He grinned at my joke. I loved how he always knew when I was trying to make a funny, even if it was a corny, really bad funny.
“I beg your pardon, old woman.” He held out his hand as if asking me to pass something to him. “Let me see your palm, Miss Eighteen and a Half. I’ll take a look at your love line and tell you just how bad your track record really is.”
I crinkled my brow, untrusting. “You read palms?”
“No, I just want to hold your hand.” His voice was so serious, I couldn’t actually tell if he was teasing or not. Then he rolled his eyes and shook his fingers impatiently. “Gimme.”
I had nothing to lose, so I held out my arm.
He took my wrist and gently turned my fingers over. “Let’s see here,” he murmured, deep in thought. He brought my hand closer to his face for inspection just before he blew on the skin.
His warm, stirring breath made every hair on my body stand on end. Holy freaking cow. The boy sure knew how to arouse.
“What are you doing?” I gasped. Besides totally turning me on in the middle of a college campus.
“Hmm?” He glanced up, looking innocent. “Oh, I was just blowing the dust off my crystal ball here. It’s obviously been a while since you’ve had a good palm reading.”
Felt more like palm foreplay to me. But…whatever. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him to stop blowing on me.
“You are such a dork,” I said with a snort to hide the emotions I was feeling.
“Hey, don’t insult the fortune teller while he’s working. He might predict something…unpleasant.”
I couldn’t imagine anything worse than my past relationship, so…bring it.
But I told him, “Oh, I’m so sorry, wise one.” Leaning in toward him just enough to smell his clean, male scent, I pretended to study my palm too. “So, what’s my love life look like?”
He turned his attention to my hand and studied it a moment before running his index finger along one creased groove. It sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
“It looks good. Says here you’ll have a long and happy love life. You’ll meet your soul mate early on and marry straight out of college. The two of you will move to”—he squinted and leaned closer, making waves of lush, oak hair spill across his forehead—“Rhode Island, where you’ll each make at least eighty grand a year, have two point five children, and buy a dog named…Hundley.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Is that so? Hundley? As in the dachshund off Curious George?”
“Yep. Says so right here.” He tapped my palm as if that should convince me completely.
I shook my head slowly, tickled by this playful side of him. “So what’s the name of my soul mate then?”
Mason frowned. “How the hell am I supposed to read some guy’s name off a couple of lines on your hand?”
I scowled right back. “But you know what my dog’s name is going to be?”
“No.” A mischievous grin lit his face. “I told you I don’t read palms.”
“Oh, my God.” I shoved at his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
He didn’t seem to mind that I nearly shoved him off the bench; he was too busy shouting out a laugh. “Ridiculous, huh?” Curling my fingers in to make my hand ball into a fist, he brushed his thumb across my knuckles. “We’ll slot that under charming.”
“Ridiculous most definitely does not go under charming.”
He didn’t answer; he was too busy studying my middle finger that bent at a funny angle. “What happened here?” He wiggled it a little, making it lay straight.
“Hmm? Oh, I jammed it out of place while playing basketball in high school.”
He looked up. “You played ball?”
I nodded, trying to ignore the way his thumb kept moving over my suddenly sensitive flesh. “For three years.”
“Why not all four?”
Shrugging to cover the tremble of distress that passed through me as I remembered a particularly horrible moment, I distractedly murmured, “I, um…I broke my arm just before the season my senior year. Couldn’t play.”
His gaze went up my arm and straight to my elbow as if he knew exactly where the bone had shattered. “How’d you break your arm?”
Glancing away, I watched a group of guys fooling around over by the garden of bronze statues, climbing onto the back of the bucking stallion and pretending to ride it. “I took a tumble down some stairs.” Right after Jeremy shoved me into them.
Mason studied me as if he could read the horrifying memory from of my brain. Then he grinned. “Well, I guess you are fairly accident prone. My toes are still smarting from those books you dropped on them.”
“Hey.” Only half offended, I tried to pull my hand out of his grasp, but he tightened his grip so he could kiss my mangled middle finger.
Yes, yes, I know. He put his mouth on a part of my body. I’m surprised I’m still conscious enough to talk about it.
Examining my finger, he pulled his lips away. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the athletic type. You don’t move like a jock.”