Page 32 of Take Me (Cherry Blossom Lake #5)
“Fine.” For the record though, Cass and Jake’s plan was kinda sweet.
Overwhelmed by the stress of wedding festivities, they squeezed in a quickie in Cassidy’s dressing room.
High on adrenaline and love-squishy hormones, the bride stuffed her panties in the groom’s pocket.
“When you get nervous during the ceremony,” Cass told him, “put your hand in your pocket and picture us on our honeymoon.”
I guess Jake got nervous.
“It was a great wedding, other than that.”
Mason lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe it was a great wedding because of that.”
“Absolutely.” I struggle to keep a straight face. “Every bride dreams of having her panties flung around at the altar.”
He chuckles and toes off his shoes, letting them thump to the floor. “Cass laughed harder than anyone.”
“True.” To be honest, it seemed like she liked the moment of levity. “I guess you’re two for two with comedic wedding interludes.”
“Maybe I should start selling my services.”
“Don’t get too cocky. And definitely don’t make me laugh during Lucy’s wedding. It’s my first time being a bridesmaid.”
“Did you know she didn’t want any bridesmaids at all?” He touches my hair again, one finger gently skimming my ear. “She just planned to have Harper as her maid of honor and call it a day.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Second wedding and all.” Mason shrugs. “She wanted to keep it low key, but Harper convinced her that being a maid of honor wouldn’t feel powerful enough if she didn’t have a whole troop of bridesmaids to oversee.”
“God, I love that kid.” Picturing fourteen-year-old Harper as a bridesmaid overlord makes me laugh. “How do you imagine your future wedding?”
As soon as I ask, I wish I could take back the question. He doesn’t think I’m suggesting a future for us , right?
But Mason answers too quickly for me to explain. “Laughter,” he says. “Lots and lots and lots of laughter. And more laughter. Then maybe—and this might be a wild idea—just a little more laughter.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Yeah.” He’s quiet a moment. “Annabelle and Neil seemed good together.”
“They did, didn’t they?” I watched them glide past on the dance floor, Neil gazing deep into Annabelle’s eyes. “Is it wrong that I felt just a tiny bit smug when he tripped coming back from the buffet?”
“Very wrong.” Mason looks solemn. “A perfectly good pile of mashed potatoes lost its life today.”
“Nice job prompting the DJ to cue up that mashed potato song from the sixties.”
“You think the dance contest was too much?”
“Nah, people loved it.” The mashed potato dance-a-thon got everyone grooving. Even my father did twirls in his wheelchair, Ruby Brooks perched on his lap.
“I still think we should have won.”
“Considering neither of us had a clue how to do the Mashed Potato, I think third place is perfectly respectable.”
In the quiet that follows, I picture the moment Neil dropped that plate of potatoes. Annabelle rushed to clean up the mess, looking edgy and nervous. “She handled it well.”
Mason doesn’t ask who I mean. “Belle’s always had grace under pressure.”
“It’s one of the things you loved about her.”
I’m not expecting an answer, but Mason looks deep in my eyes. “I suppose.”
My throat feels throbby, so I may as well ask the question that’s bouncing around in my brain. “Do you still love her?”
He doesn’t respond right away. My pulse throbs in my ears, filling my head with wet cotton and doubt.
“I’ll always love her, in a way.” His voice is warm velvet. “But sometimes I’m not sure what sort of love it was.”
I catch myself holding my breath. “How do you mean?”
“She’s pretty and kind and smart and loves animals, and I got so wrapped up in the fantasy of what our life would be like together. I pictured us having a few kids, maybe a big yard filled with flowers and driftwood and pets that she’s nursed back to health.”
“That sounds lovely.” I touch Mason’s chest, ignoring the sting in my own.
“It does,” he says mildly, his eyes searching mine. “But was I in love with Annabelle, or the idea of her?”
I don’t have the answer, and he doesn’t seem to expect one. It’s a rhetorical question, one filling my heart with equal parts lightness and dread.
The silence spans out for a few million seconds, and it’s me who finally breaks. “I’m not sure you can separate the dream from the real-life woman.”
“No?” He doesn’t sound sure.
“Do you think you can?”
“I honestly don’t have a clue.” He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “This might come as a shock, but I’m not much of an expert on love.”
My chuckle sounds hollow and forced. “At least you make up for it with humor and calligraphy skills.”
Turning his head, he looks into my eyes. He caresses my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “This feels pretty real to me.”
My heart starts to gallop, absorbing the words he’s just said. Is he suggesting?—?
