Game Plan (12 page)

Agreeing to go to that party had been a mistake, one made in a moment of Mason-induced weakness. He did that to her—stripped her of sensibility and self-protection. The way her heart pounded in his presence, or even from hearing his voice…god, a simple text from Mason sent her mentally skipping through a wildflower meadow, surrounded by animated, singing forest animals. It was ridiculous and she needed to get a grip. Pronto. She had no business meeting his friends, let alone his family. That was the kind of thing real couples did. People with plans to take their relationship from casual to committed. People who didn’t have an age gap that made such a thing impossible.

She flopped on the bed with a sigh. But maybe she’d overreacted a little about his comment. The dress
was
rather on the sexy side for a backyard barbecue, especially one where she’d be surrounded by strangers who would undoubtedly be judging her. Strangers to her, but not to Mason. In a way, she couldn’t blame him for questioning her wardrobe selection. It’d just been so automatic to get defensive. Dammit.

The fist that’d tightened around her heart as he burned out of the driveway squeezed again. Anger, regret and now a pinch of guilt—the deluxe combo, the trifecta of toxic emotions. She pushed up from the bed, wandered to the closet and said goodbye to the dress. Tomorrow she’d return it. She’d never be able to wear it without thinking about their fight. But as much as today sucked, it was for the best. Being alone with Mason was wonderful. Thinking she could be part of his everyday life was crazy.

With Dylan on vacation at the cottage and Lasha out of town at a singles mixer, Andie was on her own for the rest of the holiday. She ought to go downstairs and work. The uber-frilly MacMillan bridesmaids’ dresses weren’t going to sew themselves. Or, she could eat the remaining half tub of heavenly hash ice cream on the deck, then nap the day away in the sunshine. Now that was a better plan for healing a grumpy heart.

She plucked the spoon from her mouth, turned to the screened french doors and sighed. Again with the doorbell. Her neighbors were sweet and well meaning, but Andie was running out of polite ways to say no. Already today, she’d turned down red-frosted cupcakes. Then maple-glazed-bean-and-back-bacon casserole. Mrs. Karnowski’s Canadian-themed food creations
sounded
wonderful. From experience, Andie knew that no amount of Imodium combated the aftereffects of her neighbor’s cooking. The memory of potato salad à la Karnowski sent a particular chill up her spine.

“Hey, babe.” Mason’s voice snapped her out of the stomach-churning reminiscing. He stood on one of lower steps, hands behind his back. “I tried the front door, a couple times.”

“I heard it.” Let him think she’d purposely ignored him, for a few minutes at least.

“Yeah, I figured.” He climbed one stair. “I was deciding whether to bust it down when the old folks next door half-ran across the front lawn at me.” A couple more stairs disappeared behind him. “They told me you were on the deck and I should come around back.”

“Of course they did.” How many times since Scott moved out had the Karnowskis asked her when she was going to get a nice, new young man in her life? She’d sure done that. Just very short term. And now that
younger
man was on the top step looking sheepish and sexy at the same time—a look that worked well for him and melted her resolve faster than ice cream in the hot July sunshine.

“The lady said to give you this.” A small, clear bowl came from behind Mason’s back.

Andie stiffened. “Oh god. That woman is trying to kill me.”

“With potato salad?”

“Don’t be fooled. That’s the devil in disguise.”

“Smells good to me.” He pulled the serving spoon from the bowl, loaded to overflowing, and lifted it toward his mouth.

The ice cream container fell to the deck as she launched her body at Mason. “Stop…” She bounced off his super-solid chest, taking the vile concoction with her. As in, dumping the bulk of it down her chest. “For the record, you owe me your life.” She flicked a chunk of potato off her nipple area. Disgusting. “Not to mention a load of laundry.”

“Done. Should I strip you here, or take you inside first?”

Unable to cross her arms without mashing Mrs. Karnowski’s mystery dressing into her tank top, she settled for rolling her eyes.

“Good thing you weren’t wearing the dynamite dress.”

The dress. The reason she’d flipped out. A hint of anger bubbled to the surface, only to be popped by his sexy smile and perfect…everything. She turned to survey the mess. “Oh…my ice cream…” The chocolatey mush was inching its way across the deck. A mess
and
a waste of sugar therapy. “Dammit.”

