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KAI

T his time, Mason was the one pacing the floors of my house, while I sat on the sofa in the living room, watching him.

He strode back and forth from the living room to the kitchen and back again. Bella followed at his heels like he might magically produce a treat, even though I was the one who fed her. Ungrateful mutt.

It was strange, having Mason Clark in my house. In my house and not shoving me into a locker or knocking a stack of books from my hands or dunking my head in the toilet. Well, okay—Mason and his friends had never done that last one, but they’d come pretty damn close.

In high school, Mason had been my tormentor. Captain of the football team, most popular guy in school, and for some reason, he’d had it out for me. He and his friends had made my life hell, no matter how hard I tried to avoid them.

He must have known I was gay. I wasn’t officially out back then, but it couldn’t have been that hard to tell. And popular kids like Mason picked on anyone who was different, to shore up their own social standing.

But this wasn’t high school anymore. I was thirty goddamned years old, and I wasn’t afraid of Mason. I wasn’t.

(Statistically speaking, adults were seventy percent less likely to be shoved into lockers. Probably.)

Of course, it didn’t help that Mason still looked like he could beat the crap out of me if he wanted to. He’d only gotten bigger and stronger since school. He’d taken off his leather jacket once we got back to my house—correction, once he’d refused to leave my side and insisted on coming back here no matter what I wanted—and his arms were about as big as my head.

I wondered, idly, what he’d been doing the past twelve years. Some kind of physical job? Or was he just really into working out? Surely I would’ve heard if he’d gone pro with football.

Then I reminded myself I didn’t care. I didn’t like Mason, and I wanted him gone.

Only, he refused to leave.

He certainly looked the part of a bodyguard. Face tight in a scowl, gaze sharp and alert, pacing my living room like he was ready to kill. In high school, that expression used to scare me. It was weird, seeing it again, but knowing I wasn’t its target.

He also looked gorgeous, but that was entirely beside the point. Mason had always been unfairly attractive, with that sandy blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a jaw that jutted out like a fist.

“I really am fine,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d helped me up at the theater.

I’d been stunned by the blood on my hands—so much that it made me woozy. As soon as he’d helped me to my feet, I’d seen the smear and nearly fainted. Well, the searing pain in my side didn’t help. But if I hadn’t gone and practically swooned in his arms like some Victorian maiden, I was sure I could’ve gotten him to leave by now. Ridiculous. I was a grown man. I didn’t need anyone’s help. Certainly not Mason’s.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped. “You got hurt. On my watch. I should’ve prevented this.”

“No, you should’ve gone home when I told you to,” I said, annoyed now. “Just like I’m telling you right now . You really don’t have to stay.”

He ignored me. He reached the kitchen island, turned on his heel, and stalked back across the living room. “If I hadn’t let you get under my skin, it might not have happened. I knew I needed to be on my guard.”

“I was getting under your skin?” I shot forward on the couch, incredulous. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who barged into my life a few hours ago and hasn’t left since.”

It was like he didn’t even hear me. He kept talking—more to himself than to me now.

“I felt it. I thought I was mad at you. But it was my gut telling me something was going to happen.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Your gut didn’t tell you anything. You’re retrofitting your instincts now that something actually did happen.”

“My gut doesn’t lie.” He stopped pacing long enough to give me a hard look.

In spite of myself, I quavered a bit. Was Mason really a bodyguard? Surely that’s not what he’d been doing all these years, right? I shoved the thought aside.

“The bleeding’s already stopped,” I said instead. “And we don’t even know this happened on purpose. I might’ve fallen on a shard of glass or a tack or something.”

Mason turned away from the door and walked right in front of me. “Stand up,” he said, all command.

I bristled at his tone. I had zero desire to do anything Mason Clark told me to do. But it’s hard to win an argument when one of you is standing and the other is sitting, so I stood anyway, giving him a wary look.

He held out his hand. “Give me your jacket.”

I frowned, but I couldn’t think of a reason not to. I shrugged out of it and handed it over, feeling weirdly undressed. Which was ridiculous—I was still in my white shirt and cummerbund. He’s the one practically busting out of his tight black T-shirt. But I crossed my arms anyway.

Mason flipped the jacket around, inspecting the back. Then he shoved his fingers through a three-inch gash in the fabric.

“This,” he said, wiggling his fingers through the hole, “didn’t happen because you fell on glass or a fucking thumbtack. This is what happens when someone tries to knife you.”

“And how would you know that?” I asked, arching a brow. “Are you an expert in fighting ninjas or something?”

He gave me a flat look. “I’ve seen some things since high school. Trust me. I know.”

His voice wasn’t angry—it was cold. Detached. It sent a chill straight through me.

Was that really what happened? Did someone actually try to stab me tonight? I wrapped my arms tighter across my chest, adrenaline and fear lacing through me.

I didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be true. Because if it was, then that meant this was all real—the notes, the shoves, the weird feelings of being watched. It meant someone actually wanted to hurt me.

I thought back to that sharp pain in my side. If I was honest, I’d felt it before I fell. But my memories were scrambled—I’d been too busy being furious with Mason to focus on much else.

