Two Thousand Miles (15 page)

“Bow
chica wow wow,” Shelby sang. She snapped her fingers and did a little booty dance. Super embarrassed, I closed my hands over my face, trying to hide.

“I don’t think she should spend the night at your house. I don’t let Bit and Shelby stay with Logan and Cody,” Dana said.

“Alright,” Mason nodded.

“Oh, come on Momma. Let her go,” Shelby said. “We won’t hold it against you. Besides, even if you did give me and Bit permission, we would never stay at Logan and Cody’s.”

“Why not?” Cody squeaked.

“Your stepdad is a
perv. He always stares at my chest.”

“Well, baby, I
kinda don’t blame him,” Cody grinned. For such a girl so skinny, Shelby had big knockers.

“I like sleeping in my own bed
too much to stay at Logan’s,” Bit said. “And if you let her go, it’ll really get Dixie’s goat,” she added.

“I’m not
gonna make a decision for the express purpose of hurting another person’s feelings, but I’m sure Dixie bein’ with Garrett right now was meant to bother Mason and put Kat out of a place to sleep,” Dana rambled.

If I wasn’t allowed to go to Mason’s, I’d be sleeping on the couch across from Garrett’s room, and frankly, I didn’t want to be
near him or Dixie. I thought what they were doing was tacky.

Just as I was c
onsidering sleeping in the tent, she agreed to let me go. “Alright,” Dana said, rolling her eyes. “You can go—if you want to. But be safe.”

“Are your parent’s home?” I’d forgotten to ask Mason if anyone was there—if he’d be sneaking me in through a window of whatever.

“No, they’re in Mississippi visiting family.”

“You didn’t want to go?”

“I wasn’t invited.”

Mason shut off the truck’s engine and we entered the house the same way we had before—through the garage.

“You want a drink?” he asked, pulling a bottle of Jim Beam from the freezer.

“Are you having one?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you having it?”

“
Whattya mean—how am I having it?”

“Straight?
On the rocks? With water? In Coke?” I rattled.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re from fancy town,” Mason grinned.

“Ha-ha,” I said.

“Here, we have it one of two ways
; straight or in Coke. I’m mixing mine.”

“I’ll have mine the same way—as long as the Coke is diet,” I added.

“What is it with this diet crap? A splash of Coke isn’t gonna to kill you.”

“No, but drinking diet Coke is an easy way to eliminate calories, and eating the way I have been
recently, I need all the help I can get.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes. “Diet Coke it is.”

“I know it’s probably weird of me to ask, but could I take a shower? I still feel dirty.”

“You didn’t think I was going to le
t you in my bed tonight smellin’ like mud, did you?”

“I…um…” I stuttered. Mason laughed. “My bathroom is across the hall from my room.”

I didn’t say anything, just followed his directions to the bathroom. I opened the linen closet and took out a clean towel. It was nice, pure white, fluffy and smelled of Gain detergent.

I got in the shower, stood beneath the steaming flow of hot water, and soaked myself. I went to reach for shampoo and realized it was all-in-one shampoo and body wash for men. I loved how Mason smelled, but I didn’t want to smell like him. I wanted him to smell like him.

I heard Mason’s voice and screamed like I was being stabbed.

He laughed hard.

“Sorry, I startle easily,” I said, feeling like a bonehead.

“Good to know.”

Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was smiling, which made me feel slightly better. “I got some shampoo and a fresh bar of soap for you. I brought you a shirt and an old pair of my shorts. Hopefully they’ll fit.”

“Thank you.” I was dreading having to put my dirty clothes back on.

Mason stuck his arm just past the shower curtain and handed me the soap and shampoo. I’d never been so happy to see a bottle of Pantene in my life.

After finishing in the shower, I towel dried my hair and dug through the linen closet again, looking for a brush. I didn’t find one. I did find a bottle of mouthwash, which I used. I put on the clothes Mason left for me, tossed my towel in the hamper, and went to the living room.

“Feel better?”

“Much, thank you.”

He handed me the highball glass he’d mixed my drink
in.

“I’m
gonna take a shower, too. The TV remote is on the end table. I’ll be quick,” he said as he disappeared down the hallway.

I didn’t want to fool with trying to figure out the remote control
, so I studied the contents of the entertainment center instead. Books, mostly about dealing with grief lined the top shelf. There were a few others by authors I recognized only because I’d been assigned to read their work in high school.
The Great Gatsby
by F. Scott Fitzgerald,
The Sun Also Rises
by Ernest Hemmingway
and
Night
by Elie Wiesel
had been my favorites
.

I spotted a record player opposite the television. It was old, but most of them were now. People weren’t exactly clamoring to buy record players these days. I lifted the smoke colored plastic lid and found a record inside. I pushed the large, square power button on the face, placed the needle on the record, and turned up the volume. I don’t know why I was surprised to hear Frank Sinatra piping through the speakers. I think I’d expected something Cajun or bluegrass.

I left the music playing and sat on the floor. I opened the doors in the bottom of the cabinet and found two shelves of records. I pulled a few out and looked at them. Sammy Davis, Jr., Bobby Darin, Nat King Cole, Etta James. I got the picture. They liked music that was easy to listen
to.

For some reason, I imagined Mason’s parents sipping wine, or something on the rocks and doing crossword puzzles on opposite ends of the couch while listening to these records. I smiled at the thought.

“I wouldn’t have figured you
for a Sinatra fan,” Mason said, his now familiar scent following him into the room.