Is he feeling?—?
“What do you mean?” I blurt.
Mason’s hand drops to the duvet between us. “I mean, this is nice.” One edge of his mouth quirks. “Better than nice.”
“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” The kettledrum thud of my heart fills my ears.
“I want to make love to you.”
That’s the first time he’s said it like that. Making love instead of some silly euphemism. Is he feeling the same way I’ve been feeling? As my heart slams its delicate meat against the wall of my ribs, I think maybe he is.
“I want that, too.”
We don’t speak after that. No joking around or tickling ’til one of us shrieks out for mercy.
He undresses me slowly, kissing each newly bared body part.
I peel off his shirt, letting my fingers trace each curve of muscle.
When I look in his eyes, I see shades of blue I’ve never noticed before.
Cobalt and cyan, even a few flecks of green.
There’s an ocean of hues I’m just now discovering, and I feel myself being pulled under.
“Mason.” I cling to his shoulders as he slides inside me. I’m gasping for breath, inhaling the scent of his skin. Ripples of pleasure pulse through my core, deeper than any I’ve felt before now.
“Fuck, Erika.” He drives into me harder, eyes searching mine. “I never knew it could be like this.”
“Same, oh my God.”
I’m clenching around him, so close to the edge that my mind starts to blur. It’s a jumbled-up mess of bright lights and color, of emotions I’m too scared to name.
As pleasure engulfs me, I arch up and call out his name. “Mason, I love y—” I stop myself just in time. “—your body. I love your body.” I cry out again as the waves pull me under.
He lets out a roar, and I’m thankful we’re so much in sync that he drowns out the words I’ve just said. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend nothing’s changed.
We’re panting and flushed as we untangle our limbs. I’m praying like mad he didn’t hear me. That I saved us in time by pretending these feelings are nothing but lust.
“You okay?”
I’m face down on his chest as I nod. “Just catching my breath.”
“That was… different.”
What does he mean? “Yeah.” I just need to ask. “Different how?”
“Intense.” His chest starts to quiver, and for a terrified instant, I think he’s crying.
“Yep.” Stroking my back, he continues. “That was some record-breaking, grade-A, world-class sex. The stuff of legends, honestly. Olympic-caliber.”
Laughter. Mason’s laughing.
Thank God.
Lighthearted Mason rides to the rescue again. I smile as I tickle my way down his stomach.
“Do you think we should dress for the news crews?” When he doesn’t respond, I lift my head off his chest. “I assume they’ll be filming when they come to present us with the gold medals.”
“Absolutely.” He grins and starts stroking my hair. “And they’re gonna want interviews.”
“It’s not every day the world record gets broken for mattress dancing.”
“You think they’ll hold a parade?”
“They’ll throw penis confetti like we had at Zoe’s bachelorette party.”
“Gotta get vagina confetti, too.” He’s caressing my back, long gentle strokes with his palm. “You were at least half the reason the earth moved.”
“Thanks.” I try to come up with another wry quip. Something to distance me from the emotions still surging inside me. “You think they’ll put a plaque on the house?”
“Probably.”
“We’ll need to get two. One for here, and one for my place.”
His hand stills on my back. “When are you thinking you’ll move back?”
I can’t tell from his tone how he means it. Surely he’s ready to reclaim his own space. “The roofing crew thinks they’ll be done by next Monday.”
“That soon.” The hand on my back begins moving again. “That seems fast.”
“I guess we can wait to break up.” I manage a quivery laugh. “Wouldn’t want to put a damper on all the new marriages by splitting the second your sister leaves for her honeymoon.”
“Yeah. That makes sense.”
“So maybe a week or two after that?”
He doesn’t respond right away. What is he thinking? Did I just kill the mood? It feels like my heart blurted something so real and so raw that the rest of me rushed in to patch it with just-kidding Band-Aids.
Mason’s gone quiet, maybe conked out from sex and the wedding excitement. When his voice fills my ears, he sounds far away. Like he’s hovering right on the edge of sleep.
“No rush,” he murmurs. “Probably not urgent to break up right away.”
“Okay.” I open my mouth to say more. To tell him the longer we play act like this, the harder it will be let go. I’m already fearful I’ve fallen too hard. That returning to being just friends will hurt more than my breakup with Neil.
But Mason snores softly, his hand on my back, and I let out a breath of relief. I check to be sure he’s asleep before whispering the words I could never be brave enough to say to his face.
“What if we didn’t break up?”
His only reply is a soft, gentle snore, and a twitch as he sinks deep asleep.