Mason, hovering like some overprotective watchdog, acting like my guardian when he used to be the guy I dreamed about being protected from . Preferably by the FBI. Or an unexpected sinkhole.

“Well, if it was on purpose,” I said, a little defensively, “whoever it was didn’t do a very good job.”

“That’s pure luck, Kai.” He tossed my jacket down onto the armchair and crossed his arms like we were squaring off. “It’s time for you to tell me what this is really about.”

“What what’s about?” I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. I didn’t like his tone—like I was a kid who needed to confess to breaking something.

“This whole bodyguard thing. I get why you didn’t want to talk about it in front of your friends, but you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything. You’re not part of this. You being here was pure chance, and for the millionth time, you can leave now.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Have you told anyone else about this? If it’s serious enough that you wanted a bodyguard, you shouldn’t be dealing with it alone.”

“It’s none of your goddamned business.”

“Have you told the cops?”

I took a little satisfaction in the surprise on his face when I said, “As a matter of fact, I have. They’re the ones who told me to—”

I broke off, shaking my head. Why was I even saying this? I didn’t want to tell Mason anything. I just wanted him gone .

“Nevermind,” I said sharply. “The point is, it’s my life. I’m dealing with it how I see fit, and you are wholly uninvolved. The only reason we’re still talking is because you refuse to leave my house—but for the millionth and first time, I’d like you to leave. Now.”

I wasn’t sure how much more forceful I could be. What was I supposed to do, hit the guy? Not that I hadn’t fantasized about it back in high school, but then as now, Mason had always had way more muscle than I did.

He frowned, then turned and walked over to the living room window. Bella padded after him and stood on her hind legs, planting her front paws on the glass like she was helping him survey the perimeter. I felt a petty flash of irritation that she liked him so much. Would it have killed her to growl?

“I don’t feel right leaving you like this,” Mason said, still looking out into the night. “Not when I don’t know what’s going on, or if you could get hurt again. You need to tell the cops about what happened tonight too, you know.”

I stared at him, exasperated. “I don’t get it. Seriously, what is this? Some weird non-apology apology for what you did in high school? Do you need me to absolve you of your sins or something? Because if that’ll get you to go, then consider yourself forgiven.”

He looked over, clearly confused. I waved my hand at him in a half-hearted sign of the cross. My dad was raised Catholic, but the only times I’d ever been to mass were Christmas and Easter with my grandparents. I was pretty sure my form was wrong, but divine accuracy felt less important than getting him out of my living room.

“Forgiven?” Mason repeated. “What did I do in high school that was so bad?”

I stared at him, completely flabbergasted. He looked genuinely confused. But there was no way. No way he could have forgotten everything he and his friends had done to me.

Was he just an incredible actor? Had he secretly racked up a string of Oscar nominations while living in Hollywood? It would at least explain why he looked like he belonged on the cover of a glossy magazine.

I opened my mouth to remind him—and stopped.

I was an adult now. A grown man with a house, a company, a purpose. And whatever problems I had in my life, Mason Clark wasn’t one of them. Not anymore. I was the one in control here. Not him.

“Just go,” I said, pointing at the door.

He ignored the command. “Are you going to tell the cops about what happened tonight?”

“Go,” I said again, sharper now.

“Even if you don’t want to use me as a bodyguard, something’s clearly wrong. Will you at least promise me you’ll call another service?”

“Mason.” I made my voice harsh. It cracked through the room like a whip, and I took a step towards him. I didn’t care how big he was. I was done. “Go.”

He stared at me for a beat, like he was trying to read me. Looking for a weakness, probably. Good luck finding one. I’d trained that out of myself years ago. Finally, finally, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. He lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’ll go. But I really don’t think you should be alone tonight, and I’d much rather—”

“Mason!”

“Okay, okay.” He had the audacity to roll his eyes, like I was the one being unreasonable.

He turned towards the door. I followed, mostly to make sure he actually left—and so I could lock the damn thing behind him. Bella trotted after us, then plopped herself down at his feet while he pulled on his leather jacket, gazing up at him like he hung the moon. She'd probably help him rob the place if he gave her a Milk-Bone.

He glanced around the living room. “This is a really nice place you’ve got.”

I blinked at the change in topic. “Um… thanks?”

He gave the room another once-over. “You have any security cameras? Alarm system? Are you worried about someone breaking in?”

“Mason, please.” I felt myself fraying at the edges. I needed him out before I completely came apart.

He nodded. Bent down to pet Bella. Then stood, and—God help me—put a hand on my shoulder.

It was warm. Heavy. Solid. And it felt… good. Really, really good. I hated that.

He gave me one last searching look, then let his hand fall.

“Take care of yourself, Kai.”

I shut the door behind him without saying a word. Threw the deadbolt, then the lock on the knob. A wave of exhaustion hit me like a brick, and I dragged myself back to the couch and flopped down.

Bella padded after me and settled beside the sofa, resting her snout on my thigh. Not much of a guard dog, but she always seemed attuned to how I was feeling. Except when it came to Mason. She clearly liked him. Probably because she hadn’t been born yet when I was in high school, but still.

