Where We Left Off (7 page)
Chapter 12
Morning had fully arrived. A brisk breeze blew through an open window in Mason’s bedroom, just enough to wake him. His eyes were heavy with a lack of sleep as he sluggishly tried to get out of bed.
“Get up,” he mumbled, forcing himself awake again as time seemed to pass minutes like seconds.
Erika was still asleep beside him, barely covered by the sheets or blankets on the bed. He glanced over his shoulder just enough to notice the parts of her that were still uncovered. As inviting as her body was, still unclothed, and usually enough to prompt him to pick up where he left off the night before, this time he didn’t. Aside from the fact that she was asleep in his bed, he gave her no other thoughts.
The screech from the turning faucet was followed by water flowing from the showerhead like a jet hose. It neither bothered nor woke Erika from her sleep at all. He stepped into the shower, pushing steam into the bedroom as it rolled across the ceiling through the cracked door. So many thoughts ran through his mind as he stood in the shower, letting the drops of water become the soundtrack to his thoughts. He was intrigued; he’d give Sydney that. He was interested; he’d give her that, too. He still couldn’t answer why. In the moment he met her and in the few moments he’d spoken to her, Sydney was nothing like Erika, he thought, who only came around for sex. Quite frankly, she was nothing like any other women he had been involved with. If he was honest with himself, a part of that scared him.
He stepped out of the shower as the water ran down his legs onto the marble floor and wiped steam residue from the mirror while drying off.
It’s just brunch,
he reassured himself. The clock in the bathroom, just beside the towels, immediately grabbed his attention as the numbers reflected on the glass shelves. 10:27 a.m. His face filled with panic; he was going to be late! The towel fell from his waist at the bathroom door as he rushed to get dressed, careless of the noise he was making. He threw on a pair of dark blue jeans and pulled a shirt from his closet, rattling the hangers on the rails.
I’m going to hit traffic,
he thought to himself, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him.
Normally it would take twenty minutes at most to get to Concord Avenue from where he lived, but it was a Saturday morning on Labor Day weekend with beautiful weather. Not running into traffic was highly unlikely.
He closed the garage door as he sped down his driveway and out onto the street. It was that sound that woke her. Erika climbed out of the bed holding the sheet around her and walked towards the window overlooking the driveway. She couldn’t see him, but she could still hear his loud exhaust even though he was gone from sight. More than that, the smell of his cologne still lingered in the air. Why he left without saying goodbye or good morning, she thought little about. This was classic Mason to her. Not much for conversation outside of what ultimately led to his bed, and like many others, she was okay with that. She picked up her clothes from beside his bed, got dressed, and left his house shortly after.
The clock above the bar stools in the diner read 11:39.
“Ma’am, are you ready to order?” The waitress asked.
The table was set for two. There were menus on each side, two glasses of water, and silverware rolled in white napkins.
She looked up at the waitress, who had already been over to the table twice since she had gotten there. “I’m sorry, if you could give me a few more minutes I’d really appreciate it,” she replied.
She slid the menu in front of her as the waitress walked away. Minute by minute passed and no Mason. She glanced over to her cell phone a number of times, debating whether or not she should call him to make sure he hadn’t overslept.
“He’ll be here,” she kept telling herself.
After all, he didn’t have any other reason not to show up.
Or does he?
, she thought. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she was playing against the odds. Despite her attraction to Mason and the two of them talking on the phone for hours, deep down inside she knew his type. She’d known it from the first time she met him at Jackson’s wedding. His charm and wit didn’t come without that small disclosure at the bottom: not looking for a relationship. Not that she was, either, but she knew men like Mason, as successful, young, and attractive as he was. Men like him who weren’t already married were only interested in one thing, although she was really hoping that wouldn’t be the case with him.
She sat patiently at her table across from an empty seat as another ten minutes went by. The waitress tending to other customers noticed she had closed the menu and assumed she was finally ready to order. She smiled, nearing the side of her table, and pulled out a pen and a receipt book. Sydney looked up at her and cleared her throat, preparing to order.
Her eyes were filled with disappointment and embarrassment. “I think I’m going to have the…uh…” she began, conveniently losing herself in the menu.
