Page 11 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

“When the weather gets warmer, I’m thinking he’ll be great at standup paddleboarding.” Mason’s eyes sweep me as I get to my feet. “Seriously, what’s with the dress?”

“It’s not a dress, it’s a skirt.” And I could count on two hands the number of times Mason’s seen me in either. I twirl for effect, feeling the skirt flutter around my knees. “I wasn’t sure what to wear for a wedding in a barn, so Hazel helped dress me. I need a second opinion.”

Mason quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve got the queen of fashion guiding you, and you came here for a second opinion?”

Scrumpy barks sharply, and Mason looks down. “My point exactly.”

“Are you inviting me in or are you gonna let me stand out here freezing my tits off?”

He blinks in surprise, then steps aside to usher me in. “I wasn’t even aware you had tits until—never mind.”

“Nice, Mason.” I punch him in the abs—those ridiculous, hard-as-steel abs—as I walk past him into the living room. I tug at the edge of my top, which took ages to hook by myself. I might have gotten it a little too tight. “My tits might not be big, but they’re perky as hell.”

Hazel confirmed it when she dressed me, and I’m hardly self-conscious about my assets. I like being less busty.

As I stride toward the sofa, Mason pulls the door shut and heads for the kitchen. “Not what I meant, and you know it.” There’s some banging around as he rounds up whatever refreshments he’s after. He might be a doofus, but the man makes good snacks.

“What did you mean then?” I’m standing by his sofa, studying his wall of family photos.

There’s one in a frame from the day Jake and Cass got engaged.

There’s another of Kaleb with his arm around Brooke at the edge of the highway.

Off to the right, there’s a much bigger grouping of old photos.

His mom in a wedding dress, looking frightened and young.

His dad at the helm of a fishing boat, framed up by glacier-slick mountains.

There’s one of his grandparents with their arms wrapped around a whole mess of kids.

I spot twelve-year-old Jake with a scowl, standing beside a gap-toothed Mason and Lucy.

There’s Noah and Kaleb, and Parker before Parker was Parker.

With six years between us, I hardly remember the youngest Spencer-King kid as Paris .

But I always admired how lovingly Mason embraced his sister becoming his brother. Have I ever told him that?

“Here.” He thrusts an icy pint glass into my hand. “For the record, I wasn’t saying your tits were small.” He winces as he says it. “I never thought about your tits or looked at your tits or talked about your?—”

“Could you please stop saying ‘your tits’ like it’s the name of an eighties hair band?” I sip my beer, which is different from the one I tried earlier. I wriggle again as the top digs into my armpit. “Dad brought home your lime Kolsch earlier. This one tastes more like lemon and grapefruit.”

“It’s a new Saison I’ve been playing with.” He flops onto the couch and sets down a big bowl of chips. Beside that, I recognize his famous artichoke dip. “Low ABV for people who have to drive home.”

“Hmm.” I smile as I sip it, meeting his eyes over the rim of my glass. “You weren’t thinking I’d stay the night here with my new boyfriend?”

He gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Would the two of you like the guest room?”

“Very funny.” I set down my glass and do another twirl. “Seriously, I need your opinion. You made that snarky comment about Harper and a strapless dress. I want to make sure this isn’t too skanky for a wedding.”

Mason’s eyes trail my body like he’s seeing me for the first time.

They drag down my torso, snagging on peek-a-boo patches of flesh where the hem barely kisses the top of my skirt.

His gaze dips lower, gliding down my bare legs to the tops of my boots.

He takes his time scanning back up my body, coming to rest near my bare collarbones.

I feel myself blushing, and I tug at the top again.

His eyes lift to mine like he’s coming out of a trance. “You look good.” There’s a croak in his voice, and I frown.

“Are you bullshitting me?”

“What? No, of course not.” He picks up his beer and takes a big gulp. “I’m just not used to seeing so much of you.”

Um, okay. “Why do you say it like that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not a bad thing. Just different.”

“Mason—”

“You don’t look skanky, okay?”

“But do I look nice ?” Maybe I want to look better than nice. That’s the first time I’m thinking it, but now that I have, I realize something. “I haven’t hung out with some of these people since before Neil dumped me. I want to look pretty, okay?”

“Okay.” He’s not meeting my eyes as he picks up his beer.

Something’s wrong here.

“Just tell me, okay? We’ve been friends a long time, and if you can’t be honest with me about wearing something inappropriate for?—”

“Jesus, Erika.” Mason bangs down his glass, his blue eyes blazing. “You look fucking fantastic, okay? Like, yank out my tongue with pliers, throw it in the gravel, and stomp it to pieces under those boots that make your legs look like a fucking dream. Are you happy now?”

“Um.” That didn’t sound happy. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He grumbles something under his breath.

“What did you say?”

Sighing, he swings those flashing blue eyes back to mine. “I said, ‘Why did I have to pick a fake girlfriend who’d turn me into a walking boner at a lesbian wedding?’” He’s clenching his teeth so hard his jaw jumps. “That came out wrong.”

One edge of my mouth twitches. “It did?”

“I meant, you look very nice, Erika.”

