Louder Than Words (Fall For Me) (9 page)

CHAPTER 25

The day after Becca’s party I slept
in until late. Zoey was always busy with Finn these days. We hardly ever hung
out anymore. And none of my other friends really interested me. Not enough for
me to like, call them.
Or even text them.
Usually. Not
unless I found myself bored—which didn’t really happen that often. I was
a busy girl—what with cheerleading and dance practices … and boys.
Too many boys, sometimes.
But none of them really interested
me that much lately.
Except Mason.
Suddenly, he
interested me way too much. But not in the friendly way like it used to be. Now
all I could do was think about his kiss. And want another one.
Really, really bad.
Even though I knew it was wrong and only
caused problems.

When I finally got out of bed, I
decided I’d make amends with Mason. Make us be close again—like we were
before I started dreaming about his kiss.

I could do it—I could be
strong. Be totally “sisterly” and stomp out any thoughts about Mason’s
talented, awe-inspiring tongue and gorgeous, tempting, passion-filled lips.
Sigh. No, I could do it—I could!
!
—
it
would just require a lot of dunking my head into buckets
of ice water. Shudder.

Still, a girl’s got to do what a
girl’s got to do … and I wanted Mason back in my life. Desperately.

I padded down to the kitchen and
found Mason sitting at the kitchen table reading a sports magazine. “Have you
eaten breakfast yet?” I asked.

Mom worked weekends now with this
guy she was dating—at some home-goods shop he owned, where you could buy
lumber for do-it-yourself projects. I don’t think mom was really that
interested in the guy. I think she wanted our kitchen remolded.
But whatever.
She wasn’t around on weekends to bake anymore.
Not that she did that much anymore these days anyway.
Or
ever.

Mason shook his head, dragging his
eyes away from the magazine. “I just got up.”

“Want me to make pancakes?” I asked
with a coaxing smile.

The corners of Mason’s lips
twitched with a lazy grin. “Sure.”

As I went about looking for the
proper ingredients for my mouthwatering pancakes, Mason asked, “Are you going
to add chocolate chip smiley faces to them?”

“Of course,” I murmured.

Mason’s mom died when he was young.
He missed growing up with chocolate chip smiley faces in everything—so I
always made them for him. Of course he was gigantically muscular and huge, and
too old for chocolate-chip happy faces (well, I’m sure people assumed he was),
but I still put them on all of his baked goods anyway. You know, since he
didn’t get them when he was a little kid. And they made him smile. Probably
because he thought I was a dork.
But whatever.
At
least he smiled. (I
adored
his
smile—especially when it came from something I did.)

We ate the pancakes together and
played this board game that was at the table while we ate. It was one where you
add words to the other person’s words. Mason kept making dirty sentences. Out
of
everything
. It made me laugh.

He smiled at my laugh, his eyes
twinkling. Seeing him smiling at me like that, my stomach did strange flips and
cartwheels and other complicated acrobats.

Actually, the way he kept looking
at me as we sat together, it made me wonder if he was thinking of me as a
sister … or something else. Our relationship had become so strange (and
strained)
lately,
I really had no idea how he thought
of me anymore.

All I knew was—I couldn’t ask
him to kiss me. Or yearn for him to kiss me. I needed us to stay close. I’d die
if I lost Mason. Yet that’s how it felt lately—like I was losing him.

“Can we spend the day together?” I
asked impulsively. “Just you and me?”

He didn’t exactly look adverse to
the idea—but he was a busy guy, what with work and hockey and girls. And
girls. And girls. He tilted his head, then teased, “Don’t you have a hot date
?—
a new guy’s heart to break?”

“Not today.” I feigned a sigh,
mocking-seriousness. “I’ll demolish my next relationship
next
week.”
Enough of that.
I turned
earnest. “Today I want to
repair
a relationship—ours.”

Mason’s eyes washed over me. He
nodded slightly. “That sounds good,” he said softly. He downed his orange
juice, his eyes still on me. “I have to go down to the museum though and look
at some tribe exhibit to make up for a social studies assignment.” His brow
rose, “You wanna come?”

My heart did a little dance of
happiness.

He knew I did.

