Sometimes Never (28 page)

             
“Take me to your house. I can throw my dress in the dryer.”

             
I suck on my lip for a moment while I try to think. “Yeah, okay. Mom probably has something you can wear,” I agree.

             
Hope looks down at herself and laughs. “I’m going to make a great first impression.”

             
“My mom is going to love you. You could be wearing a garbage bag and she wouldn’t care.” My eyes linger on her wet form and I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
I have to take her home. I cannot pull over
.
Hands to yourself, Patel
.

             
“What’s she like?” Hope doesn’t look at me; instead she keeps her focus on the tress outside the window.

             
I scratch my head and sigh lightly. “She’s cool. I mean, I hate the way she can’t deal with shit and keeps moving us around. Like running from state to state will keep her from feeling the loss of Dad. But I get why she does it. She’s easy to talk to, and works her ass off to make sure we have a roof and food.” I smile and glance at Hope. She’s watching me carefully as I continue. “She loves music. Just as much as Dad did. We’ve had the cops called on us for noise disturbance. They come out thinking it’s kids having a party and it’s my thirty-nine year old mother blasting the radio.”

             
“Does she play an instrument?”

             
I shake my head. “Nah. Mom’s a listener.”

             
“What’s her favorite band?”

             
I chuckle. “Why do you always ask that?”

             
“It’s a good question. You can learn a lot about someone by the music they listen to.”

             
“Like what?” I ask curiously.

             
“Well, like, if someone listens to only one kind of music that says to me they’re probably a black and white person. You know, everything is either one way or the other. No in between. They’re most likely someone that’s set in their ways and I probably wouldn’t get along with them. Someone who listens to a broad assortment of music is more open to different things. Sees there’s more than one way to look at things. Therefore, a person I could possibly relate to. A person who likes music focusing on the lyrics is most likely deeper than someone who wants to dance to techno. Again, my kind of people.”

             
I smile. Leave it to Hope to sum up personalities based on their taste in music. “So, what about people that like, I don’t know…jazz?”

             
“They’re a musical people, which mean they’re sensitive and creative. They like a variety of sound, so they’re probably harder to satisfy.”

             
“Hmm. What did it say to you when Kellin told you his favorite band is Green Day?”

             
She looks at me for a moment before turning back to the window. “It wasn’t that he liked Green Day that said something, although Green Day is a good band, even though they’re overplayed, so I knew he had good taste. It was the admiration on his face when he said you’re teaching him to play the guitar. But that said more about you, I guess.”

             
That throws me off. I gaze at her profile, feeling my brows pull together. “What did it say about me?”

             
She clears her throat, still not looking at me. “Playing an instrument says you have passion. Taking the time to teach someone else, especially someone younger, says you’re not only sweet, but patient. It told me you obviously like music. Musicians typically appreciate all music, so it told me you were more open. The fact that your little brother thought you were good meant you’re dedicated. And the way he looked at you, like you hung the moon, spoke loudest of all. It told me that someone loved you. That you had to be a good person to have so much respect from your brother when most brothers can’t seem to get along. It told me you were special.”

             
I don’t have a response to that. I’m torn between arguing with her that that’s not who I am at all and hugging her for saying those things. I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything so nice about me before.

             
“Then I got to know you and now I know my theories were right.” She finally lets her eyes settle on mine. “You’re fucking awesome, Mason Patel and I’m grateful you’re mine.”

             
I pull in the driveway and practically pull her out of the car. I just want to touch her. My mind’s reeling. I love the way she called me hers. But at the same time I’m starting to get scared. Like something is going to happen because the universe can’t allow one person to have this much happiness. Like it’ll decide it has to set things right by taking it away.

             
The wind picks up, making it rain sideways. I drag Hope through the side door and straight down to the basement. “I’ll get us some towels.” I run back upstairs, checking each room for Mom and Kellin. I fish my phone out of my pocket hoping it’s not waterlogged. It’s damp, the screen fogged, but it works and I call Mom’s cell.

             
“What’s wrong?” she asks panicked.

             
“Nothing. Calm down. I came home because we got caught in the rain. Where are you?”

             
“Zack is taking us to dinner,” she says.

             
“Who the hell’s Zack?”

             
Her voice is quiet, her tone irritated. “Our neighbor. Kellin is at his house all the time playing with his son. You should know this, Mace. He asked us to have dinner with them. Do you need me to come home?”

             
“No,” I say slowly. “Is this a date? I don’t even know this guy.”

             
“Mason Xavier, your
brother
and I are on our way to share a meal with friends. I’m trying to enjoy our evening. I suggest you go do the same.”

             
“When will you be home?”

             
She sighs. “I’m not sure. A couple hours maybe.”

             
I grunt and she sighs again. “We’ll talk when I get there,” she says. “I love you.”

             
“Love you too.”

I throw my phone on the table and grab two towels. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, my breath hitching in my throat. Hope’s back is to me, her dress a soggy pile at her bare feet. She’s twisted her hair to one sho
ulder as it drips down her arm, her bare back smooth. Round, purple bruises dot her spine. I move tentatively, opening the towel and wrapping it around her, in no hurry to cover her up, but wanting to hide the reminder that flashes like a neon sign across her back. She leans into me and I press my lips to her neck.

