Misunderstanding Mason (6 page)

Scooting the
chair away from the desk, Kirstin unfolded her legs and stretched. No wonder
Mason loved his chair—she could easily sleep in the soft leather. Guess that
explained how he never noticed how late it was; he’d been too comfortable to
take refuge in the bed.

As that
niggling sense of discomfort edged into her muscles, she headed for the door.
Best to leave before memories got the better of her.

“Where are
you off to?” Mason intercepted her in the doorway.

“Um. Back to
Sam and Theresa’s for some food.” She arched an eyebrow. “Okay if I get
something to eat too?”

Surprise
crossed his expression, widening his eyes for a millisecond. Then his brows
puckered into a slight frown. “I just called China Jade and ordered Pineapple
Chicken and Mu Shu Pork.”

For the third
time in one day, Kirstin did a double take. Pineapple Chicken she could write
off to a request for ‘that chicken and pineapple combo.’ It didn’t take a
genius to memorize her favorite Chinese. What had her struggling to stay on her
feet was China Jade. Their carryout boxes were red and white, no name printed
on them anywhere. They hadn’t been
inside
China Jade ever. How in the
hell did Mason pick the one place she ordered carryout from religiously?

She restored
her thoughts with a shake of her head. Luck. That’s the only thing that could
explain it. Nothing more than coincidence—never mind that the hole in the wall
restaurant was on the other side of town and virtually unknown.

Mason’s frown
deepened as he squinted at her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”
Ducking around his shoulder, she headed for the kitchen. “I just wasn’t
expecting we’d eat together.”

****

Mason watched
Kirstin’s stiff retreat down the hall.
I’m fine,
ranked right up there
with
it’s okay
, when it came to misleading responses. She was about as
fine as a simmering volcano. Only, for the life of him, he couldn’t explain
what had set her off. He’d ordered the same thing she had twice a month for as
long as he could remember. They loved China Jade.

He hadn’t
thought she would mind. She’d been working hard—pineapple somehow rejuvenated
her. Since they had at least another three hours of work to finish tonight, it
seemed logical.

Never mind
that he was particularly craving Mu Shu Pork.

So why the
stiff as boulders back and pinched lips?

He grimaced
inwardly as the answer surfaced—she hadn’t expected they’d eat dinner together.
Damn. That directly translated to she didn’t
want
to eat dinner with
him. Here. In their house.

He hadn’t
even thought about that. He’d just ordered out of habit. And if she was that
averse to a casual dinner, it didn’t bode well for the formal affair they were
obligated to attend tomorrow night.

He tapped an
open palm against the doorframe and ducked into his office. Ten minutes ago,
he’d have sworn on his soul she wanted to kiss him as much as he ached to do to
her. Hell, he should have just done so when her eyes lit with that all too
familiar shade of emerald. He would have, if he hadn’t been so afraid she’d
pull away. He couldn’t confront that finality yet. Nor did he necessarily care
to fall apart in front of her.

Having forgotten
why he’d come to the office, Mason stopped in the middle of the room. Ice cubes
clattering against glass drifted to his ears from the kitchen, and a sad smile
tugged at his mouth. So this was what five years came down to—polite dinners,
talking as if they were strangers, and pretending the other wasn’t in the next
room.

Fuck that.
Kirstin wasn’t walking out without answers. So help him, he’d force his head to
create the right questions.

Slowly
clenching one hand into a frustrated fist, Mason strode from the room.
“Kirstin!”

“I didn’t do
it!”

Her
customary, teasing response stole a little fuel from his fire. Against his
will, he chuckled. Damn her. He was primed and ready for a confrontation, and
she knew exactly how to disarm him before he ever got a word out.

Rounding the
corner into the living room, he spied her in the kitchen, green eyes laughing
over the brim of an ice-cold bottle of root beer. With an amused smile that
contradicted her terse
I’m fine
by several volumes, she offered him an
unopened beer.