Her voice was low and saddened.
A few feet from her, the door to the diner swung open. From where she sat she couldn’t see the person’s face, but she was close enough to recognize his voice deep, soft, and sexy.
“Just one?” The hostess asked.
Looking over her shoulder, he responded, “I’m actually meeting someone.”
Sydney’s eyes softened with a sense of comfort seeing him walk through the door. Although he was late she was just happy he had shown up.
With a forced smile, past his discomfort of being as late as he was, he was apprehensive to pull out the seat across from her.
“Better late than never,” he suggested with a nervous smile.
She chuckled modestly, brushing off his sense of humor.
“I hope you know you’re paying,” she said, looking over the menu that she had picked up to conceal her huge smile.
“Did you order yet?” he asked, opening the menu.
“I was actually just about to,” she laughed.
Her eyes traveled the lines that shaped his low, clean cut face to the lines of his goatee, from his lips, which she found irresistibly desirable, down to the shirt that fell and framed the broadness of his shoulders. His arms filled out the sleeves well enough for her to picture herself inside of them, and she did just that. He was handsome, more so than she’d remembered, and far more than she was able to see through the dim lights at The Avenue.
“Ready to order?” a familiar voice intruded into her now interrupted thoughts.
“I think we are,” she answered enthusiastically.
Mason was a very heavy eater and didn’t hesitate to order his version of a hearty breakfast: pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, sausage, ham, a side of hash browns, and a carafe of orange juice. Sydney couldn’t help but look at him in awe while he ran down his order.
“Either you are really hungry or extremely nervous.”
“Probably a little of both,” he admitted.
Please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud,
he thought.
But he had, and although it was unexpected, she found it rather cute.
When it came time for her to order she was a little more modest. She ordered a ‘Southern Omelet’ and a hot chocolate with whipped cream on top. Very light and, in a way, proportionate to her figure. The waitress slid the receipt book back into her pocket and returned shortly after with their drinks.
“So how long were you waiting before I got here?” he asked.
The hot chocolate had just grazed her upper lip, leaving a tiny speck of whipped cream when she sat the cup down.
“Every bit of forty-five minutes,” she answered with a hint of humor. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”
Mason was reluctant to laugh, although a slight smile curved the top of his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was have her thinking he stood her up.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “You’re here.”
Chapter 13
It was almost as if their conversation from the night before had never ended. They talked and laughed as people who walked in for lunch came and went. She was so eloquently animated when she spoke that it caused him to smile more at her gestures and facial expressions than her actual words. It seemed like once she started she didn’t stop. For him, that was a good thing. The more she spoke the fewer questions he had to think of to keep the conversation going. There were moments when their hands exchanged touches of innocent flirtation, and when there was silence their eyes spoke more than words ever could. He was as lost in her gaze as she was in his.
The waitress made her rounds clearing and collecting her tips from every table around them before she finally reached theirs. “How is everything?”
Sipping the last bit of orange juice from his glass, but never breaking his eyes away from Sydney, “Perfect,” he answered. “Everything was perfect.”
She removed the empty plates and glasses and left the check sitting on the edge of the table. “I’ll take that when you’re ready,” she said, walking towards the kitchen.
They were far from being ready. Even though they had eaten and the plates had been cleared from the table, neither of them wanted to leave just yet.
“So I’ve been meaning to ask you what made you leave me on hold for so long last night?”
“
Maybe
because you called me at two, o’clock in the morning,” she laughed. “I actually just wanted to see if you were going to hang up or not.”
“Twenty minutes though?” he reiterated.
Shrugging her shoulders, “You could have hung up,” she suggested with a sly grin.
“I could have,” he laughed.
They didn’t think it was a problem, so they sat at the table a little longer than usual once it had been cleared. The check was still sitting towards the edge and neither one of them had paid much attention to it since it had been placed there. After noticing their waitress walk by the table a number of times, Sydney started to feel a little uncomfortable.
“I think we should go,” she whispered. “She’s walked past us five times.”