I’m sure my eyes lit up, and so did
my insides, wondering if he
really
needed to go to the museum or if he was just trying to give me a treat without
really coming out and saying it. I loved the museum. I used to drag Mason there
a lot (like every weekend) when we were in middle school. The place was free,
so I could actually go as often as I wanted. But mom was always working or
dating or busy.
Too busy to take me anyway.
But I
couldn’t go alone—or even with a friend. Well, I did sometimes—go
with a friend. But I always felt way safer with Mason. See, I had a horrifying experience
at the library once. (It’s a horrible, traumatic story that I don’t want to
talk about. Ever.) It left me kind of afraid to go to public places.
Or private place.
Or anywhere really.
That’s why I was so glad to have Mason come live with us. (Well, one of the
many, many reasons.) He was so big and tough—I felt safe with him. Like
he was my own private bodyguard.

Mason drove us to the museum on his
motorcycle. (As soon as he was old enough, he traded in his motor-scooter for a
smokin’ hot bike. Mom couldn’t really tell him no—since he paid for it
himself … and his dad had said he could buy it. So, she just shuddered every
time he rode off on it—which was constantly … but usually without me.)

At the museum, I sketched like
crazy. I love to sketch the statues there—and well, really everything. I
love to sketch. Mason jotted down some notes about some tribal exhibit, but
mostly, he just hung out with me—and watched me. It was kind of unnerving
to be lost in my work then look up and see Mason’s dark eyes so fixed on me. It
made me tremble and feel dizzy. Well, that—plus a lot of other stuff.
Like made my heart pound and my insides quiver and my hands shake, and, you
know, made it so I forgot how to breathe.

It also made me heat up in
flames—big time—because it made me remember his kiss … in vivid,
tasty detail.
All of it.
His hot
hands in my hair, his heated breath on my neck, his hungry, passion-igniting
mouth devouring mine.
Mmmm
.
Tasty, yummy stuff.

So, yeah, Mason’s eyes on
me—it sort of did the exact same thing to me as his lips on me … made me
need a bucket of
ice-water
. Bad.

You’re
his sister, you’re his sister, you’re his sister
. I kept trying to remind
myself of that every time I looked up. But
the way his eyes
were glued to me … boy
,
it was
hard
. Where was that bucket of
ice-water
?

Mason bought me
lunch
at this pizza place just a few buildings away from the museum. It was the same
place we used to always go back when we were in middle school. It gave me these
strange little tickles in my stomach to be there with him again. The whole
experience left me feeling achingly nostalgic and … wonderful.

It made me
want
to hold his hand and … kiss it. And sit really, really close to him. And run my
fingers through his hair and tell him that I loved having him as a brother and
I missed him.

Instead of saying or doing any of
that though, I said: “Weird being here again—huh?” My voice was all
throaty for some reason.

Mason’s brow rose. “Yeah. I was
just thinking that. It hasn’t changed that much—yet everything’s
changed.”

I swallowed down the golf-ball
sized lump in my throat wondering if he was really talking about the
place—or if he was talking about us. How everything about us had changed.
I mean, last night we’d
kissed
.
And we’d gotten into a fight. Mason and I used to never fight. Ever. He would
always just give me what I wanted, but in a nice way. Like he wanted to do it.

His eyes were on me now looking
reflective, but then a small smile crept on his lips. “I wonder if your
boyfriend still works here.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. There
was this young guy that used to work here. He would always give me crayons and
a coloring book when he sat Mason and me at our booth, like he thought I was a
kid or something—only he didn’t
look
at me like he thought I was a kid. And once he asked me if Mason was my
boyfriend. I had told him yes and Mason had laughed. But after that, Mason
always teased me about the guy and called him my “boyfriend”—especially
when the guy started giving me free ice cream. Shudder. Mason would watch me
eat it with a big smile on his face. Knowing I wanted to turn the ice cream
down, every time … only I liked ice cream too much. And hey, we weren’t made
out of money … and well, it was free ice cream. I would share it with Mason
when the guy wasn’t looking though—or sometimes even when he
was
looking. I mean, I’d
told
the guy Mason was my
boyfriend. So, it seemed rude he didn’t give Mason ice cream too.

Only Mason had laughed at that,
telling me he wouldn’t accept free ice cream from a guy…. But of course not
long after that girls started giving him “free” range of their mouths—and
everything else he wanted.
So, whatever.
His telling
me guys would always give me free ice cream didn’t seem to mean so much
anymore. But back then, hearing him say it had made my stomach flutter. Maybe
it’d had more to do with the
way
he
said it, and they way he
looked
at me
when he said it—with his eyes all glued to me and everything, like he was
trying to give me a cryptic message that I just didn’t get … but I’d liked it
just the same. I mean, free ice cream—cool!!

