Sweet Obsession
Page 8
My teeth clench.
Oh, great. Like I need more people to shove out the door tonight for some much needed privacy.
I stare at the side of his big, nosy head. “You know, when you talk in third person, you sound like an idiot. Especially during sex. Joey’s so close. Joey’s going to come.”
Dylan gasps, her mouth stretching into a ball-busting grin. She shoves against Joey’s chest. “Oh my God. Please tell me you don’t do that. That’s fucking awful, Joey. Jesus!”
“I do not do that!”
“You make Joey feel so good. God, suck Joey’s . . .”
I purse my lips when his eyes flash with the threat of revenge.
Shit. Tonight. Yoga. He could seriously derail my plans to get some if he refuses to leave.
“Kidding. Totally made that up.” I curl my fingers around my shoulder strap. “I’m out. See you in forty.”
“Thirty!”
I smile at the two voices behind me.
“My time starts when I get to the mall. Later, bitches!”
The shop door chimes, drowning out their protests.
I grab my things out of the dressing room and move past the racks of clothes in the direction of the registers.
My left hand holds the items I’ll be purchasing.
Light gray fitted pants, white tank, and pink sports bra.
My right, the items this store needs to just go ahead and burn. There’s no way in hell any woman looks good in these obnoxious patterns. And the one pair of pants made me itch so bad, my thighs are flushed in streaks of pink from my nails.
Who works out in a wool blend? Why is that material even an option?
I keep the clothes separated as I drop them on the counter.
“I’m keeping these. Can you put the rest back for me? I’m on a time crunch.”
“Sure thing.”
The woman behind the counter begins scanning the tags. I glance at my phone, noting the time.
1:16 P.M. I might just make it in thirty.
A paper taped to the back of the computer monitor grabs my attention as I’m slipping my phone away.
Hot Yoga with Mason King.
I quickly read the information, my eyes focusing, locking in on certain key words.
Deep healing.
Deep stretching.
Deep breathing.
Deep. Deep. Deep.
A throat clears. The woman behind the counter points at the flier. “You should’ve seen the guy who dropped that off. He had this accent,” she pauses, mouthing the word “wow.” I quietly laugh as she grabs a bag and drops my purchases to the bottom.
Wow is right.
The memory of Mason’s accent sends a pulsing current through my body, warming my blood with a delicious heat that pools between my hips. His voice was deep and rich, a bit husky.
Especially when he lowered it and moved his lips against my cheek.
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
My pulse thrums below my ear. Again, I focus on certain words, maybe the only words I want him to say.
Make me come.
“I’d shove my husband in front of a bus for a man with an accent.”
I startle at the woman, my mouth falling open. Blush creeps up her face.
“Easy, Barb.” I squint at her name-tag. She laughs with a hand to her mouth. “When I hear on the news about some poor man who met his untimely death getting run over by a Greyhound, I’m going to know exactly where to point the cops.”
I hold out my credit card and she takes it.
She shakes her head through a grin. “I’m just saying. You should’ve seen him. Heard him. If I didn’t think I’d break a hip, I’d take his class.”
She swipes my card and hands it back to me with a receipt to sign. I slide my card back into my wallet. After scribbling my name, I glance once more at the flier.
The handwriting is surprisingly neat. All capital letters, evenly spaced. Most men I’ve noticed have atrocious handwriting. Joey’s penmanship looks like a person in the midst of a seizure taking a pen to paper. But not Mason’s. Even his attempt to replicate his sign on the top of the page is more than an attempt. It’s spot on in design. The letters perfectly bolded, the lines sharp.
“Here you go.”
I look up and take the bag Barb is holding out for me. “Thank you. I’ll tell your future husband you said hello at his class tonight.”
Her face burns a deep red. Stuttering, she responds with, “O-Oh, I was just kidding. Really. I would never leave my husband, let alone kill the poor man. He’s lovely. We’ve been married for seventeen wonderful years. Sure, he doesn’t always remember to take out the trash, but Lord knows he makes up for that with his grilling skills. The man could give Bobby Flay a run for his money. Have you watched his TV show? It’s very entertaining.”
I smile at how flustered poor Barb has become. Her words flying past her lips a mile a minute.
Like you’re any better. You nearly face-planted at the sight of Mason.