Noticing the waitress staring back at them from across the diner, he laughed, “I think you’re right. I guess we’ve outstayed our welcome. I’ll be right back” he said, reaching into his pocket to pay the bill.
Sydney waited at the table, completely flustered and thoroughly infatuated. Watching him walk away, she tried her best to conceal her smile but she couldn’t. By then, him being late was no longer a factor. She liked him; she really, really liked him.
Although she hadn’t taken much thought into Mason’s perception of the afternoon thus far, the feelings seemed more than mutual.
Standing at the register, he caught himself smiling at random thoughts, with a light chuckle at remembered jokes as the cashier changed his twenty-dollar bill, leaving a few singles in his hand. The way he felt was so far out of character for him but, ironically, he liked it. He walked back to the table with a different stride in his step, a different look in his eyes, and an overall different approach to this woman who sat across from him. He held out his hand to help her from her chair.
“Aren’t you just the gentleman?”
“I try,” he modestly agreed.
They walked toward the door, close to holding hands but not, though strangely wanting to.
“I’m really glad we did this,” she said, walking through the door he held open for her.
The time had escaped them into early afternoon. It was warm outside with a comforting, cool breeze. Most of the cars had left the parking lot, leaving only a few remaining. She didn’t think any of them could be Mason’s. One was an old Buick and the other minivan she was sure belonged to the noisy family they had walked past on their way out.
“Where’d you park?” Mason asked her, throwing on his jacket.
“I took the bus,” she answered, looking over to the bus stop. “My car is parked in my driveway until I can get it fixed, so it’s public transportation for me for a while.”
“Wow, you really took the bus here?”
“And to think…I was the one on time,” she laughed. “So let’s see, are you the Buick or the minivan?” She asked, pointing and laughing.
“First of all I respect Buick, but I will never ever drive a minivan.” He paused. “That’s me right there.”
He stood at the edge of the walkway and pointed towards the side of the building, where there was a motorcycle parked beside it. It wasn’t an actual parking space, but he made it work. The motorcycle was big enough to accommodate his masculine build, but small enough to fit on the side without making it difficult to walk around. The reflection of the sunlight bouncing off of the chrome exhaust and wheels was blinding as Mason walked towards it.
“Mason, please tell me that’s not yours?” she asked.
He noticed she wouldn’t walk too close to it, and when she did her steps were tense and her hands tight. She had never been on a motorcycle, for obvious reasons. Compared to her four-wheeled car, two wheels and less security meant less safety.
Mason had a sense of arrogance when climbing onto the motorcycle, one that was attractively apparent to her. She didn’t say anything at first, watching him straddle the bike and standing it upright.
“Well, um, please be safe on that thing,” she urged him.
Mason leaned forward on his helmet with a pondering and almost cunning look on his face.
His eyebrow slightly rose as he tilted his head her direction “What else are you doing today?” he asked her inquisitively.
“Nothing,” she answered apprehensively, yet indirectly inviting.
He stood straight up with the motorcycle still beneath him and looked at her with a daring gaze.
“Hop on!” he suggested.
Her eyebrows rose as if he had clearly lost his mind.
“You’re joking, right
?”
“Not at all….
hop
on
!” He said again, holding his helmet out towards her.
There was no question; she was nervous. So nervous that when she tried to speak, even as the words formed on the tip of her tongue she still couldn’t get them out past a stutter. Before she could force out a word to express how she felt about getting on, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her towards him. Once she was in front of him he slid his helmet onto her head, leaving the visor open. The look in his eyes said
trust me.
Everything inside of her told her not to; that she couldn’t, that she would be a fool to trust him.
What if I fall off? What if he goes too fast? What if?
Even all of her
what ifs
had no real restraint against his charm and wit. In less than a few seconds she found herself climbing onto the back of his motorcycle and wrapping her arms around him, squeezing him harder than she had ever held anyone before.
She could feel the vibration of the engine moving up her legs as he revved the throttle. “Only around the corner…and you’ll bring me right back,
right?
” she yelled over the loud rumble of the exhaust.
She felt his chest jump in a deceptive laugh.
“
Of course
” he yelled, nodding his head with little assurance.
“I don’t believe you,” she yelled out.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Too late now!”