“The night you had sex with him in the alley?” His jaw ticks, and I can feel the intensity of his stare from behind his sunglasses.
“Yes, that night. He told me he loved me.”
“He doesn’t. No man who really loves a woman would tell her while fucking her in an alley.”
“Mase—”
“I’m sorry, Eve, but you’ve got to drop these delusional thoughts about Cameron suddenly turning into a nice guy. He’s a player, and for whatever reason, that shit seems to turn you on.”
I don’t want to argue with Mason. I can’t because technically he’s right. Cameron did tell me he loved me right after he had sex with me against a dirty wall in an alley. Ugh, that really does sound awful. Why did it feel so real? Like the power of those words could cure diseases, mend broken hearts, and heal old wounds? Pointless to think about it now.
“Anyway, I walked away from him that night.”
“I remember. You didn’t tell me until after the show, but I could tell when you found me in the crowd that you seemed . . . different.”
I nod and draw swirls into the dirt with a stick. “I was different. It was the first time in my life that I turned my back on something I wanted.”
“And that felt good?”
“It did. I mean I’ve never had control of much in my life, but telling Cameron goodbye was like swallowing medicine. Yeah, it tastes bad, might even give me a bellyache, but I know doing it is eventually going to make me feel better. Make me healthy.”
“I could do that for you.” His voice is soft and so sincere.
“Thank you, Mase. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life.”
He smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. He throws his arm over my shoulders and pulls me to his side. “Yeah, you little shit. I’ll always be here for you.”
We sit like that for a while, looking at the view and enjoying the simple act of being. Living in the moment.
My thoughts wander, as they often do after Mason and I have conversations like this. Could Mason be like the city view? Uninspiring from one perspective, but if I got a better look, maybe took the time to see him at a different angle, could he be unequal to anyone else in the world?
Or will I always be the girl, as Mason says, who’s hopelessly devoted to assholes?
##
The drive back to Jonah’s from our hike is a silent one. Mason’s given up for now, and I appreciate him giving my defenses a break. He hits the satellite radio and “Chasing Rainbows” by No Use for a Name fills the car.
I’ve always loved the song, but something tells me he purposely put it on just for me. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, but he keeps his gaze forward.
Whatever. So he hasn’t given up; he’s just changed tactics. Fantastic.
Having slipped my dusty hiking shoes off before we got in the car, I prop my socked feet up on the dash and listen to the music, choosing to not concentrate on the words, but the instruments alone.
As we get closer to the city, billboards that advertise all the latest Vegas shows and events start coming into view and popping up one after the other. Celine Dion, O by Cirque de Soliel, Blue Man, they flash by the window and start to lull me to sleep.
My eyelids droop behind my sunglasses when a flash of a familiar face that’s ten feet high jerks me awake and upright in my seat. “Whoa!” I turn around to see the back of the billboard disappearing behind us. “Was that—?”
“Yep. It was.” Mason sounds a little annoyed.
That’s no surprise.
I drop back into my seat, fighting back the urge to scream “Turn around so I can get a better look.”
In the quick glance I got, I could tell it was Cameron on one side of the billboard and another guy who I’m assuming is his opponent, Faulkner, on the other. Cameron’s image was intense: his gorgeous dark eyes set in a glare, flawless tan skin oiled up and accentuating his tattoos, fists raised. I also caught the flash of white text. Big and bold—UFL: Rival Revolution.
“When is the fight?”
Mason doesn’t take his eyes from the road; his jaw ticks. “November.”
“That’s next month. Is he ready? I mean are you guys making sure that he’s trained and—?”
He swings his gaze to mine, irritation with a hint of pain working behind his eyes. “You seriously asking me this shit, Eve?”
“Well, yeah, I mean I know you don’t like him personally, but he’s your boss. Are you guys making sure he’s not going to get hurt or get hit—?”
“Fuckin’ hell” he mumbles and shakes his head.
“Don’t be a dick. This is serious.”
He turns angry eyes on me. “You think I don’t see that?” His gaze travels around my face with a look of disgust. “You’re about to jump out of this truck and run to his rescue after seeing a damn billboard.”
Am I? I let out a lung-full of air and sink back into my seat. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head, and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “He’ll be fine, Eve. He’s a good . . . No, he’s a phenomenal fighter.” The compliment sounds as if he had to drag it from his throat.