Page 38 of Love at Full Tilt

I’ve never been this undressed with anyone but myself. Even the few times Dan and I had sex, it was always rushed and somewhere dark, and I still had half my clothes on when we were through.

There’s nothing hiding me from Mason, and it makes me wonder what he sees. The way the band of my bra pinches my skin and creates new pockets of fat above and below it? The stretch marks on my abdomen? How my waist is not as smooth without my clothes?

He’s so quiet it makes my heart stutter, and a hundred different worries flutter through my head. “Is this okay?” I whisper. What if he doesn’t want to move this fast? What if I’m pressuringhim?

The thought makes me want to hide, and I start to fold my arms over my chest.

He gently takes my wrists, and his eyes capture mine. “It’s very okay.” His voice is low, almost a growl.

Then we’re kissing again, his hands on my skin. In my hair. He walks me backward— step, kiss, step, kiss, step, kiss —until the backs of my legs meet the mattress. I hear the dogs jump up and scatter, but I can barely process it as Mason’s hands slide down my back and over my butt.

I pull away for a moment and he immediately mirrors my movement, concern on his face. “Slow is okay, right?” I say.

His watercolor eyes are soft as they take me in. “Slow isperfect.”

Everything between us has happened at warp speed, like we’re in a two-hour movie that someone is fast-forwarding.

But I can’t rush into this. I can’t have sex with him.

It will only heighten the draw I feel to him, and I can’t give him any more of my heart.

Not with two days left until I leave. Not with this contest looming, where, even in the best-case scenario, only one of us can win.

I angle up to kiss him again. I rope the hem of his shirt in my hands and then pause to gauge his response. I don’t want to do anything he doesn’t want to do.

He’s quick to help, grabbing the shoulders of his shirt and shrugging right out of it.

He moves to kiss me again, but I sit down on the bed and gaze up at him.

My heart’s slamming so hard my head is a little woozy, and I need a good deep breath.

Plus, let’s be honest. I want to see him the way he saw me a minute ago.

His body is muscular, but not in an “I spend all my time at the gym” kind of way. He’s lean, but his chest and arms and stomach are firm and defined. And warm beneath my palm as I rest it lightly on his abdomen and skim it up toward his chest.

He’s still as he watches me look at him, his expression illegible. He doesn’t take a breath until my fingers trace the tattoo over his heart.

Always, it reads in black ink, the letters styled to look like roses.

“What’s this?” I ask. I press my hand over it, as if I can stamp the word on my own skin.

“It’s for my mom.” Each word cracks against his voice.

My hands fall away from him, and I crush them in my lap.

He’s standing over me, his fingers idly wandering through the ends of my hair, but his gaze stays locked on the tattoo. “Every night, when she tucked me in, I’d say, ‘I love you,’ and she’d say, ‘Always.’ It was our thing.” He blinks rapidly, like he’s clearing his vision.

I reach out and rest my hand on his stomach again. “You can talk to me about her, you know.”

He feathers his thumb over my jaw. “She would have lovedyou.”

“Really?”

“She loved mysteries too. And history. Anything that reminded her the world was never just what we saw on the surface.” He combs his fingers through my hair. “And she had the best sense of humor. No one besides her ever made me laugh so hard, until I met you.”

My heart has climbed into my throat. I swallow around it. “You look like her. From the picture I saw at Nora’s.” From what little I’ve seen of his house, there don’t seem to be any photos of his mom here, like his dad is hoping to forget her.

“My grandfather used to tell me I was all my mother.”

“I’m sure he’s right.”

Mason’s gaze intensifies. “Do you think your parents would like me?”

“What?”

At my hesitation, he drops beside me on the bed. “I know they’re strict.”

I struggle to order my thoughts into something that makes sense.

He’s asking about meeting my parents. That has to mean he’s thinking about what happens when I leave.

My whole body feels light, like I’ve been pumped with helium.

Maybe we don’t have to have an end date.

Maybe, if we both want it, we can make this thing between us something more.

Something real. It already feels that way.

I scrub a hand over my eyes, then turn so I’m facing him.

It’s supremely awkward to be talking about my parents when he’s shirtless and I’m only wearing a bra on top, but here we are.

“My dad would love you instantly. Mom would take time. Anything new is triggering for her.” I brush my thumb across his lips.

“But what she wants most is for me to be happy.” The words are true, even if I don’t always believe them.

Even if she can’t always do what would make me happiest. “And you make me happy.”

My favorite smile finds his face. “I’m glad.”

That’s all he has time to say before we crash into each otheragain.