10. Mason

Mason

10

It's been over a month since I've fucked anyone.

That's what I tell myself every time Reed bends over in front of me or forgets to wear a bra around the apartment. Much less when she just smiles, even the slightest, and her whole face brightens up.

I tell myself I'm not a complete douchebag, and that it's just been a while since I've gotten laid, so my body isn't used to it.

I try to ignore the fact that it's never been an issue before. I've gone months without sleeping with anyone and survived. It's a need I fill when I'm bored or looking for a distraction. But it's not an actual problem.

But now, every time Reed glances at me, I'm reminded of how much I've wanted this girl since the first moment I met her. And I feel like a fucking asshole for even thinking it.

The last thing she needs is some guy drooling over her when she's trying to get over a six-year relationship with her abusive, piece of shit ex-boyfriend.

So I've been holding it in. Pretending the want doesn't exist. And I've been doing a pretty good job at it.

But she caught me off guard when I came home early today. She was sitting on the couch looking like an angel placed on this earth just for me. She offered to leave so I could go out and have the apartment to myself, and it took everything in me not to drop to my knees and tell her I'd be fine if she never left at all.

I'm getting used to having her in my space. To her eyes being the first thing I see in the morning, and her voice being the last thing I hear at night.

I'm getting comfortable having her around.

The last thing I want to do is watch her disappear to the Twisted Kings compound so I can fuck some random girl. That doesn't even sound appealing right now. All I want is Reed and her big brown eyes.

Her company.

Her smile.

Finally, for the first time in a month, I saw it. I made a stupid, flirty joke, and her whole face lit up. It nearly knocked me on my ass.

I couldn't think or speak.

I did that to her—me.

It made me lose all train of thought.

Now here she is, sitting across from me, trying to drown her cheeseburger in ketchup.

I didn't know where to take her to lunch because if a place was too fancy, she might think I was trying to turn it into a date. But if it was a drive-through, she might think I don't care at all.

So I decided on this diner, where the food is decent, and the people are nice.

Reed rattles my brain. I can't think straight around this girl. Everything I do feels like it's wrong.

She shakes the ketchup bottle again, and it has her chestnut hair flopping around where it's tied on the top of her head. She's wearing less makeup now that the bruises have faded, and her pink sweater matches the bright blush of her cheeks.

I swear this girl is stunning in absolutely everything. She can be in pajamas or a neck-to-ankle bodysuit, and I'd do her bidding to the ends of the earth.

"Need help with that?" I ask when she gets frustrated by the resistant bottle of ketchup.

She shakes her head. "I've got it."

She still refuses to ask for help with anything, and I get it. I'm still learning how to use my own legs myself after growing up in a family where you're handed everything you need. It's a struggle, but it feels good figuring shit out on your own. It makes the wins worth it.

The bottle finally squirts ketchup out, and it splatters all over the table. A couple of drops land on my hoodie.

"Oh my God." She sets the bottle down, her hands flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get you."

"It's fine." I wipe the ketchup with a napkin, but it just smears. "It'll come out in the wash."

"It's going to stain. I can't believe I did that. I'm so sorry, Mason." She grabs a napkin and dips it in her water, rubbing it on my sleeve. "I'll wash it the second we get back to the apartment. Or I can get you a new one."

"Reed." I place my free hand over hers, where she's rubbing my sweater like she's going to war with it. "It was an accident. No big deal. You don't need to buy me a new one. And you don't need to be sorry. It's okay."

She presses her lips together, wetting them.

They're the perfect shade of strawberry, which figures when I'm allergic, and this girl makes me itch with desperation every second I'm around her.

Reed blinks like she's coming to, slowly pulling her hand away as she leans back in the booth. "I'm—" She cuts herself off before saying sorry again out of habit.

"It's fine, really."

Her eyes are glossy, even as her shoulders roll back, and she fights to maintain her composure. She's quiet for a minute as she leans forward and spreads the ketchup over her burger, planting the top bun back on it.

"I don't even realize I'm still doing it." Her words are nearly a whisper.

"Doing what?"

"Falling back into those habits." She shakes her head. "I forget not everyone is him."

"You were with him a long time." A fact that sours my tastebuds.

"Too long." She picks up a pickle and takes a bite. "You must think I'm such an idiot."

"I think a lot of things when it comes to you." She glances up at my comment. "But not one of them is that you're an idiot."

She hums, taking another bite of her pickle. "What kinds of things do you think then?"

That's a trap I shouldn't be stepping in. She's not ready for the answers I could give. But damn if I didn't wish I was courageous enough to just fucking say it.

"Just things." I shrug.

Reed rolls her eyes, folding her arms on the table in front of her. "Come on, tell me."