“Okay, um, I’m not really sure what to say now.” I walk around the coffee table and sit down beside him on the couch. I’m careful to keep a few feet between us, not sure what to make of this shift in our friendship. “I mean, obviously when we kissed, I noticed you had a big hard-on.”

He blinks his gaze back to mine. “By big you mean huge or massive , right? Like bigger than a?—”

“Will you be serious for one second?” I probably shouldn’t have started this talk by focusing on his penis. “My point is that it’s just a basic, biological function. Like, you’d probably get hard kissing Mrs. Hartman, right?”

Mason winces. “You’re comparing yourself to my geriatric childhood babysitter with dementia?”

“I’m just saying. It didn’t mean anything, right?

I didn’t take it personally.” I tug at the top again, which is sure digging into my skin.

I’m gonna have marks in my flesh. “I noticed your hard-on, you noticed my tits, and it’s no different from noticing the clam chowder special at Cal’s place.

Or that Jake replaced the railing on his boat.

Or that your sister expanded her herb garden.

” I try to conjure more examples, but I think he’s getting it now.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “It’s just new, that’s all.”

“We’ve been friends for so long that we’ve never really noticed you have boy parts, and I have girl parts.”

“That sounds like an after-school special I missed.”

On a roll now, I wrap up my argument. “It’s perfectly innocent, right? That’s what makes this fake-dating thing work. There’s no risk we’ll really fall for each other.”

“Totally.” He sounds so relieved that I’m almost offended.

But it’s better this way. Knowing there’s no chance that Mason and I will wind up dating for real is what makes this plan solid.

“So.” I stand up again, needing some distance between us. “You really think this is okay to wear to Sam and Max’s wedding?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Good.” I’m so glad I hit up Hazel for help. “Your cousin called it country chic . I was hoping the jacket keeps the strapless thingy from being slutty, plus it’s cozy.” I let go of the jacket’s lapels to tug at the top one more time. I wish I’d fastened the buckle just one hole looser.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Making things jiggle.” He gestures vaguely toward my neckline. “All the stuff I hadn’t noticed before keeps moving around.”

“Ugh, I hooked it too tight.” I flop down beside him on the couch. “There’s this thing like a belt buckle holding it together in back.”

“How the hell did you hook it by yourself?”

“Like a bra.” I’m sure he’s unhooked his share of those. “I buckled it in front, then wiggled it around to the back. Only I misjudged how tight I needed it to be and now I’m kinda worried I’m chafing myself and it’ll hurt to put it on again tomorrow.”

“Want help fixing it?”

“Really?” Relief rushes through me. “I mean, yeah—if you don’t mind.

” I shuck off the jacket and lift up my hair so it’s not in the way.

Twisting around, I show him the obnoxiously complex apparatus in back.

“I think if you just loosen it one notch, I’ll be good.

See that hook in the middle there?” He doesn’t reply, so I just keep talking.

“It works like a regular belt buckle. I just need a little more breathing room so I can…” I trail off and turn back to my dead-silent friend. “You good?”

His eyes look a little bit glazed, and he nods. “Yeah, great.”

“You got kinda quiet.”

“Just, uh—figuring out how it works.” He twirls a finger to urge me to turn back around. I do what he asks and some of my hair slips out of my grasp. “Okay, yeah. This looks pretty easy.”

“Need me to let out my breath so it’s looser?”

“Nope, you’re good.” His fingers feel warm as he fumbles the buckle. “Your hair’s in the way.”

“Sorry, I can?—”

“I’ve got it.” His palm skims the back of my neck, and I shiver. “Just hold it right here and—shit.”

“What?”

“My watch got caught on the yarn part.”

“ What?” I try to turn around but feel the fabric cut into the tops of my boobs. “What do you mean caught?”

“Stop moving around.”

“This top is expensive.” Crap, I hope he doesn’t snag it. Even though Hazel said I could keep it, I’d still feel bad if I damaged a freakin’ two-thousand-dollar shirt. “What do you need me to do?”

“Hold still.” The couch cushion dips down behind me, and I feel myself tipping back toward him. “I just need a different angle.”

Mason’s warm breath tickles over my skin. His fingers move deftly, struggling to free us. The fabric digs into my boob, and I yelp.

“Sorry,” he says. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s cutting into me a little.”

“Where?”

“I’m okay.” I whimper again as the titty noose tightens. “Ow.”

“Where am I hurting you, Erika?”

“My tits, okay?” God, this is awkward. “I’m fine. Just get it off me.”

“I’m not taking your top off.” He sounds so horrified at the thought.

“Not my top, you idiot. Your hand. Ow!”

“Just hold still a second while I?—”

The doorbell chimes and Scrumpy starts barking. Mason jerks back, his wrist coming free from my shirt.

But something must catch on the buckle. Or maybe he unhooked it completely. The fabric slips down, taking my dignity with it. With a yelp I jump up, clutching the flimsy crochet to my breasts. I skitter away, needing some distance from Mason.

The problem with this is his knee pinning down the edge of my skirt. Off it goes, along with the rest of my modesty. We both gape in horror as I stand there in front of him, my blue boy-short panties on full display as I struggle to cover my breasts.

“Shit!” We both say.

Scrumpy keeps barking and I swivel my gaze to the door.

The glass door where Mason’s ex-girlfriend stands staring at us from the porch.