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At this proximity, I can smell the soap on his skin from a shower. He hasn’t been in the garage, so he’s not been sweaty and greasy today, but even that smells heavenly.
Is it creepy to get turned on by the scent of someone else?
Do I just need to get laid? It’s been . . . God, I don’t even know how long.
He clears his throat shifting in his chair and I just so happen to peek down at his denim-clad thigh, right next to mine.
Okay, Idefinitelyneed to get laid. A man’s thigh has never turned me on before and right now, there’s a steady pulse in my core.
“Figure it out at tax time.”
I’m pleased to see his voice is no longer pissed off. It’s softer. Nicer.
“It’s probably all fucked up.”
“Mason,” I scold quietly, turning back to him. “People get thrown in jail for that.”
His eyes zero in on mine and I almost look away from the intensity behind them. He shrugs. “No one’s said anything yet.”
“Trust me,” I grimace, turning back to the spreadsheet. “No one ever says anything, they just show up one day and shut you down.” I start building a new spreadsheet for last month, completely ignoring what he’s already done. It’s just easier to start over at this point.
“Then where would you turn?” he murmurs darkly and I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Mason, I know I haven’t said this, yet,” I say quietly, afraid to look at him. Fortunately, when I’m stressed, I do a better job. I always hated what I went to college for. It was boring, but Mom insisted, stating it would land me a better job in the long run. “But thank you.”
If only she could see me, now. Sat in Mason’s little dusty office, typing away on an ancient computer and fixing the booksfor his mechanic’s shop. Something about knowing she would be angrier than a cat in a laser factory makes me almost laugh.
Mason, on the other hand, doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel the animosity firing in the air like electrical charges.
“Why are you doing this, Hannah?” he asks after a long time of watching me work.
“You needed help.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I swallow, sucking in a deep breath.
How do I tell him and make him understand when I don’t even know myself?
“I just . . . I can’t abandon her.”
“She abandoned you.”
I peek at him over my shoulder and find him watching me. For once, he doesn’t look like he hates me. He’s inspecting me as if he’s trying to find something. Some shred of doubt that maybe I won’t follow through with this.
“She did,” I admit, finally. I can’t tell if it feels good to say that out loud, or not. “But where would we be if we were always keeping a tally on who owes whom?”
He doesn’t have an answer for that. His gaze darkens, but he doesn’t say anything, so I turn back to the spreadsheet.
“You know what they’re accusing her of.”
It’s not a question.
A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. The same one that always comes with racing thoughts about Missy.
“I know.” I’m ashamed of how small my voice sounds when I say it.
“And if it’s true?”