“Relax,” I chuckle, stepping back and ignoring my ridiculous inner thoughts.
Clearly, it was the heels, not his stellar physique that made me stumble. I was in a hurry and trying to avoid getting hit by traffic. He just happened to look back at me the exact second I lost my footing.
Coincidence. That’s all it was. Not directly related to his perfect, fuck-me face.
“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word,” I reassure her.
Turning, I move past the next woman in line and make for the exit.
An animated voice calls out behind me.
“Look! This is the class I was telling you about. God, that guy. I almost vomited all over him when he spoke.”
Stopping next to a rack of water bottles, I look over my shoulder in the direction I just came from. The other chirpy blonde chimes in next.
“I’ve never been this excited to work out before. We need to get there early so we get a good spot. I want front row. Prime viewing seats.”
I laugh under my breath.
Jesus. Okay, so Mason has an effect on every woman. At least all the ones within the Chicago city limits.
Get there early? Fight other bitches off for prime viewing seats? I’m not worried about either one of those.
I’ll have the best view of Mason after class is over.
Joey approves my purchase as soon as I get back to the shop. Not that I needed him to, but it is always a nice ego boost when your fashion savvy friend announces how flawless you’re going to look in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. He then lamely suggests I go back to the store and return the items before they get torn from my body after he gets a look at the receipt I forgot about.
I stow the items away and pretend not to hear his rantings. Talk of creditors, addictions, and something about his car payment costing less than my yoga pants go on around me as I busy myself with work.
Dylan leaves after we close up for the night to eat dinner with Reese’s parents. I think I’m in the clear when Joey slips out of the shop and heads in the direction of his car.
Good. One less person to get rid of later.
Grabbing my bag, I head upstairs to get changed.
A nervous energy buzzes through me. My skin feels hot at the thought of Mason’s hands on my body, his lips moving over mine. Questions swirl in my head as I hastily get dressed.
Is his touch gentle? Will he use my body like he has a right to it? I’m sure he’s a disciplined guy, his physique gives that away, but does he always maintain a level of control when he fucks? Or is that the only time he allows himself to be reckless and unrestrained.
Oh, great. Like I need more people to shove out the door tonight for some much needed privacy.
I stare at the side of his big, nosy head. “You know, when you talk in third person, you sound like an idiot. Especially during sex. Joey’s so close. Joey’s going to come.”
Dylan gasps, her mouth stretching into a ball-busting grin. She shoves against Joey’s chest. “Oh my God. Please tell me you don’t do that. That’s fucking awful, Joey. Jesus!”
“I do not do that!”
“You make Joey feel so good. God, suck Joey’s . . .”
I purse my lips when his eyes flash with the threat of revenge.
Shit. Tonight. Yoga. He could seriously derail my plans to get some if he refuses to leave.
“Kidding. Totally made that up.” I curl my fingers around my shoulder strap. “I’m out. See you in forty.”
“Thirty!”
I smile at the two voices behind me.
“My time starts when I get to the mall. Later, bitches!”
The shop door chimes, drowning out their protests.
I grab my things out of the dressing room and move past the racks of clothes in the direction of the registers.
My left hand holds the items I’ll be purchasing.
Light gray fitted pants, white tank, and pink sports bra.
My right, the items this store needs to just go ahead and burn. There’s no way in hell any woman looks good in these obnoxious patterns. And the one pair of pants made me itch so bad, my thighs are flushed in streaks of pink from my nails.
Who works out in a wool blend? Why is that material even an option?
I keep the clothes separated as I drop them on the counter.
“I’m keeping these. Can you put the rest back for me? I’m on a time crunch.”
“Sure thing.”
The woman behind the counter begins scanning the tags. I glance at my phone, noting the time.
1:16 P.M. I might just make it in thirty.
A paper taped to the back of the computer monitor grabs my attention as I’m slipping my phone away.
Hot Yoga with Mason King.
I quickly read the information, my eyes focusing, locking in on certain key words.
Deep healing.
Deep stretching.
Deep breathing.
Deep. Deep. Deep.
A throat clears. The woman behind the counter points at the flier. “You should’ve seen the guy who dropped that off. He had this accent,” she pauses, mouthing the word “wow.” I quietly laugh as she grabs a bag and drops my purchases to the bottom.
