Chapter 8

I tappedon the door lightly, but Mason made no sound. We'd talked about this, that I'd have to check on him a few times during the night, but still, I felt weird walking into his room. It was my job, so I took a deep breath, put on my big girl panties, and slowly pushed the door open.

The light from the hallway filtered around his room, highlighting the heavy wood furniture in the space. The top of his dresser was littered with two watches, his wallet and keys, his Revs badge, a slew of receipts, and a half-empty bottle of water. His T-shirt was draped on a chair by the window, and his sneakers and socks were on the floor. The clutter reminded me of the teenage Mason. His mom always picked at him for leaving a trail everywhere he went. Although the rest of the apartment was tidy, it was clear from the state of this room that he hadn't changed that much over the years.

On the king-size platform bed in the center of the room, he lay on his stomach, arms and legs spread, taking up the entire space. The bed was huge, but so was Mason. At six-four and almost two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, the man was enormous. I continued my assessment of him as I tiptoed toward him. Halfway across the room, I realized how silly it was to move so quietly. After all, I was here to wake him. I shook my head at myself as I laid a hand on his bare shoulder.

A deep, throaty groan rumbled through him. Then he was pushing up onto the elbow of his good arm. The muscles of his upper arms rippled and bulged as he propped himself up.

I swallowed back the wave of attraction that hit me at the sight. He'd always been strong, but now, with his ripped biceps and shoulders on display like this, I was flooded with all kinds of thoughts I had no business thinking.

"Head's fine," he muttered. He was looking at me, scanning my face, though his eyes were out of focus. He continued his perusal, moving lower. When he got to my tank top, he blinked, and his gaze sharpened.

Shit, he was zeroing in on the thin material covering my braless breasts.

I fought a shiver, even as my nipples hardened under his scrutiny.

He wet his lips.

I might have stopped breathing.

Slamming his eyes shut, he locked his jaw. "Either climb in or get out. I swear to God, Aurora, I only have so much control."

I couldn't look away from his full lips as memories of them moving against mine floated through my mind. I could almost feel his hand cupping my neck and pulling me closer like it did all those years ago. Eleven years ago, he had been a good kisser. I could only imagine time had improved his skill.

I glided an inch closer, consumed by the need to feel his arms around me, before logic took over and I remembered why I was in here. My goal tonight was to wake him. Because I was currently being paid to watch him for concussion symptoms.

Backing away, I held my hands up, my chest heaving and short, staccato breaths escaping my lungs. I tripped over a shoe in the middle of the room, but righted myself before I could embarrass myself too badly. "Sorry," I muttered, and with that, I turned and fled the room.

For a long time, I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. There were a dozen reasons why I shouldn't get involved with Mason. The most important of them all? My career. I couldn't just send out a few applications and get picked up by another team. Jobs like mine were highly sought after and difficult to get.

I was creating problems that didn't exist anyway. Mason and I were old friends. Nothing more. It wasn't worth stressing about my job one way or another. I just needed to ignore the mess of emotions that he was creating inside me.

I spun to my side and slid my hand under my pillow. With my eyes squeezed shut, I prayed for sleep. What felt like minutes after I finally dozed off, my alarm was going off, alerting me that it was time to check on him again. This time, I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders before I shuffled to his bedroom door. I tapped his foot lightly, and when he moved, I hightailed it out of the room. But even if I'd avoided another encounter, sleep still eluded me.

The click of a cabinet closing pulled me from my fitful dreams, and when my brain came online enough to register where I was, the first thing I noticed was the scent of coffee. Coffee that Mason probably shouldn't be drinking.

I hauled my exhausted body out of bed, changed into my black pants and polo, and fixed my hair. Then I took a moment to breathe deeply and bolster my willpower. I was here to do my job. Nothing more. And that's what I'd do for the next few days. No more joking, no more books or reminiscing about old times. Just my job.

I opened the door and headed into the kitchen. Just as my feet hit the tile, I pulled up short.

The man was propped up against the counter, wearing nothing but grey sweats. He held his mug aloft and tipped it my way. "It's decaf," he said, as if he was prepared for my admonishment.

