Page 20 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)

Erika

M ason jumps out of the shower so fast he goes down in a heap on the floor. “I’m okay.” He springs up, tucking himself into sopping-wet boxer briefs as I stand bare-breasted and breathless in a rapidly cooling shower.

“Blood?” I snatch a thick towel off the rack, conscious of my body still tingling. “What’s happening?”

“I’m on it.”

As Mason sprints for the door, I stand for a few seconds longer, getting my bearings. My mind reels as every last inch of my flesh buzzes like a bandsaw.

What the hell did we just do?

Voices ring from the cabin’s front door as I crouch behind the shower curtain, wrapping a towel around me.

“Samantha,” Mason’s saying. “Maxine. Why aren’t you guys off enjoying your wedding night?”

Maxine responds as I pad from the bathroom to join Mason at the front door. I don’t miss the brides trading knowing looks. “We had to come thank you,” Max says. “What you did at the reception was magical.”

“Truly.” Sam stands beside her, holding a basket of goodies. “You didn’t just save the day. You gave us a memory we’ll treasure so much more than the candles or koozies or anything else we thought mattered.”

“Glad it helped.” Mason looks pretty at ease for a guy holding a throw pillow over his junk.

I stand behind him in my towel, hyperaware of how this appears. We look like two lust-drunk lovers caught riding the bony express in the shower, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Mason was just helping me. Soothing me. Easing my pain with his lips and his tongue and his huge, solid hands caressing my?—

“Shit, sorry.” Maxine blushes and glances between us. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. We got worried when we saw all the blood.”

“Blood?” I almost forgot in the chaos. Glancing down at the stoop, I gasp. “What is that?”

Rivulets of red streak down the pale gray walkway. They stream from my dress like somebody used it to mop up a murder scene.

“Dye.” Mason bends down and picks up the dress, treating me to a view of his ass in those pasted-on boxer briefs. “Looks like your dress can’t handle the water?”

“Shit.” I stare at the sopping wet garment and yep. “It’s probably dry-clean only.”

“It was such a pretty dress.” Max touches the hem as it drips on the walkway. “Alice and Olivia, right?”

“I think so.” I sometimes forget that Maxine hails from glamorous LA. “If I didn’t ruin it with the mud, I sure as hell wrecked it by leaving it out in the rain.”

“I’m just glad you’re not hurt.” Sam’s visibly relieved. “Sorry to scare you. We saw all the clothing strewn around and then the blood?—”

“We thought one of you fell and got hurt,” Max adds.

“Nope.” Mason smiles and adjusts his throw pillow loincloth. “Just got carried away by how hot my girl looked.” He winks at the brides, and I feel myself blushing. “I’m sure you can relate.”

Both women giggle as Sam hoists the basket she’s holding. “This is for you guys. Just a little something to say thanks.”

She tries to give it to Mason, but he’s busy holding the throw pillow in front of his crotch. I open my arms to accept it, admiring the assortment of wine and crackers and cheeses. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“It was a gift from our wedding planner,” Sam says. “We already have so much leftover food.”

“Plus we’re leaving tomorrow for our honeymoon.” Maxine puts an arm around Sam, and the two brides step back from the door. “We’ll let you guys get back to what you were doing.”

Sam giggles and gives me a knowing wave. “Have fun.”

As they head for their car, I hear Max murmur to Sam. “Such a cute couple.”

“Bye, guys.” Mason drops my dress on the bench and waves. “Go make the most of your wedding night.”

The two brides laugh as Max holds open the car door for Sam. “Know what our wedding planner told us about wedding night sex?”

Sam gives the answer before we can ask. “The only thing rarer these days than wedding night sex is a virgin bride.” She laughs. “Between stress and exhaustion, the only thing you want to do at the end of it all is curl up in your PJs and fall asleep together.”

“We’ve got the rest of our lives for the sexy stuff.” Maxine winks as she walks around to the driver's side. “Please do our share of the wedding night wizbang.”

“Way ahead of you,” Mason calls, still waving as they drive out of sight.

As soon as they’re gone, I step back and wait as he closes the door. We stand in the living room, both of us flushed and still damp from the shower.

Mason hikes up his throw pillow. “If they had any doubts that we’re doing it, they don’t anymore.”

“Right.” I guess that’s good news. “That was sweet of them.” Adjusting my grip on the gift, I feel my towel start to slip.

“Let me help.” Mason moves toward me. “That looks heavy.”

“I’m okay.” I twist away and feel my towel slip again. “My knot’s coming loose, and holding this basket is the only thing keeping me decent.”