“Guess I owe you dessert too. They’ll have lots at the party.”

“Great. Enjoy it.”

“I will, with you.”

Honestly, did he think she was that much of a pushover? Of course he did, because around him she was, or had been until now. “I’m not going.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that.”

“So why are you here? Again.”

“To restart our long weekend together…by taking you to the party.”

A glob of potato dropped from her boob onto her toe. Mason barely bit back a smile, the jerk. She cringed while crossing her arms over her chest. “You left.”

“I came back.”

She had to give him credit. He could’ve justified his exit by pointing out her hissy fit and door slamming, but he didn’t.

“And I brought you a present.”

“That salad is no present, it’s a ticking time bomb for unsuspecting intestines.” Oh lord, now her arms were flapping involuntarily. Not good.

“Not the potato salad, babe. These.” A box of rosebud-shaped chocolates emerged from his cargo pocket.

“Oh. Those are my favorite.” Damn him. She needed to be strong, resist the pull tugging at every cell in her body.

“I figured, since you have two jars of them in your house.”

“Three.” He didn’t know about the one in her desk drawer.

“I stand corrected.” He stepped closer, gently picked up her hand and placed the box in her palm.

The simple touch sparked a wave of electricity that shot to every inch of her Mason-addicted body. This didn’t bode well for her deteriorating resolve.

Bribery—nothing new there. Scott had used it all the time, but on a larger scale, and with more pre-meditation. The dollar-something box of her favorite chocolates was charming and sincere. Scott’s bribes had never been that, not even close.

“Come to the party with me.” The words were a statement, not a question, but there was a hint of sweetness in his voice that was irresistible.

In the past, she’d have ended up going wherever Scott wanted out of obligation. Miserably, and to his specifications. With Mason, she didn’t have to do anything. But she wanted to. That memo from her head to heart about doing what was best—mentally shoved through the shredder.

If she couldn’t stop this mistake from happening, maybe she could make him do it. She tipped her chin up at him. “I’ll go, but I’m not changing. If you or your family and friends don’t like what I’m wearing…that’s your problem.”

Mason’s eyebrows rose. “Okay. I’m sure Toby’ll love what you’re wearing, if nobody else does.”

Her jaw fell. She snapped it shut, only to feel it drop again. At least he was being honest.

“I’ll try to keep him away from you, but I can’t guarantee it’ll work. He’s strong for an old guy and when he wants something, there’s usually no stopping him.”

The possibilities made her shudder. “Is he your lecherous uncle or something?”

“He’s my parents’ bloodhound.” He moved in again, heat radiating off him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the July day. “And your top looks like a picnic basket exploded on it.” He grinned, plucked a chunk of celery from her chest and tossed it over the railing. “It’s actually making me kinda hungry. Mind if give you a lick?”

“Yes, I do mind.” She pushed his head away as he lowered his head toward her filthy tank top.

“First time for everything, I suppose.”

“Funny.” And right, on this account. “I’m going inside to put my dress back on.”

“Toby’s gonna be disappointed.”

And here they were, back to the subject of her wardrobe selection. Hands on her hips, she faced him down. Or rather, up. “What about you…are you going to be upset if I wear that dress?”

“Hell no.”

Hmm. “So you really don’t mind if I wear it? You said it was sexy. Do you think it’s,” she clenched her teeth and spit out the next word, “inappropriate?”

The smile on his face turned wicked as his hands snuck under her tank top. They curled around her waist, pulling her closer. “Covering your beautiful body with anything is inappropriate.”

“Mason, I’m serious. I need to know.” For reasons he
didn’t
need to know.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I don’t care what you wear. I just want you with me.”

Nope, he was wrong. That was exactly what she wanted to hear.

When Andie came down the stairs wearing that black-and-white dress again, he had to swallow a mouthful of drool.

“You’re staring again,” she said when she stopped in front of him.

“Get used to it. You’re gorgeous and fucking hot and I can’t take my eyes off you.” Touching her when they had to get going would be a mistake. He did it anyway, starting with her neck, stroking downward along her shoulder and arm. Over the slippery material covering her hip. Lower, to the silky skin of her thigh.

