The smooth ceramic feels just right in my hand as I take in a deep breath.
I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be with him; I don’t do casual and never have, but this doesn’t feel casual. It’s been days of seeing him and I’m already catching feelings. Feelings I’m certain are one sided.
Maybe I’m reading into things too much. It’s only been a week and a half. It’s just sex … or so I keep telling myself.Maybe I should add that to the list of lies in my notepad.I huff at the snide thought.
Luckily, not many people have seemed to notice, other than Kat checking up on me and gently prodding. That’s not atypical for her.
We aren’t seeing each other in public, mostly. Not for events anyway.
There are whispers that I’m dating, but nothing that seems malicious or judgmental. Which is better than I’d hoped.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest at the thought and the small air of confidence leaves me. I would care if they said I was a bitch for moving on too soon. Or that I’m no longer the goodgirl they thought I was. That Jace’s death was in some ways my death too. They wouldn’t be wrong about that last one.
Most importantly though, I don’t want Jace’s father seeing that I’ve moved on. Or my mother. I close my eyes and try to rid myself of the image of her reading about me in the paper as she sips her morning tea. Drunk at a bar with a known player holding me. Yeah, I don’t need my mother seeing that.
The bells above the front door jingle and my eyes instinctively open at the sound.
There he is, Mason, taking the breath in my lungs as he strides toward me. I’m stuck as I sit there, pinned to my seat and captivated by the air of confidence he gives off. His steel gray eyes look darker than ever as he grabs the back of the chair across from me and pulls it out. The legs scrape on the floor, announcing to the world that he’s going to sit with me. He claims his seat and fixes those eyes on me.
“Jules,” he says, my name falling from his gorgeous lips in a rough baritone and I finally breathe.
“Mason.” I say then smile, although I don’t know why. I simply can’t help it. He makes me feel like a little girl caught in a fantasy. It’s the way he wears his suits, the way he walks into buildings, the way he looks at me. As if he owns them all.
A small smile plays on his lips as well. I did that. I made him smile. These feelings, this bubbly laugh that erupts from my lips as I take a sip of my coffee … this is where the real problem hides.
He gestures to my cup and asks, “Should I get one as well?”
I sit up straighter and look over my shoulder again at the counter with the one lonely register and stacks and stacks of mugs behind it. It’s late but this coffee shop never closes, because this city never sleeps.
“If you’d like to.” I don’t expect him to reach across the table and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes and hands linger on the exposed part of my neck. The tips of his fingerstrail down my skin slowly, with purpose. I feel the heat race through me, the desire creeping slowly down my chest and lower … and lower. He confuses me when I’m near him. I can’t think of anything but what I want him to do to me and that’s a dangerous thing.
I’m mesmerized by the way he looks at me. The steel gray seems softer, the harsh lines of his jaw less intimidating, more vulnerable. Maybe my poetic mind is getting the best of me.
“I think if I do,” he finally answers, leaning back in the chair he’s claimed as a throne, “I’d like to get it to go.”
Nodding vigorously, I make it obvious that I agree and then feel foolish as he lets out a rough laugh. The bells jingle again in the doorway just as he leans across the table for a kiss.
Anxiety shoots through me, and I pull back just as his scorching hot lips touch mine. My back hits the hard plastic of the chair and my eyes whip over to an old man in a tweed suit. His white hair looks ruffled from the wind, but he doesn’t seem to care. His light blue eyes gaze through horn-rimmed glasses and up at the menu behind me.