***

By the time we finally got home, it
was dark out. I’d had such a wonderful day though, that I didn’t want it to
end. I wanted to keep being with Mason, even though I knew I hogged him all day
and ruined all of his plans. Still, I didn’t want him to run off to his night
plans either. I wanted him to stay with me—keep giving his sacred,
delicious attention to me.

“I can make us dinner,” I told him
coaxingly. “Anything you want. And then we can play a video game—or watch
a movie.”

I could see Mason was going to turn
me down, so I went on quickly, “It doesn’t have to be a
romantic
movie. It can be anything you want—violence, blood,
gore
. All that yucky stuff you love.”

His eyes closed. He squeezed them
tight since he hates to say no to me. But I knew that look—he was going
to shoot me down.

I went on doggedly anyway, “Whatever
you want, Mason. You can choose.”

I was being ultra coaxing,
something I don’t normally do for a guy. Okay, I never do for a guy. But this
was
Mason
. And he’d been super sweet all day…. And I
didn’t want him to leave me. “I just want you to stay with me.”

“Summer,” he said reluctantly.

That was all he said, but I knew he
was turning me down. He already had other plans—he’d told me earlier.
Still, I tried. “Don’t go to the party, Mason—stay with me.”

I watched his sandy hair fall over
his gorgeous dark eyes, masking them—probably on purpose. “You know I
want to,” he said softly. “Summer … you’re not being fair.”

“I just want you to stay with me.”

He shut his eyes again, weaving his
golden strands off his forehead.

R
unning
a hand over his face, he groaned
. “Look,
Summer
we spent the whole day together—now I have to go.”

He said it like it had been some
sort of torture for him. Like I’d had to twist his arm to make him spend the
day with me. But I was pretty sure it hadn’t been that way.
At
all.

“I just don’t get it. Why? I had
such a good time with you today. Didn’t you have a good time? It seemed like
you liked being with me.”

“Summer, you know I did.” He leaned
the back of his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Finally, he dragged
his gaze back to me. His eyes bore a hole into mine. “If you want me to treat
you like a sister, you have to let me see other girls—” his brow rose
“—girls I can actually touch.”

“I don’t want you to see other
girls,” I muttered.

Mason’s lips parted slightly. He
narrowed me a cautious look. “Summer, what are you saying?”

His words sounded guarded, as
though he didn’t truly believe what I said.

I exhaled slowly, looking away from
him, being totally honest, “I don’t know.”

As though he’d been holding his
breath, he let it out slowly. He grabbed his jacket. “Well, let me know when
you figure it out.”

I watched him disappear out the
door only knowing one thing—I didn’t like him leaving me.

CHAPTER 26

After Mason left, I got a text from
my friend Raven. Yes, I actually had other friends besides Mason and Zoey.
Tons, in fact.
I just didn’t really care for any of them too
terribly much. I mean, they were fine to shop with or swim with or cheer with,
or whatever the agenda called for. But I never felt the need (or desire) to
text them much … or even reply to their many, many texts … most of the time.
But tonight, I replied.
Because tonight I felt restless.

Raven was on the cheerleading squad
with me, and she wanted to know if I wanted to go to a party with her. I’m not
much of a party-girl. Okay, I’m not a party girl at all. I don’t drink, and
well, most high school parties,
that’s
what people
do—drink. However, they also dance. And I felt like dancing. Big time.
So, I texted Raven back,
“Sure, sounds fun.”

Then I ran upstairs to my closet to
find something gorgeous to wear.

When Raven and I got to the party,
Jake greeted us at the door. Big, slimy Jake, whose stare gives me the
chills.

“Mmm, you look tasty,” he said, his
eyes dripping down my body.

Shudder.

Raven pulled me away from
him—thank goodness. “You can look, but don’t touch,” she said with a
laugh.

Then Raven and I did little whoops
and woots. (I don’t know why exactly, just because we wanted to, I guess. And
because we could get away with it—making loud noises that meant nothing
except,
“Hey, we’re here!!”
)

Then we went to the very outskirts
of the dance area and danced together. And well, I’m not going to lie. We dance
gooood. And get attention. And we were definitely getting it from Mason. Big
time. (Yes, Mason was at the party and I knew he would be.)

When Mason first noticed Raven and
me, he’d been playing pool. He’d looked up distractedly as he’d been about to
take a shot, then he saw me and did a double-take. His brow rose at what I was
wearing—or the way I was dancing … or both. His glittering eyes narrowed
and stared—and stayed on me for the rest of the night.

Instead of going back to his pool
game, he sat at the ledge of the stair’s landing, blatantly watching us dance.

Blatantly.