She's batting her lashes and breaking through my defenses. Reed holds the key to unlocking all my secrets.

I set my burger down and lean forward. "You really want to know?"

She nods, her cheeks warming the prettiest shade of pink.

"I think you're fascinating."

"I'm boring."

"Not to me." I shrug. "I mean, how many people can say they can shoot a moving target, change four flats in under twenty minutes, and easily ride a motorcycle? I can only do two out of the three."

I list a few random facts she shared with me when I met her. The girl wasn't joking when she said her dad raised her to be badass. I guess that's one of the benefits of growing up around bikers.

"Which two can you do?"

"Let's just say I've never been good with cars. Can't even check the oil level."

She laughs. Big and genuine, and it's the prettiest sound. "You're kidding?"

"No. But I should probably learn. Will you teach me?"

"I mean, I could." Her smile falls the slightest, and I immediately miss it. "But… you aren't intimidated by that?"

"Why would I be?"

"I just figure guys like feeling like the man in the relationship."

By guys, I'm guessing she means Carter.

"Maybe some guys... but I know what I have to offer."

"Is that so?"

"Yep." I can't bury my cocky grin. "And when it comes to those things, I don't disappoint."

My comment probably pushes the boundaries a little too far, but it gets me a smile in return. And it changes the subject from her insecure ex-boyfriend, so I take it for what it is.

"I'm sure you don't." Reed shakes her head, and I like that she seems at least a little curious. "So, is that it then? I'm fascinating because I have random, odd skill sets from being born and raised by bikers. That's what you think about me?"

"Well, that and the obvious."

"Which is what?" She takes a bite of her burger.

"You're beautiful."

She pauses with the burger still in her mouth, slowly sinking her teeth into the bite before setting it down. Her golden-brown eyes watch me, and I can't figure out why she looks so surprised as she chews slowly.

Swallowing her bite, she dabs her mouth with her napkin. "Now you're just being polite because I'm nothing special."

"Are you kidding me, Sticks?" I hitch an eyebrow. "You're fucking stunning. From when you wake up in the morning until you go to bed at night. It's honestly not fair to the rest of the female population. And when I think about you, my thoughts are anything but polite."

Blood rushes to her cheeks, and I hate myself for wondering if I could make her blush like that in my bed. For wondering how far the rosy rush would climb across her chest if I spread her thighs and worshipped her like she deserves.

She clearly hasn't been getting it. And I'd do anything to be the man who sets that right.

Maybe then, she wouldn't hesitate before she smiled, and she wouldn't apologize for every little mistake.

The physical scars Reed carries are nothing compared to whatever Carter did to her on the inside.

If she was my girl, I'd fucking worship her. I'd make sure she knew every day just how beautiful she is. Because it's not a lie. She's stunning. Every curve, every blink of her lashes. And then there's what can't be seen on the outside. She's so fucking sweet; one taste of her would never be enough.

She'd heal the rot that's spent my life festering.

Reed sets down her napkin, and I brace myself for her to say I'm taking this playful flirting too far when she's still healing. But instead, she leans forward a little more, glancing around like she's worried someone's going to hear us.

"Can I ask you a question, Mason?" Something about how she says it feels like she's baiting me. And fuck I want to bite.

So bad.

I want to answer all her questions.

"Anything."

"Do you think if I figure all this out and get myself together, a guy will be able to look past all my baggage? Like, if they know everything. Do you think I'd still be worth the trouble?" Her eyes are glossy, but she holds back her tears. "Carter said—"

I plant my hand over hers on the table, cutting off her sentence. Because I don't give a fuck what Carter said. If it came out of his mouth, it's bullshit. And she doesn't need to repeat his lies to me—much less to herself.

"You're worth it now, Reed. Any guy with his head on straight would be able to see that."

"You mean it?"

"I do." More than I can say out loud.

She's priceless. Sitting here a month after escaping hell and not letting it destroy her. I can only imagine what she's gone through these past six years, but I'm sure it wasn't pretty.

Still, she walked away. It might sound small, but it's the biggest thing.

There's no measuring Reed's worth when it surpasses anything.

Reed blinks at me, and she makes me ready for things I haven't been before. She makes me want to tell her exactly how I feel when it's the worst idea. She makes me wish I was the kind of man who deserves her because then I'd show her just how worth it she is.

Instead, I squeeze her hand once and then pull back, appreciating how her shoulders relax at my touch. How she was stressed and on the verge of tears, but now she's not.

I did that.

I'm not good for much, but I can be good for her like this—as her friend. So that's what I'll be. What she needs at this moment. Because she is worth it, and I'll help her see that eventually.

Even if I'm not.