Page 34 of Risk
“With breadsticks.”
“Now we’re talking.” Mason kisses my forehead and leaves me alone in the bath while he places the order.
I can’t believe I’m taking a hot bath in Mason Finch’s tub. Closing my eyes, I refuse to overthink anything else tonight and just enjoy the luxury while it lasts. When I finally get out, the water’s cold and my fingers are wrinkly.
Holding onto the edge, I climb out of it, wincing when I accidentally press down on my cut.
Knock, knock. “Dinner’s ready, Prin—shit!” Mason’s rushing towards me with his arms out. “Wait. Whoa. Let me help you out. I don’t want you to slip.” He wraps me up in a huge fluffy towel and sets me on the step. “Let me see your hand.”
The bandage is soaked and falling off. “I think I fell asleep for a second and my hand went in the water.”
“Okay. Let’s get you fixed up.”
For all the freak out he had earlier, he’s calm as a cucumber now. Pulling out a small box from under his sink, he digs around and gets out the supplies. “Chase left us some extra stuff. Let me just get it all laid out first.”
He meticulously places tape, gauze, and ointment out on the counter. Kneeling before me, he carefully unwraps my hand and fixes me up in no time. The cut isn’t nearly as bad as I remember it being earlier.
Wow, I’m such a drama queen sometimes.
After he replaces the butterfly strips, Mason gently kisses my palm. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“There’s a change of clothes on my bed for you.”
Oh my god. “Okay. I’ll be right out.”
He leaves again, and I feel awkward and confused as I head into his bedroom. Those feelings disappear when a giggle bubbles out of me next. A Red Sox t-shirt and gym shorts lay on the bed.
They’re so soft and comfy. And they smell just like him. I think getting out of these clothes will be harder than getting out of that glorious bath. To be wrapped in Mason, smell like Mason…
He’s waiting for you to eat dinner. Hurry up!
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I head into the main living space and see Mason plating the pizza in the kitchen. He takes one look at me and licks his lips as if I’m what he wants to eat for dinner.
“How the hell do you do it, Leah?”
“Do what?” I slide onto a stool at his breakfast bar.
“Look so fucking good in a priceless Red Sox t-shirt that I’m seriously debating on ripping the damned thing to shreds so I can see what you look like under it.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. This man is fantastic for my ego. “You already know what I look like.”
“Exactly.” He pushes a loaded plate towards me.
“Priceless Red Sox shirt, huh?” I pluck the hem. “You really think highly of your baseball team, don’t you?”
“That’s my lucky Red Sox shirt.”
“Oh yeah? How’s it lucky?”
“The day my grandfather bought it for me was the day the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.”
“So it’s vintage?”
Mason freezes. Is he having a circuit malfunction? “That’s the year they broke the Curse of the Bambino.”
What the hell is he talking about? “So… Don’t get pizza sauce on it?”