Page 30 of Played

He nods. “It was 1972 at a movie theater in Kentucky. Best rum and raisin ever.” His green eyes twinkle, and I drop a brief kiss on the top of his head that makes him cackle.

And when I straighten up again, bam! I’m looking right into the dark-brown eyes of Mason James, who’s staring at me like I have an extra head. Self-conscious, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. If there was any leftover mint chocolate chip on my face, then he has nothing else to gawk at me for. But he goes on staring anyway. And it seems like it takes forever for one of us to speak.

“You need something? A picture maybe?” I snap before he does. But I feel vulnerable here with Grampa, and I hate that, especially around Mason.

“I-I,” he stammers for a second before his cool facade slips back into place. “Just didn’t expect to see you at an ice cream shop is all.”

“I could say the same about you. Especially here in Marble Hill. Little out of your comfort zone, isn’t it?”

His jaw tics. Grampa is craning his neck and trying to get a look at who I’m talking to. “Introduce me to your friend, son,” he demands.

With a sigh, I spin him around until he too comes face-to-face with Mason James. All six foot two of toned muscle and charm wrapped up in obscenely well-fitted jeans and a casual shirt, which look as good as his suits. “Grampa, this is Mason. Mason, meet my grandfather.”

Grampa extends his hand. “Arthur Blackthorn. Nice to meet you, son.”

Recognition dawns on Mason’s face at Grampa’s last name, but he quickly plasters on a smile and shakes his hand. “It’s great to meet you too, sir.”

Grampa glances between the two of us. He likes being addressed with respect, and I know Mason has already won him over. “How do you boys know each other?”

“King works for me,” Mason replies before I get a chance to.

“Oh, so he’s your boss?” Grampa asks, eyes on me now.

He’s an asshole is what he is. I grind my teeth. “Not exactly.”

Mason cups his hand at the side of his mouth and makes like he’s whispering to my grandfather. “I pay him to work for me, but he gets a little touchy about people calling me his boss, Mr. Blackthorn.”

“That’s because I’m my own fucking boss,” I snap.

Mason winks at Grampa. “See. Touchy.”

Grampa laughs out loud. “I was exactly the same at his age. And please, son, call me Arthur.”

Mason smiles at him. It’s his genuine smile, the one that makes my cock twitch in a way it definitely wasn’t a few seconds ago. It also reminds me of the guy I lost.

“What the hell are you doing this far from Manhattan, Mason? Don’t you burst into flames once you cross the district line in daylight or something?”

He tilts his head, and the way his brown eyes rake over me does nothing to ease the situation going on in my jeans. I thank fuck for Grampa’s wheelchair right in front of me. “Marble Hill is part of Manhattan, Hotshot. And I’m here to meet Maddox. He works in the vegan café around the corner.”

“Is Maddox a friend of yours?” my grandfather asks. “Or is he someone special?”

Fuck, Grampa. Why not just outright ask him if he’s gay?

Mason’s smile widens. “He’s someone very special, Arthur. He’s my kid brother.”

“I had a brother once,” Grampa says sadly. “Died when he was only a few years old.”

Mason’s expression softens, and he crouches down, bringing his face level with my grandfather’s, and rests a hand on his knee. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Arthur. We almost lost Mad once.” There’s a crack in his voice that I haven’t heard for a very long time. I had no idea about that. “Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful to still have him.”

Grampa nods, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“He’ll be wondering where I am if I’m late, so I have to run, but it was great to meet you, Arthur.”

“You too, son.”

Mason stands tall, his eyes a little softer when they meet mine again. “Good to see you, King.”

He walks away, and I watch the overtly admiring glances of the people he passes. Men and women. He has the kind of energy that people are drawn to. Whether it’s charisma, pheromones, or something else, Mason James has it by the truckload. That’s why I keep watching him.