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I polish off another cookie while I sneak glances at Mason and consider, wondering what John has asked Mason to do that goes against what he wants.
I’ve often wondered if John warned Mason away from me.
That’s totally an older brother kind of thing. Except … it seems like if John were going to choose anyone for me, it would be Mason. His best friend. A guy whom John all but invited into our family. A guy John trusts to share an apartment with me.
My answer for why I go along with John most of the time has a lot of layers. The easiest one to unpack is that John is the dominant one in our relationship. John is the older brother who stepped into as much of a dad role as he could. I respect and love him, even when he’s maddening and controlling.
My natural default when it comes to John is to say yes.
And especially in this case, I really regret it.
Not for the first time, I think about telling Mason how I feel. I don’t want to do what John suggests. I don’t want to go on any more dates with random guys from some app. I want Mason. And I could tell him right now.
But if he does have feelings, I need Mason to make the first move. Not because I don’t feel like women can do it. But given our specific situation, Mason needs to be the one to make the move. If a move is going to be made.
Oh, PLEASE let a move be made.
I could not handle his rejection. I already fear the sting of rejection from guys I barely know and don’t even like. I’m on a streak ofit’s not me, it’s definitely youfrom guys. My first-date curse.
If Mason doesn’t feel the same way, I’m not sure I’d recover. Plus, we’re living together for at least a few more months. How awkward would it be if I confessed and he said he was just trying to be nice.
Or worse—what if John put him up to this? What if all these nice things are what John made Mason promise to do in exchange for living here?
No. No way.
I remind myself of the explosive chemistry out in the hallway just now and the thoughtfulness of buying my favorite cookies, setting up this bath, and making hot cocoa. Plus everything he did the other night, even if it didn’t end the way I hoped. There’s no way John put Mason up to this. It’s Mason. It has to be.
And yet … I need more than gestures. I need the words. Hints and gestures aren’t enough. I need Mason to tell me loudly and proudly how he feels about me.
“Maybe,” Mason says, slowly, carefully, “we both need to stop letting John influence so much of our lives.”
“We might die,” I deadpan.
Mason chuckles. “John seems to think so.”
“He is pretty smart.”
“Yes. And also an idiot,” Mason says.
“I agree with that point. Quite strongly.” I finish off the last cookie. “I have a suggestion. I’d like to propose we do something radical and figure outus—apart from John.”
It was hard to get my mouth around the wordus. It sounds a little presumptuous, a little too much like my dream of being anus. Saying those two little letters makes my heart beat a little faster than is probably healthy. I could have saidfriendshipinstead.
Butfriendshipdoesn’t quite feel honest. It’s not what I want. Not anymore. I’m tired of settling for less when what I want is more. This isn’t quite as brave as telling Mason I like—and maybe even love—him, but us is a start.
“I second your motion to figure outuswithout John getting in the way,” he says.
Mason, I’m thrilled to notice, seconds my word choice.
There’s even a little emphasis there.
“Let’s move to a vote,” he continues. “All in favor?”
“Aye,” we say at the same time.
I’m smiling, and so is he, with his hand still covering his eyes. It’s a good thing he’s not looking, though, because in the last few minutes, the bubbles have started to dissipate, enough that I’m barely covered now.
“Where do we go from here?” Mason asks.