I sighed and threw an arm over my eyes. Mason fucking Clark. Of all the people from my past, he was the one to reappear in my life? I hadn’t thought about him in years.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. I’d had a few idle fantasies of bumping into him as an adult. Getting to deliver a cutting remark, maybe even throw a punch. But I knew those were childish daydreams. And I wasn’t a child anymore.

So why couldn’t I get him out of my head?

It was too strange, the way I kept seeing his face from tonight—those wide, worried blue eyes, that steady hand reaching out to help me up. Since when did Mason Clark care about me? Since when did he care about anyone?

Jesus. I never should’ve called Heartbreakers to ask for a bodyguard. I should’ve gone with a real security firm. Or just dealt with things on my own. At worst, I could have faked my own death and started over in Iceland. New identity. Fuzzy sweaters. Presumably fewer opportunities for stabbing.

But if Mason was right, then someone had tried to hurt me tonight.

Whether they’d meant to cause serious damage and missed, or just meant to scare me, I didn’t know. It had all happened so fast—in the crush of people in the theater lobby. Everyone was moving towards the exits. The person who did it had probably slipped away into the crowd, unnoticed.

I shivered. My knees suddenly felt unsteady, even though I was sitting down. Who would do this? Who hated me so much that they wanted me injured—or worse?

I hadn’t done anything to deserve that. I’d worked hard to build something that mattered. My whole motivation for developing the new phone battery—the one powering seventy percent of smartphones now—had been to create something that didn’t rely on rare-earth mining. I’d made sure my company operated as ethically as possible. We tracked our carbon footprint. We prioritized diversity and sustainability. I’d tried to do good in the world.

But I knew this wasn’t about my company. It was about the Butterfly Center. Someone didn’t want it to open. A homophobe, a transphobe, or just some hateful troll who couldn’t stand the idea of a space like that existing.

And if they thought this would scare me into quitting, they clearly didn’t know me very well.

That center would open. On time. Only slightly over budget. Tonight’s show had been important, not just for optics but for funding. The Michaelsons were generous donors. I’d hoped to secure their backing for a sizable chunk of the center’s operating costs.

What a fucking night.

I let my arm fall down to my waist. Bella snorted and curled up more comfortably on the rug beside me.

I felt jittery, exhausted, and something else I couldn’t quite name. An emotion I didn’t have a label for. When I closed my eyes, all I saw was Mason’s face.

“Go away, Mason,” I muttered to myself.

But his intense blue eyes kept staring back at me.

I wished I’d done a better job with him tonight. Sticking to my guns and not getting sucked into arguments. Sure, he’d helped me at the theater, but that didn’t mean I owed him anything. Not with the past we had.

If anything, Mason owed me. My cock stirred at the thought, traitorous though it was. When I’d fantasized about running into him again as an adult, I hadn’t counted on the guy getting even more attractive.

I smiled, picturing telling how he could actually have helped me tonight. I didn’t want him to guard my body, but I could definitely use a different kind of service.

“If you really feel like you should have kept me safe,” I imagined saying, “I can think of a way you can make it up to me.”

In spite of myself, I unzipped my tuxedo pants and slid a hand underneath the waistband of my briefs. Fuck, I was hard. I took myself in hand and imagined Mason on the couch with me right now, his large, hard body covering mine.

Emergency protocol: when life gives you trauma, jerk off about it.

I freed my hand to spit in it, then brought it back to my cock, picturing Mason sliding down the couch to suck me off.

“I’ve never done this before,” he’d say, and for once he would be the one looking unsure, feeling awkward.

“Let me teach you,” I said. “Start with your tongue.”

I lost myself in the fantasy of Mason, the flustered football god, licking the head of my cock, then sliding his lips over it and taking it into his mouth. Mason fucking Clark with another man’s cock in his mouth.

I was the first person to argue that sucking cock didn’t make you less than anyone, but God, the idea of humbling him a bit? Putting him in his place by putting my dick in his mouth? Fuck, that was good.

I’d make him work for it, make him sink all the way down over my shaft. My cock might not be the longest in the world, but it was thick, and I wanted to see him swallow it down. Wanted to see drool and spit leak from the corners of his mouth. Wanted to see him desperate and needy as I slipped my fingers through that delightfully long hair of his and pushed him down even further.

Fuck, yes, that was what I wanted. His lips and tongue and throat pressed into service, bringing me to completion. My orgasm built as I imagined him whimpering around my cock, begging me for my cum. I stroked myself faster, feeling heat and tension building deep inside, then rolling outward.

“Suck that cock,” I groaned, and came into my hand. I pictured Mason’s face, eyes lust-shot and adoring, swallowing down ropes of my cum, pleading for more. Pictured him milking out every drop.

That was the only thing I wanted from him. That was the only apology I was looking for. If further interaction with the man didn’t come in the form of the blowjob, I wanted no part of it.

I laughed, tired and embarrassed at the interlude I’d just allowed myself. Not my proudest moment. Not even my top two-hundred thousand. But definitely one of the hotter ones I’d ever imagined.

I still felt a little dirty, mentally using Mason that way. But it didn’t matter. No one else would ever know, and I was never going to see the guy again.

Right?