But…he might not appreciate that.
Damn, sometimes being friends with a total hottie could suck. You couldn’t take nearly naked pictures of them while they were passed out on your bed against their permission without getting a serious case of the guilties.
It didn’t keep me from looking though. So, I looked and looked.
And looked.
Then, like a Harry Potter lightning bolt, an idea struck me. What if he wasn’t just shirtless under that sheet? What if he was completely naked?
Oh, this I had to know.
Since he was dead to the world and seemed like a really deep sleeper, I went on a fact-gathering mission. Purely academic curiosity, of course.
After setting the two lattes I was holding on my dresser, I grasped the edge of the sheets covering him and inched them very, very slowly down his sleek, tapered and tanned torso. My attention darted between his face and his chest, taking in every inch of the sexy, sculpted pecs I exposed.
When I came to the beginnings of his tattoo, I brightened, forgetting about the pants mystery for a second.
Maybe I could read what it said today. I tugged a little more insistently on the sheet and discovered at the same moment that he was still wearing his underwear but no pants and his tattoo said Make Me.
I gasped.
After last night, those two words made so much sense. I could see him feeling trapped and rebellious, living a life where women told him exactly what to do to pleasure them and thinking this was his only form of giving them the finger.
He wanted to break free and live his own life. He wanted control over himself.
I suddenly understood why I’d always felt connected to him. We were similar souls who’d been made to feel repressed. After years of Jeremy telling me how to wear my hair, what kind of clothes to buy, what kind of food to eat, I had grown the same rebellious, “make me” attitude.
The sad thing was, Mason was still living under his suppression, and he had the means to break free; he just wouldn’t. He wouldn’t stop doing what he was doing until he knew without a doubt that his mother and sister were going to be okay. But oh, Mason, you poor deluded thing. They’ve already made you.
His tat also reminded me I was acting like every other woman out there, treating him like a sex object by sneaking a stolen peek at him. Tears stung my eyes. I was about to cover him back up, give him back his dignity, but at the last second, I reached out and touched the dried ink embedded into his skin, silently apologizing for my part in making him this way.
He sucked in a breath at my touch and rolled toward me, onto his stomach, where he winced and buried his face in my pillow.
No, I didn’t plan on washing that pillowcase ever again, now that you mention it. Sex object or not, he was still Mason, and I would relish every little scent he left behind on my bed.
Retreating to the doorway, I wiped my cheeks dry and snagged up both cups as if I’d just then come into the room. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” By my perky tone of voice, you’d never guess I’d just been on the brink of weeping my eyes out.
A second later, Mason whipped his head off my pillow. “What the hell?” His voice was hoarse and confused as he jerked his face around until he spotted me. Eyes widening, he gasped. “Reese?”
“Morning,” I chirped and took a nonchalant sip from my cup. “So, I went out and bought us some breakfast. There are doughnuts in the front room.” When he just stared at me, I rolled my eyes. “I know, I know. ‘Reese, you’re so amazing and wonderful. Thanks for thinking of me. You shouldn’t have.’ But, really, it’s no problem. Anything for my buddy. So…de nada.”
He blinked and licked his lips, smacking them together a few times, probably to moisten a dry mouth. Glancing slowly around the room, he winced when he got to the window and morning sunlight blinded him, doing wonders to his hangover, I bet.
“This is your room.”
I opened my mouth to spout out something sarcastic and snide, but he looked like he was in pain, so I found pity and took another sip. “Yep.”
He nodded slowly and directed his bloodshot eyes my way. “What am I doing in your bed?”
I shrugged. “You said the couch was too short.”
He squinted as if he was trying to remember saying any such thing. Focusing on me again, his face paled as he asked, “So, did we…?”
This time, I couldn’t help myself. I had to torture him just a little.
Hey, don’t judge.
“Seriously, Mason.” I gasped in mock outrage. “How could you forget the magical night we shared together?” I pressed my cup to my heart as if in heartfelt pain. “It was…beautiful.”