Her eyes widened as he snagged the bottom of her dress and slowly pulled it upward.

“Your skin is so soft and warm.” And bare? He explored some more. Nothing, not even a tiny string over her hip. Yup, definitely commando. His fingers twitched with the need to feel her heat surround them. His cock had the same idea.

He smiled down at her and let the dress fall back into place. “Ready to go?”

“O-okay.”

Good, she wanted more too. The color of her cheeks and the way she bit into her bottom lip, kind of lopsided, told him she wanted him right here, now. And fuck, he was tempted.

“All right, let’s roll.” He took her hand and led her out of there. They hadn’t had an opportunity to fuck since Monday. Five days didn’t qualify as a drought, but knowing how amazing it felt to be balls-deep inside Andie made it seem like one. Now he had to get through the day with what would no doubt be a permanent hard-on…while surrounded by friends and family. Yeah, touching her had not been the brightest idea.

He waited until they were under way to steal another long look at her. Sunlight bounced off her hair, making it a shiny golden-brown color. Like a caramel or toffee. Definitely not blonde, but not the solid, darker brown he was used to seeing. “Your hair is different.”

“I had it up earlier. I decided to let it down.”

“It’s nice both ways. But there’s something else…”

“I got different highlights. A bit bolder.” She fingered a piece nervously before thrusting her hands in her lap. “I thought maybe…I might look younger this way.”

Again with the age thing. “You worry way too much.”

“Women my age tend to do that.”

He snorted. “That’s bullshit.”

“I assume that spectacular counterpoint comes from your vast experience dating women in the forty-plus bracket?”

So the lady wanted to do a little fishing, did she? No problem. “Babe, you’re not plus and you don’t look more than thirty-five, tops. And for the record, you’re my first.” If things continued to go well, maybe his last. Of any age bracket.

“Oh god, your family and friends are going to hate me for that reason alone.”

“They’re going to be crazy about you. Like I am.” At a red light he leaned in for a kiss that lasted until honking behind him forced it to end. “So maybe they won’t like you
quite
as much as I do.”

She laughed as he shifted his erection. Women had no idea how lucky they were. Since his discomfort clearly amused her, he didn’t mind. Seeing her relaxed and happy on the seat beside him felt nice. Natural.

“Did your son get to pitch last night?” He’d asked her to come watch
his
game and been denied. The boy took priority. As he should.

“The coach put him in for three innings. He walked two batters, struck out three and hit one. Only gave up three runs.”

Pride in her kid gave her a different kind of blush. Maybe that’s what people meant when they said women had a maternal glow. Whatever, it worked for her. And for him.

“And now he’s off at the cottage with his dad?”

“For two weeks.”

How many times and ways could he fuck her in fourteen days? Easy answer on that one—as many as she let him.

Parking had been restricted on his parents’ street. Standard long-weekend pain-in-the-ass stuff. He circled the block once, found nothing, then drove over the curb onto their front lawn. Fast enough to burn tracks into the grass. Mom would have a fit when she saw them, but the jerky maneuver made Andie yelp and grab his leg, so he’d deal with the fallout. He hopped out of the truck and around to her door before she beat him to the job.

“Ready to party with the Lang clan?”

She slipped her hand into his open palm. “Not really.”

“Me either.” He pulled her from the truck into his arms. “If it gets awful, think about what I’m going to do to you later.”

“My imagination sucks, give me a clue.”

“Babe, your lying sucks.” He grabbed their bags from the backseat. Wrapped his arm around her shoulders and started toward the backyard. “All right, here’s one thing I’ve been thinking about all week. You, naked on your stomach, hands stretched above your head while I do a dot-to-dot using your freckles and my tongue. I’m gonna start with the one under your left ear.”

“Where’s the last dot?”

The squeaky gate drew attention. At least half a dozen pairs of eyes zoned in on their next move. He smiled at their audience. Lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “Are you aware of the little mole you have down low in the crack of your ass?” She turned her head to face him, wide-eyed. Yeah, she knew exactly where he planned to put his tongue. He couldn’t hold back the smile that gave him.