Wow is right.
The memory of Mason’s accent sends a pulsing current through my body, warming my blood with a delicious heat that pools between my hips. His voice was deep and rich, a bit husky.
Especially when he lowered it and moved his lips against my cheek.
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
My pulse thrums below my ear. Again, I focus on certain words, maybe the only words I want him to say.
Make me come.
“I’d shove my husband in front of a bus for a man with an accent.”
I startle at the woman, my mouth falling open. Blush creeps up her face.
“Easy, Barb.” I squint at her name-tag. She laughs with a hand to her mouth. “When I hear on the news about some poor man who met his untimely death getting run over by a Greyhound, I’m going to know exactly where to point the cops.”
I hold out my credit card and she takes it.
She shakes her head through a grin. “I’m just saying. You should’ve seen him. Heard him. If I didn’t think I’d break a hip, I’d take his class.”
She swipes my card and hands it back to me with a receipt to sign. I slide my card back into my wallet. After scribbling my name, I glance once more at the flier.
The handwriting is surprisingly neat. All capital letters, evenly spaced. Most men I’ve noticed have atrocious handwriting. Joey’s penmanship looks like a person in the midst of a seizure taking a pen to paper. But not Mason’s. Even his attempt to replicate his sign on the top of the page is more than an attempt. It’s spot on in design. The letters perfectly bolded, the lines sharp.
“Here you go.”
I look up and take the bag Barb is holding out for me. “Thank you. I’ll tell your future husband you said hello at his class tonight.”
Her face burns a deep red. Stuttering, she responds with, “O-Oh, I was just kidding. Really. I would never leave my husband, let alone kill the poor man. He’s lovely. We’ve been married for seventeen wonderful years. Sure, he doesn’t always remember to take out the trash, but Lord knows he makes up for that with his grilling skills. The man could give Bobby Flay a run for his money. Have you watched his TV show? It’s very entertaining.”
I smile at how flustered poor Barb has become. Her words flying past her lips a mile a minute.
Like you’re any better. You nearly face-planted at the sight of Mason.
“Relax,” I chuckle, stepping back and ignoring my ridiculous inner thoughts.
Clearly, it was the heels, not his stellar physique that made me stumble. I was in a hurry and trying to avoid getting hit by traffic. He just happened to look back at me the exact second I lost my footing.
Coincidence. That’s all it was. Not directly related to his perfect, fuck-me face.
“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word,” I reassure her.
Turning, I move past the next woman in line and make for the exit.
An animated voice calls out behind me.
“Look! This is the class I was telling you about. God, that guy. I almost vomited all over him when he spoke.”
Stopping next to a rack of water bottles, I look over my shoulder in the direction I just came from. The other chirpy blonde chimes in next.
“I’ve never been this excited to work out before. We need to get there early so we get a good spot. I want front row. Prime viewing seats.”
I laugh under my breath.
Jesus. Okay, so Mason has an effect on every woman. At least all the ones within the Chicago city limits.
Get there early? Fight other bitches off for prime viewing seats? I’m not worried about either one of those.
I’ll have the best view of Mason after class is over.
Joey approves my purchase as soon as I get back to the shop. Not that I needed him to, but it is always a nice ego boost when your fashion savvy friend announces how flawless you’re going to look in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. He then lamely suggests I go back to the store and return the items before they get torn from my body after he gets a look at the receipt I forgot about.
I stow the items away and pretend not to hear his rantings. Talk of creditors, addictions, and something about his car payment costing less than my yoga pants go on around me as I busy myself with work.
Dylan leaves after we close up for the night to eat dinner with Reese’s parents. I think I’m in the clear when Joey slips out of the shop and heads in the direction of his car.
Good. One less person to get rid of later.
Grabbing my bag, I head upstairs to get changed.
A nervous energy buzzes through me. My skin feels hot at the thought of Mason’s hands on my body, his lips moving over mine. Questions swirl in my head as I hastily get dressed.
Is his touch gentle? Will he use my body like he has a right to it? I’m sure he’s a disciplined guy, his physique gives that away, but does he always maintain a level of control when he fucks? Or is that the only time he allows himself to be reckless and unrestrained.