Mason’s
stomach churned. Any other night he’d have welcomed a cold brewski with
Chinese. After last night—never again. It would take several months of sobriety
before he came near another malt beverage.

“I’ll take
one of those.” He gestured at her caffeinated drink.

When she
exchanged the beer and slid it across the countertop, he caught the bottle in
both hands and leaned his elbows on the cool granite. He picked at the soggy
paper label as he sifted through the clutter in his head. Beg her to stay? Tell
her he didn’t understand?

“Is something
wrong?” she asked as she mirrored his posture.

Everything.

He glanced
up, and the noise behind his skull became deafening. He didn’t know what to say
any more than he ever had. Where the hell had the Kirstin who just
got
him gone? The woman who understood how hard it had been to say, “I love you.”
How hard it sometimes still was, when that little phrase didn’t seem to convey
enough.

With a shake
of his head, he cast aside all the important things and focused on the current,
least agonizing question at hand. “Did you remember we have the Gamesquare
launch tomorrow night?”

She blinked.
Her shoulders stiffened.

Great. She’d
forgotten.

“No. I know
it’s tomorrow.” Avoiding eye contact, she turned her bottle around in tiny
circles.

Or not.
Mason
squinted. Fidgety hands, teeth gnawing on her lower lip—they were back to
I’m
fine.
His stomach balled into a knot. Sure as shooting, he was going to
have to do some groveling. “But?” he prompted, not at all inclined to hear the answer.

“Well…things
being what they are…I didn’t… You know…” She shrugged.

“No.” He
shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”

Kirstin let
out a heavy sigh and lifted her gaze to his. Her teeth worked her bottom lip
with more vigor. The nervous habit only tightened his grip on his bottle. For
this, he didn’t need an interpreter. Or a neon sign. His fluency in Kirstin
spelled out TROUBLE in big bold letters.

“I’m not sure
it’s the best idea, Mason. I mean…” She gnawed on her lip again. “We aren’t
together anymore. I don’t really want to give Don the wrong impression.”

Mason drained
his root beer in one gulp, then set the empty bottle down with more force than
he intended. The
clunk
echoed through the quiet kitchen. He stared at
the countertop, letting a sudden, unexpected, explosion build. Tempering that
uncomfortable anger, he took a deep breath and lifted his narrowed gaze. For
the first time in a long time, words came without hesitation. “I don’t really
care to have Don Margelies and the entire Gamesquare Board of Directors know my
girlfriend walked out on five years of a damn good thing.”

Kirstin’s
eyebrows shot to her hairline, and her eyes widened like saucers. “They don’t
have to know.”

“No?” Mason
straightened, the muscles in his back turning as tight as iron. “You think they
aren’t going to ask where you are, Kirstin? You’ve been attending these damn
launches with me for the last two years.”

“I can be
sick.” Her hands fluttered faster.

With a
disbelieving laugh, Mason shook his head. “No, you can’t be. I’m not going to
lie, only to have to cover my tracks the next time I run into Don.”
Like
when he asks about the yacht trip again.

“Right.” She
nodded, a wry smirk twisting one corner of her mouth. “Your pride. Why doesn’t
that surprise me?” Shoving away from the countertop, she deposited her
half-full bottle in the trash. “What is it you want then, Mason?”

Damn it. He
didn’t want to fight. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Sure, he might guilt her
into attending tomorrow night, but that only set him up for hours of complete
misery. He pulled in another deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Doing
his best to keep the hurt out of his voice, he quietly said, “Just calm down a
minute.” With a grimace, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to
argue. We’ve done too much of that lately. Let’s talk about this.”

Her trek
across the kitchen to the refrigerator came to an abrupt halt. Fingertips
resting on the door handle, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder. “I’m
listening.”

Mason ran his
hand down his chin and heaved a sigh. “You know I hate these things. And I get
it that you don’t want to be there. Don and I are good friends. Yeah, I can
tell him. Yeah, he’d understand and leave it alone. I’d rather not do that the
night of a launch where I’m expected to be smiles and laughter.”