I refused to let my focus stray from his face. "Good."

"You hungry? Wanna grab breakfast?" He brought his mug to his lips and watched me over the top as he sipped.

"Like go out?"

"I don't have anything here." He shrugged and set his mug down.

As he did, I lost the battle I'd been fighting with myself and slowly took him in. His shoulders and his broad chest and his toned six-pack.

Damn, the man was perfect.

He smirked like he knew what I was thinking but was nice enough to not say anything.

"Damiano and Avery always talk about the banana pancake special on Tuesdays at the diner a few blocks away."

For a moment, I scanned the room. Going out to breakfast didn't feel like a work duty, but Dr. Anderson and Beckett had both made it clear that my only priority this week was to stick with Mason so I could keep an eye on him and rehab his shoulder. I supposed eating breakfast together fell into the keeping an eye on him category. "Okay."

"Let me get dressed." He stalked past me toward his room.

When he disappeared, I finally let myself relax. Yes, breakfast was a great idea. I needed to get out of his apartment. With every minute that passed here, it felt as though the walls were closing us in and forcing us closer, and I needed a bit of fresh air and space.

"Don't forget your sling," I called down the hall.

He popped his head out of his room and glowered at me. "I thought we established that I wasn't wearing that."

"I said you could take it off when you laid down to watch the game, not that you never had to put it back on." I stepped out into the hall and crossed my arms. "You want it to get better, don't you? Or would you rather worry about the pain that will shoot through you the next time someone crashes into you on the field?"

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, he shut his bedroom door behind him.

I let out a long breath. At least the weirdness was gone.

Twenty minutes later, he was shifting his arm in the sling and once again complaining.

"I am not a fan of this thing," he said as we walked toward the diner.

"Mason Dumpty." For at least the third time since we'd left his apartment, his name was being shouted. This time from across the street.

In a heartbeat, Mason's glower was replaced by a grin, and the fun-loving baseball guy Boston loved had returned. The fan jogged across the road, and after he snapped a selfie and gave Mason a fist bump, he was gone. It was impressive the way Mason could turn on his celebrity athlete persona like that. If I was constantly being interrupted, I'd get annoyed. In fact, I was trying not to be annoyed when the fifth person of the morning stopped us. Mason didn't seem bothered by it, even though all the attention stretched what should have been a ten-minute walk into thirty, and his stomach was growling so loud there was no way the last two fans hadn't heard it.

"We finally made it." Mason held the door open for me and waved me in.

Despite my best effort to remain unaffected by him, his boyish smirk had my stomach flipping over itself.

An older woman in a pink shirt with blue-gray hair smiled brightly as she moved toward us.

"Mason Dumpty." She clapped her hands. "Damiano and Knight stop in regularly. We wondered if you'd grace us with your presence one of these days."

"You must be Pam." Mason pointed to a photo on the wall of a short stack covered in whipped cream, fruit, and chocolate chips. "I keep hearing about you and these banana pancakes, so I thought I'd come by and see what all the fuss is about."

"Oh, you're in for a treat. Everyone loves our banana pancakes." She took him in, cocking one brow when her gaze landed on the sling. "That was one hell of a catch."

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "If only I could remember any of it."

"Aw, poor dear." She patted his good arm, then turned to me, like she'd just noticed me standing beside Mason. "And who's this?"

"My babysitter for the next week." He winked at me, then turned back to Pam. "She's pretty, isn't she?" he mock-whispered.

I shook my head and smiled at the older woman, but quickly dipped my chin, hoping to hide the way my cheeks heated in response to his teasing.

We followed Pam to our table, and when it was time to order, we both went with the banana pancake special. Throughout our meal, we were subjected to one curious glance after another. I tried to ignore them, but the scrutiny made me uneasy, especially as I shoved pancakes into my mouth, doing my best not to make a mess. Mason, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to it, or maybe he was just used to it.

Along with the looks, I did my best to ignore how much this felt like a date, especially when he paid. Maybe I should have put up a fight over the bill, but in the end, it was easier to let him.

So much for my vow to keep our relationship professional. As we left the diner, I told myself that from that moment on, I would do better.