“I hope
it’s okay—”
that I’m going through your things
“—that I’m making myself at home.”

“Yeah,” he smiled
, and sat down next to me. “My parents used to play these records all the time. I hated it when I was a kid, but as I got older, it bothered me less. I sort of became fond of old blue eyes,” he grinned. “Dude had swag.” I laughed, but he was right. 

“What do your parents do?” I asked.

“They’re both teachers.” And that was all he said.

“You don’t
wanna talk about your parents?”

“I’ve already talked to you about my parents.”

“You told me a little about them.”

“That’s more than you’ve told me about yours. Our conversations have been pretty one
-sided.”

I took a deep breath and let the words tumble out
, “My mother left when I was four. She and my father divorced when I was six. She signed over her parental rights and I haven’t seen her since. All I really know about her is what my father has told me, which isn’t much because it hurts him to talk about her. But basically, she was a free spirit who didn’t like being tied down—so to speak.”

“I’m sorry,” Mason said.

“It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me; it’s kind of hard to grieve the loss of something you never really had in the first place.”

“Did your dad remarry?”

“Once. Isobel was great, but she was too young for him. They dated five months before they married—divorced a year later. It’s mostly been me and him.”

I was done sharing, my eyes
wandered aimlessly around the room, looking for something else to talk about.

Mason stood up and held his hand out for me. I took it and he pulled me up from the floor. “If you tell anybody about this, I’ll kill you,” he half-heartedly threatened before quickly spinning me into his arms. He dipped me within inches of the beige carpeting and pulled me back to his chest like a
yo-yo on a string. He held me close, putting his left hand on the small of my back. He took my left hand in his right, extended our arms, and positioned them at about shoulder height. He stepped to his right. I followed. He took a step back; I stepped forward then back and then stepped to the side again. I followed his lead, repeating the movements.

“You can dance,” I glowed.

“Yeah, well, remember it’s a secret.”

“Why does it have to be a secret?”

“You know girls, once they find out you have a special skill they wanna make you into some kind of trick pony and I won’t dance on demand.”

“So why show me, then?
”

Mason’s eyes searched my face. “I just felt like it,” he finally said, which was not the
answer I was looking for. The song ended, and he let go of my hand, and broke away from me.

“I’m
gonna grab another drink, you want one?” I’d only taken a couple sips of the first one; the ice had watered it down by then.

“I’ll come with you.” I grabbed my drink
from the glass coffee table, and followed Mason to the kitchen.

I poured my drink down the sink and sat my empty glass on the island beside Mason’s. His hand was gripped around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“How about a shot instead?” he asked.

“Okay,” I shrugged.

He skipped adding ice and poured an unmeasured amount into each glass—his held a t
ouch more. We picked up our glasses and clinked them together, making a silent toast and then we turned them up. I finished my drink in two swallows. My throat burned as the liquid rolled down. The music filtering from the family room snatched my attention. It was a live version of “I love Paris.” I was concentrating on making out the lyrics when Mason put his hand on my cheek, startling me into a shiver. He acted as if he hadn’t noticed, but took his hand away.

Suddenly nervous, I tipped the bottle of whiskey over the side of my glass, splashed in a small amount, and quickly threw it back before walking away. 

I stood at the edge of the hallway with my back to Mason, waiting. My heart pounded, breaths coming so fast I’d almost reached the point of hysteria when I felt Mason’s hands push inside my shirt, and close around my bare waist. He slid his arms around me and held on. I closed my eyes, taking in how good it felt to have him hold me. He eased me back against the wall and kissed me. It was slow and determined and filled me with the same electricity I’d felt when he kissed me in the creek. 

He moved his mouth away from mine and delicately kissed my neck as I willed myself to calm down, to breathe easier.

“How long are you gonna be here?” he murmured. It took a moment for me to process which “here” he was talking about.

“I don’t know,” I breathed. Instead of leaving it at that,
I added nine words I would later regret. “Whenever Marion says I can go home, I guess.”

“So, you could leave anytime then?” Mason asked, his grip on me coming undone.

“I don’t know when.”

“Why are you here?” he asked, letting go of me completely.

“I kind of don’t want to talk about it right now. I’d rather get back to this,” I said and put my mouth on his. He didn’t kiss me back, so I moved my mouth from his limp lips to his neck and lightly bit him. As I ran my tongue along his jaw line, he started to come back around. Breathing harder, he kissed me again. My fingers traced along the hem of his shorts from his stomach to the dimple in his lower back. I pulled up his shirt; he raised his arms and let me lift it off of him. We went back to kissing and I managed to get out of my shirt, too. Mason took his hands from my hair and let them move down my arms to my waist, and then over my chest, pressing me harder against the wall.

I was dying for him to take me to bed already. We were right across the hall from his room. I was on the verge of just saying so, but he said something first. Something I never expected.

“I think I should sleep on the couch,” Mason whispered.
Huh
? I’d always thought whispered words were meant to be sweet, naughty, or secretive. Not confusing.

Mason let go of me
; he picked up his shirt and vanished from the hallway, leaving me standing alone and dazed.

“What was that?” I asked, following him.

“What was what?” Mason said, rearranging the cushions on the couch.

“You just left,” I said.

“I didn’t leave, Cali girl.” He turned around, arms open. “I’m right here,” he said, trying hard not to look at my naked chest.

“You know what I mean. What just happened? What the hell is going on with you? One minute you’re trying to be close to me
, and the next you’re pulling away. You’re sort of giving me whiplash.”
And I’d thought that part of our relationship was over.