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Payton
Now,July 5
“I’ve wantedto dance with you like this since that day.” Mason’s confession slams into me, and I think a small gasp slips through my lips. “I didn’t know it then, but I did.”
His mind strayed just as mine had, and it’s as confusing as it is predictable.
As comforting as it is overwhelming.
“I miss you,” he whispers, and my eyes fly open.
My breath hitches and I tense, but his hands continue sliding along my lower back, the heat of his palm calming and rattling at the same time.
“Mason, please.”
He’s quiet for several seconds, and I realize we’re no longer moving but standing still as the room moves around us. He pulls back, his thumb gliding along my jawline, those dark eyes locking on mine in desperation.
Tension tugs at my ribs, and I squash my thoughts, but it’s too late, and now my pulse is jumping higher and higher. It’s fuckingflying.
“I can’t do this.” I tear away, rushing over and grabbing my camera, hastily stuffing it in my bag.
Mason appears beside me, gripping my shoulder gently, but I spin away, and what was meant to be a brisk walk turns into a full-on run. People turn to stare, but I ignore them, pretending not to hear the harsh slap of his shoes following behind.
Brady catches my eye on my exit, and he abandons the girl he had pinned to the wall in a heartbeat. I don’t know what he sees, but I know the moment he realizes I’m not the only person running out of the party. His gaze flicks behind me, widening before slicing back to mine.
He gives a curt jerk of his chin, and I’m out the door but not before hearing the scuffle behind me.
There’s a bit of a crash, followed by a shout. “Let me go!”
“Can’t.”
“Swear to god, Brady!”
The door slams closed behind me, and I dart to the left, doing my best to disappear into the darkness in case the quarterback escapes the arms of his lineman.
Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t fast enough, and Brady must have underestimated Mason’s need to get to me, as footsteps pound the payment at my back. There’s no escaping now, so I brace for the onslaught.
“I said I can’t do this!” I shout, preparing to throw out any excuse in the book as I whirl around, but the words die on my lips, my mouth clamping shut.
Mason isn’t behind me. Chase is.
He jerks to a stop, his palms rising as if he’s just come across a wild bear, but when my shoulders fall with instant relief, he tucks his hands in his pockets, offering a gentle smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He glances toward the parking lot and back, a single brow raised. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Yes.”
Just like that, he turns, and with eager steps, I follow.
Chase drives for several minutes,coming to a stop on a dark street in front of one of those giant, industrial-style rolling doors.
“Are you selling me off to drug lords?”
He doesn’t respond, just chuckles and hops out. Reluctantly, I follow, running to catch up with him and crossing my arms as we walk toward the building.
“I feel like a guy in overalls with bodies buried under his porch is about to walk out with a wrench in his hand.”
