Page 85 of Enemies with Benefits

I stared at him for a moment and scoffed. “You're as bad as me."

"Huh?"

"I don't know how to react when people thank me either or say nice shit about me. You make jokes, and I get grumpy."

"I don't know how to feel about us being so similar about something."

"I don't either. But I don't know how to feel much of anything right now."

His expression drooped, and I waited for him to inevitably change the subject to something easier to deal with. Not that I blamed him, I didn't even want to deal with my emotions, I wasn't going to expect Mason, of all people, to want to deal with them. I could usually trust myself to handle my shit, and there wasn't much point in dragging other people into the mess with me. People had enough of their own shit without me throwing mine onto the heap, especially when I knew damn well I was adult enough to deal with it on my own.

"Look…" I began, and then stopped when he rolled his eyes. I narrowed mine. “What?"

"You're about to say something stupid and irritating," he said, getting up and unexpectedly dropping onto the couch next to me. "So whatever it is, spare me. Let me see your hand."

I glared at him, but against every instinct I normally had when it came to him, I held my hand out. He looked at the bandages and grunted. “Looks fine. It's not bleeding all over the place, so it means I stitched you up alright."

My eyes widened. "I...what? You gave me stitches?"

"What? I'm not allowed to have a multitude of skills?” he asked, arching a brow.

"Whydo you know how to do that?"

"You know, it's amazing the things you pick up when you're young, dumb, and way too full of yourself."

"Never thought I'd hear you own up to that."

"What? I'm not allowed to know that I'm an arrogant ass now? Sheesh, I thought I’d have earned at least a little complexity."

I rolled my eyes. “Knowing how to stitch people up tells me plenty about what you've been up to since high school. I knew I should have looked up your record."

Mason snorted, grip warm on my wrist as he held it, no longer looking at my hand. "Well, can't really say you would have found much interesting. Most of my stuff was like...driving too fast along a long stretch of road when no one else was around."

I jerked my head toward him. “So you're admitting that was you?"

He laughed. “We both know that was me. You should’ve seen your face when I wouldn't admit to it, I thought you were going to explode."

"Because you're an asshole and you've always been an asshole!"

"Probably, but that's who I am. Just like you're dramatic."

"I am not."

"Sure, whatever you tell yourself to make yourself feel better."

I pulled my hand away, trying not to wince when I bumped it against my knee and sent a fresh wave of pain through it. "Why the fuck were you out there hot rodding? You're a full-grown man."

"And clearly, this full-grown man has done enough dangerous stuff in his time to learn how to stitch himself up rather than waste time going to a clinic or hospital."

"Where did you learn that anyway? Internet?"

"Dated a corpsman once. He was a regular font of information."

"I feel like looking into your dating history would be more informative."

He snorted. “Well, dated is a strong word. We had...an agreement."

"What, you sleep with each other and call it a day?"