“Your mom’s not here?”

“Hm-mm. Just us.”

She turns around, letting the towel fall to the cement floor. I move to kiss her, but she puts her hands on my chest, unbuttoning my shirt. She slips it over my shoulders, her fingers sliding over
my arms. I go in for a kiss just to be stopped again. I groan and she strokes her hands down my stomach, stopping on the button of my jeans. I stare, fixated on her fingers as she works the button loose. My jeans stick to me as I help her maneuver them off my legs. And then she picks up our clothes. I rub my face as I watch her bend over to put them in the dryer.

“I’m cold, Mason.” She bites her lip, looking anything but cold. She takes deliberately slow steps toward me and I’m a second away from dropping at her feet.
This girl is a goddess and I am her slave. “Keep me warm?”

I take two quick steps and drag her against me. This time she doesn’t stop me from colliding w
ith her mouth. I grip her ass and lift her. She wraps her legs around my hips. Walking backward, I collapse onto the old loveseat. “You feel... plenty warm,” I gasp.

“Oh, good. It’s working then.” She smiles and nips my neck. She presses into me as her tongue massages my skin and I forget my reply. With expert movements, Hope unhooks her bra, tossing it to the floor. “Mason,” she breathes against my ear.

“Yeah?” I choke out.

“I’m having a great time on our date.” I laugh, grabbing her tightly. This
hasn’t gone according to plan, but it’s been the best night of my life.

“What are you doing tomorrow? Because I wouldn’t mind doing this every night.”

She kisses me, softly at first, but the longer it goes on, the rougher her mouth becomes. Her hand glides into my boxers and as she grabs me I nearly lose it from one touch. “Every night,” she repeats my words.

“I love you, Hope.” I can’t stop saying it. I want to shout it. I want everyone to know it.

“Show me,” she whispers.

And so I do.

32

Hope

“I forgot about these last night,” Mason says, sliding a square container across the lunch table. I feel my cheeks warm, remembering why he forgot. “Your chocolate.”

              I pop the lid off and stare at the chocolate covered strawberries. Damn him and his mission to get me to eat fruits and vegetables. He smirks knowingly as I pick one up. Cheese and rice. Chocolate covered strawberries are the absolute best things ever. “Mmm,” I moan. He kisses me, his tongue searching for chocolate on my lips.

             
“I want one,” Chase whines. I reluctantly pull away from Mason and offer the container around the table.

             
“So, about tonight,” Guy says slowly. “I told Warren we’d play his party.” I glare at him and he hurries on. “I assumed that was okay since Park renounced his condition and we could all use the money. We need to be there by eight. Park’s stopping by so we can run through a quick practice after school.” He shifts to face Mason. “I told him you would most likely be there and he said he’d be cool as long as you keep your distance from him.”

             
Mason’s jaw tightens, a fine vein on his neck standing out. “Yeah, man. I won’t be striking up a conversation with him.”

             
Chase laughs around a bite of strawberry. “I love a good fight.”

             
“Nobody’s gonna fight, Chase,” I say quickly. “Shut up.”

             
Chase shakes his head, smirking. “Park’s been lit all week. You know he’ll be wasted at the party. Alcohol tends to loosen one’s inhibitions. The minute he sees Mason touch you, he’ll be all over his ass.” He nods at Mason and rubs his hands together. “I’m just saying, shit’s about to get interesting.”

             
Mason massages his forehead and stares at me for a moment. “He starts shit with me, I’m going to defend myself. If he starts shit with you, I’m going to defend you. I just want that out there now.”

             
“Then I’m not going,” I say.

             
“You have to go,” Guy replies. I give him a hard look and he rolls his eyes. “I’ll talk to Park again. Nothing will happen. This afternoon can be, like, a dress rehearsal. If anything goes down at practice, then we won’t go to the party.”

             
Mason squeezes my hand and smiles. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

             
“I’m not worried about you,” I mumble. My phone vibrates on the table and Mason’s eyes scrunch as he reads the name.

             
“Who’s Princess Bitch?” he asks, chuckling.

             
“Annie,” Guy and Chase say at the same time.

             
I read her text and close my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I send back a reply. “She’s going to the party with us,” I announce.

             
“Oh, joy,” Guy states flatly.

             
“Hell yeah,” Chase says. “Fights and cheerleaders. It’s gonna be an epic night.”

             
Guy backhands his arm. “Dude, would you shut up already?”

             
Chase rubs his arm, laughing quietly. “What?”

             
“What’s his name in your phone?” Mason asks me, not so subtly changing the subject. He nods at Chase and I smile.

             
“Escalator.”

             
He lifts one brow. “Escalator?”

             
Guy and I laugh. Chase glares at us and crosses his arms. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “Dumbass got his shoe lace caught in an escalator at the mall,” I say. “What was it? Like a year ago? Anyway, his lace gets caught and he falls flat on his face. Guy had to take the shoe off to get him free. Then Park cuts the laces to free the shoe. Funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.” I laugh again.

             
“He cried like a little baby, thinking he was going to get sucked into the escalator,” Guy adds. “We had to take him straight home so he could change his pants.”

             
Mason chuckles and Chase smacks the table. “I did not piss myself! Somebody spilled a drink on the floor and it got on me when I landed. Shut the fuck up.”