Brooke: I’m a genius. Let’s camp out in your loft! That way I can enjoy the tent (and you) and I won’t even have to be outside. FANFUCKINGTASTIC idea, yeah? ;)
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my legs and stare at the screen. I read the message two more times. I breathe deeply, evenly as I picture Brooke admiring the tent pitched in the corner of my room.
By the window, obviously. I’d like her to see the stars.
She climbs in excitedly and tugs on my hand. We tumble down together onto the soft, billowy sleeping bag and clutch at each other. Clothes are stripped. I taste her skin, nuzzling my mouth between her legs. My hands fit to her curves, squeezing her hips, her breasts. She explores my body with her eyes and wild touch, dragging her nails across my back, arching off the floor and writhing against my tongue.
Our wanting is vigorous. Our desire frenzied.
I fall back onto the bed, closing my eyes and reliving that moment as if it were real.
As if it still could be real.
BROOKE
After my emotional collapse in the middle of the city, I leave Mason on the sidewalk and hurry to my car.
I just want to keep to myself the rest of the day. I need space to think, to get a hold on things. Calm the fuck down and breathe a little.
If I had any sick leave left, which I don’t, thanks to my bout of pneumonia this past winter, I would fake an illness and head home instead of back to the bakery.
I don’t want to talk . . . to anyone.
I’m expecting Joey and Dylan to bombard me with questions and clever little comments when I step through the door, but surprisingly, they leave me alone. I don’t have to ask. It’s strange. Maybe they can hear my tangle of thoughts. Maybe they received a call from Vince and he’s filled them in on my enormously unprofessional outburst, or maybe I just look two seconds away from needing a straitjacket.
If I yell at one more person today, someone might actually have me committed.
Whatever their reasoning for backing off, I seem to settle in my solitary. My mind grows quiet and I busy myself with work. The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur of baking timers and detailed decorating.
At home, after inhaling some leftovers, I pop my headphones in and listen to my playlist while I change my nail color. I stay in my room all night with the door shut. No one disturbs me. Smart move on their part. I am still irritated with Joey, though not as much as I was before my run-in with Mason, and hardly at all after I make a decision about him while I’m lying on my bed, reading through our old text messages.
Mason: I apologize for staring at your chest like that this morning. Did your mates notice?
Me: . . . . . .
Mason: What does that mean? Yes?
Me: That was my ‘one second while I ask them’ text. They didn’t notice. But now they know you were all up in my boobs and will be watching for it tomorrow. Your cover has been blown.
Mason: Did you notice?
Me: Yes.
Mason: Hmm. I like to think I’m pretty covert with my obsession, but your tits in that top did me in. I nearly lost my mind a little.
Me: Really? I don’t think they look any better today than they normally do. I am wearing a new bra. Maybe that’s it.
Mason: What store did you purchase it from? The bra and the shirt. I want to send a thank you gift.
Me: Shut up.
Mason: Maybe a nice bottle of wine? Or jewellery? With a note attached detailing my appreciation.
Mason: I suppose I should go to church and thank God as well. Your tits are some of his best work.
Me: Well, while you’re there, go ahead and give him props from me.
Mason: For what, sweetheart? My cock?
Me: Yup! Your PERFECT cock. I’ll say a few hallelujahs for that masterpiece. I’ll even drop to my knees . . . to worship.
Me: And by worship I mean suck your dick, just in case that didn’t translate in Aussie speak.
Mason: Right. Getting hard. Not a good thing before class. I’ll see you later, yeah? Take care of those tits for me. If they need a good squeeze, I’m just across the street.