But I acted as though I didn’t
notice, dancing like I was alone—like no one was watching. Though I was way,
way too aware Mason’s eyes were glued to me—that they were drinking in my
every move.

Then—big mistake!!
Accidently, my gaze met his. And that was it. Immediately, our eyes locked. My
heart slammed against my chest and sizzling heat roared through my body and I
couldn’t look away.

Then, it was like I was dancing for
him. Like no one else was in the room.
Just me and Mason and
his hungry eyes.

Intently watching me, Mason slowly
took a drink of his soda, his heated gaze never leaving mine. That moment was
too hot. My knees went weak. Mason with a longing stare—it was too much
for my pounding heart. It was going to explode.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I
lied to
Raven
. Really I just needed to get away from
Mason’s hypnotic stare. I needed to do it quick, before I had a seizure … or
died from the inability to breathe.

I just needed a moment—to get
my world to stop spinning.

As I sped away, Mason narrowed a
questioning look at me, his eyes seeming to say,
What
’s going on, Summer? Why you stoppin’ the show?

But that in itself made me cringe.
I mean,
hello
. That was the
problem—I didn’t want to be putting on a show for him. Well, I didn’t
want
to want to put on a show for
him. I just wanted us to be together—be friends. Like we had been earlier
today … like we used to be—always.

So, yeah.
I was putting out totally mixed signals.
As usual.
Grrr!

I scurried toward the bathroom, but
there was a line. I turned around, deciding to go outside instead. Breathe in
fresh air. Or just … breathe. But I turned, and there was
Mason
.
His eyes on me.
My heart stopped. I so wasn’t ready
for this. The way he was looking at me.

His brow rose as I stood staring at
him, breathless. But the way his eyes were glued to mine, I doubted I’d ever
breathe again.

His voice was almost gentle, but
held a note of accusation, “What are you doing here? You hate parties like
this.”

“Well, yeah. Usually,” I stammered.
“But tonight, I don’t know—I felt restless. I wanted something
different.”

“Different?” He tilted his head,
squinting his eyes, like he was trying to figure out my code—figure out
if I was actually using one (you know, because of the dance). Then he seemed to
decide:
Screw it
. In a heartbeat, he pinned
me against the wall, his hands on either side of me.

“Did you dress this way for me?” his
voice was husky as his eyes dipped to the length of my body, lingering on my
every curve. “Because I like it, Summer.”

His face grew close and he breathed
into the curve of my neck, trailing kisses down my throat. “Were you putting on
that show for me?”

Heat ignited through my body.

Swallowing, I squeaked out in a
strangled whisper, “I just wanted your attention.”

His kisses on my neck continued (!!),
causing goose bumps to rise on every inch of me. Without stopping he murmured,
“Well, you have it.”

Instantly, his hands tangled in my
hair as his hot mouth crashed against mine. The world spun and my knees went
weak.

His kisses—oh
my gosh
! They were different than before—still
passionately incredible, yet so insatiable. Instantly I knew I’d made a
mistake, but it was too late. Not letting me squirm away, within seconds, he
had the door to a room open and whisked me inside.

Our lips never parting, he backed
me against the wall—kissing and kissing and kissing. It had me seeing
stars. I was positive I was going to pass out any second from too much excited adrenaline
running through my heart and brain.
Through my entire system.

I couldn’t believe this was really
happening. That this was tough, sweet Mason—that he was kissing me like
this. That he was kissing me at all.
His hot, tantalizing
mouth devouring me.
It was as though he couldn’t get enough, as though
he wouldn’t stop until he consumed me…. And he made it seem that was his plan.
That he would seduce me with his hungry, unyielding passion. Tantalize me and have
me just the way he had every girl.
That within minutes I’d be
another conquest.

“Mason! Stop it!” I pushed him away
breathlessly. I growled. “You made your point.”

“Did I?” He raised his brow.

Flushed and breathing hard, he
slowly gave me a little space, just a little. But he didn’t allow me to leave.
He still had me caged against the wall.

His warm ragged breath heated my
lips. He asked ironically, “What point is that?”

“That you have way more experience
than me—and I’m not your type.”

Obviously.

He was used to party girls, and
older girls—girls that weren’t shocked by what he’d just been doing. (And
it seemed he’d only been getting started!!!) I wasn’t used to that stuff. I was
used to being in control—and
having
all the control.

No, I definitely wasn’t his type.

Mason shook his head ruefully, his
eyebrows lifting. “That wasn’t my point.”

But he moved away from the wall and
let me leave.