Kirstin’s
hand slowly dropped to her side. She pivoted, facing him more fully, her body
language open and accepting. Encouraging him to continue.

He held her
gaze, not knowing where the words came from, or how they managed to come out
without sounding like gobbledygook. They simply flowed, from his heart to his
throat, and off his tongue. “Truth is, I want you there. Would you please not
make me go alone, even if you have to pretend you want to be with me?”

Chapter Six

Kirstin
refused to wince. Pretend she wanted to be with him—damn it all, that was the
problem. She
wanted
to be there. She just didn’t want to be the object
at Mason’s side that he only remembered when someone else stopped giving him
attention. She wanted to be Kirstin Jones, Mason’s partner… Mason’s wife.

The woman he
raved about and thanked in public, like Don did to Marie. The woman he
introduced to all his acquaintances, like Lisa’s husband had the night Mason
and Kirstin attended Edge Skateboard’s investors’ banquet.

Not a
wallflower Mason left to entertain herself while he chatted it up with his
programming cronies.

But the
pleading quality behind his unblinking stare unraveled her faster than she
could create reasons to decline. She opened her mouth to tell him he had it all
wrong, she wouldn’t pretend, she’d go, and she’d be proud of his
accomplishments regardless of whether they were together or not.

Thankfully,
the bright peal of the doorbell stopped her from uttering something so
absolutely foolish. In desperate need of a distraction, Kirstin headed for the
front door. “I’ll get it. You put it on the card, right?”

“Yeah,” he
muttered.

Let him stew
a bit. She’d go. She didn’t have the willpower to sit at home alone when she’d
bought a brand new dress and likely wouldn’t have an opportunity to wear it
anytime in the next century. But Mason didn’t need to know how much power he
still held over her. How easily she could still cave and forget that her needs
were equally important.

She greeted
the delivery runner with a smile. The same redheaded, freckle-faced teen who’d
been delivering their Chinese for too long to count, waited beyond the glass
storm door.

“Hey, Nick.
Mason put the tip on the card, didn’t he?”

“Yep.” He
jostled two bags from the crook of his arm and passed them to her one at a
time. “Mu Shu Pork, Pineapple Chicken, two spring rolls, and a double order of
crab Rangoon.”

Kirstin’s
mouth watered at the mention of crab Rangoon. Bless Mason. Every now and then,
he
did
manage to get it right without being prompted. She greedily
accepted the bags, waved goodbye to Nick, and eased the door shut.

Mason waited
in the kitchen, at the table he’d set with two plates and two fresh bottles of
root beer. A frown twitched on her forehead, his choice of drink an oddity.
Then again, judging by the empty beer bottles she’d spied in the trash, he
might have a reason to avoid alcohol.

She set the
bags down and dished out servings without a word. Mason’s gaze prickled the
skin along her arms. Guilt settled between her shoulder blades. He didn’t
deserve games. He’d asked. Even used
please
—astounding for Mason. Making
him wait for an answer wasn’t fair.

“Fine,” she
muttered as she slid into her chair. “I’ll go.”

To her
complete surprise, Mason reached across the table and covered her hand with
his. Her gaze jumped to where he touched her. His thumb brushed across the base
of her wrist. Then, he squeezed her fingers and let go. “Thank you.”

Forcing
herself to ignore the sincerity that clung to his whispered thanks, Kirstin
shrugged. “No big deal. One more night won’t kill me.”

It might. An
entire evening at Mason’s side, pretending everything was hunky-dory in their
life, might very well be the end of her. But again, Mason didn’t need to know.
All he needed to understand was that they were over. After tomorrow night,
there’d be no more launch parties. No more afternoons working side by
side—well, after Lisa’s project, at least. Once she paid him his commission,
she’d get the last of the things from the house and they were through.