“Oh.” The look on his face is one I can’t read, so I focus on finding a place for the gift. Turning my back, I anchor my elbows to my sides to keep myself covered. I set down the basket on a small copper table, and the knot at my breasts comes completely unraveled.

Clutching the towel, I wad the damp terrycloth into a wet little bundle that I wedge between my breasts. Not taking any chances, I keep a grip on the knot as I turn back to face him.

“Um, so.” Shifting uncomfortably on bare feet, I finally meet Mason’s eyes. “Do you want to talk about stuff?”

“Stuff?” He quirks an eyebrow. “You want to discuss the superiority of Simcoe hops over Mosaic in an IPA, or were you thinking more like a casual chat about quantum physics?”

I let out an exasperated huff. “Mason?—”

“Your towel’s slipping again.” He nods at my cleavage, and I clutch the terrycloth tighter.

“Sorry.”

“Wasn’t complaining.”

Heat floods my cheeks and my chest. Whatever is left of my dignity dries up more quickly than my wrecked dress will do. It dawns on me that if I want to have a serious conversation about what happened in the shower, I’ll need to take this bull by the horns.

Wait.

Do I want to have a serious conversation?

I mean, what if we play it off like that didn’t just happen? Like what just transpired wasn’t a big deal. We can keep moving forward with this fake dating plan and not wreck our friendship at all.

Nibbling my lip, I try to decide the best thing to do.

“Erika?” His brow scrunches up in concern. “Look, I’ll quit horsing around. If you want, I’ll just say it. I’m hopelessly, insanely hot?—”

“Me, too!” I shout, stumbling back toward the bathroom with one hand still holding the towel.

The other I lift and start fanning my face.

“I think I’m overheating from standing in the shower so long.

Thanks again for your help, Mace. I’m gonna go put some Neosporin on my nipples and call it a night. Did you need the bathroom first?”

He stares like I’ve just gone insane. Maybe I have.

Or maybe we both did. That’s the only way to explain how we both nearly burned down our friendship for one thoughtless fling in the shower.

He’s watching my face, and I know what I look like. I’m burning with embarrassment and something else I can’t name.

Please play along, Mason.

Please play along.

Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He clears his throat. “It’s pretty hot in here. I’ll turn on a fan and get ready for bed. You want the left side, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Gratitude rolls through me, washing away some of the heat. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Take your time.”

I slip into the bathroom and let the towel drop, my shoulders following suit. My nipples start throbbing from those stupid adhesives as I let my eyes slide to the mirror.

“You almost fucked everything up.” I whisper it softly, my eyes on the slightly chafed flesh of my boobs. “Don’t do it again.”

The girl in the mirror looks grimly at me, already missing his touch. She’s dimly aware that the throb in our body has nothing to do with a stick-on bra, and everything to do with Mason.

I toss and turn through most of the night, hyper-aware of Mason in bed beside me.

He sleeps on his side with one hand curled by his face, his toned chest and biceps on naked display.

He’s a fallen angel tangled in tan sheets with delicate laugh lines lacing the edge of his eyes.

Dark lashes drift like sooty feathers over obnoxiously perfect cheekbones.

Grumbling a little, I roll over and punch my pillow. If I can just fall asleep, it’ll all be a dream. We can wake up in the morning and get back to just being us .

There was one other time I thought something like this might’ve flashed through our brains.

We were both twenty-four, and fresh out of breakups that summer.

I’d split with Neil—not the first time, and hardly the last—while Mason had broken things off with a girl whose name I no longer remember. Gretta, that’s it.

“God, I missed this.” Mason dragged his paddleboard onto the lakeshore, then flopped in the grass by his grandparents’ house. “Gretta didn’t like how close we were.”

“Your girlfriend didn’t like being close to you?” I laid my board right next to his and dropped down beside him. “No wonder you broke up.”

“No, she didn’t like how close you and I were. Jealous, I guess.” He reached over and tugged a ribbon of waterweed off my bikini strap.

His hand barely grazed me, but for one tiny second, I thought he was grabbing my boob. My heart started thudding, a tingly pulse in my ears.

“Jealous.” The idea sounded absurd at the time. “What, like you can’t have a friend who’s a girl?”

“Right?” Shaking his head, Mason lay back in the grass. “I told her there’s absolutely nothing between us. You’re just like a guy friend, you know?”

“Yeah.” That was the summer I’d gotten my ASE Masters certification and started working full time at the garage with his brother. “A customer told me today I’ve got balls.”