Price of a Kiss

  “Ah,” he said with an understanding nod. “I see.” He didn’t sit next to me but remained standing with his hands behind his back. When he rocked back onto his heels, I squinted at him, wondering what the heck his deal was.

  “So I saw you here, lounging on the grass,” he finally told me, “and I said to myself, what is wrong with this picture…besides the fact that you were practically passed out on the ground.”

  “Oh, God.” My hand immediately went to my hair. It had dried into a clumpy mess. “My hair looks like crap, I know. And I’m not wearing any makeup. I slept in, okay. I didn’t have time to doll myself up, and—”

  “Not that,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. His gaze went to my hair before it skimmed my face. “Actually, I hadn’t even noticed. You do seem more natural today, though. Looks nice.”

  Lordy, I needed to ignore how warm that compliment made me feel.

  Forcing my mind past it, I kicked up a leg, showing him my footwear. “Is it because I’m wearing sandals instead of flats?”

  Yeah, yeah, Eva had converted me to the dark side. But my feet could breathe so much easier in sandals. I could show off my own sparkly painted toenails—plus a new toe ring I’d just gotten—and besides, they were adorable, sexy and practical all rolled into one with a bunch of straps to make my ankles look incredible. I hadn’t been able to resist buying them.

  Mason glanced at my new sandals. “Uh…no. Sorry.”

  I let my foot plop back to earth. “Okay, I give up.” When he just grinned at me, I rolled my eyes and feigned some seriously pathetic interest. “Why, whatever did you notice missing about me this morning, Mason?”

  “I’m so glad you asked, Reese, because I noticed you don’t have your usual latte today.”

  I moaned and muttered, “Thanks a lot. Remind me I’m lacking my caffeine intake on top of everything else.” I sniffed, pettily. But hey, I was tired; I couldn’t help it. “My piggy bank is running a little dry at the moment”—damn you, cute strappy sandals that had been on clearance, fifty percent off—“so I’m going to have to postpone my espresso treats for a while until—”

  “Mom didn’t pay you again, did she?”

  I cringed. Crap. I hadn’t meant for that to come up. This wasn’t his problem, but I knew he’d make it his.

  When I refused to answer, he gave a big sigh. “I don’t have all the cash on me to cover what she owes, but I’ll make sure you get paid. Okay?”

  “It’s fine,” I started, but he shook his head to hush me.

  “It’s still a shame you can’t have your daily latte, though.”

  I slumped my face back onto my bag. “Yeah.”

  “But look on the bright side.”

  Bright side? There was a bright side to this? I lifted one eyebrow, waiting for him to enlighten me about this unforeseen bright side.

  Mason winked and pulled his hands from behind his back, holding two Styrofoam cups, one in each hand. “You’ve befriended Mr. Money Bags who can afford them.”

  My mouth fell open. “You bought me a latte?”

  He’d bought me a latte?

  I melted, my emotions softening into this huge, gooey ball of adoration. I wanted to laugh and cry and hug him until I decided having a boyfriend who slept with scores of other women for money wasn’t really that big of a deal.

  Okay, it was still too huge of a big deal for me to ever get past. But wow. Mason had bought me a latte when I was at my lowest of lows.

  How sweet could one guy get?

  “Don’t get too excited,” he warned as if he could read my mind. “I have an ulterior motive.”

  I sat up immediately, no longer tired at all. It was as if the caffeine in the drinks he held had somehow already shot straight into my bloodstream.

  “Fine.” I lifted my hands and wiggled them impatiently. “You can have my firstborn. Now gimme.”

  Mason laughed and handed one of the cups over. “I hadn’t realized you requested the chocolate shavings on top special.” He sighed as if refreshed when he settled himself in the grass beside me Indian style. “I was halfway across campus before I noticed them missing and had to go back again.”

  He’d gone back to get me chocolate shavings?

  Oh. My. God.

  It was official. Mason Lowe was perfect. Well, beside the whole gigolo part. But yeah, other than that, no one else could even compare.

  I took my first sip. When I moaned, he arched an amused brow. “Would you two like to be alone?”

  I tucked my latte protectively close. “Yes. Could you give us fifteen, twenty minutes tops? I have a feeling things are about to get real obscene up in this house.”

  He laughed again as I took another drink, my toes curling as I swallowed.

  His warm, affectionate gaze on me, plus the shot of instant caffeine to my system, brought me to life in a way I couldn’t even describe. But I was suddenly very alive.

  I grinned back without an ounce of my inner whiney, childish crabby-pants anywhere to be seen. “Thank you, Mason. I was afraid I’d have to eat this banana I brought from home.” Making a sour face, I held it up to show him how ripe it had gotten. “But the idea turned my stomach. For some reason, healthy food first thing in the morning bothers me.”

  He pointed, looking scandalized. “So…you’re not going to eat that?”

  I saw where this was headed and rolled my eyes. “You want?” I offered it to him, and he snatched it immediately.

  “Thanks.”

  I drank as he peeled the banana and tore off a third of it, popping the entire section into his mouth. He still looked entirely too gorgeous while chewing, even with fruit bulging from the side of his cheek.

  I glanced away and picked at a piece of plastic on the lid of my cup. “Did you get your book? I’m sorry I forgot about it Friday and didn’t bring it over until last night.” I didn’t want to think about why he hadn’t been there to accept it himself, but I did anyway.

  He nodded as he took a small sip to wash down the banana. “Yes. Sarah made absolutely certain it was in my hands first thing this morning. At five o’clock.”

  I winced. Ouch. He’d gotten home later than I had last night and had been up way before I’d opened my eyes. If anyone had a reason to be a tired be-otch today, it was him. But he looked too content for any of that as he added, “And she showed me all twenty of her newly painted nails. Nice job, babysitter.”

  “Why, thank you,” I said with a not-so humble bow—well, as much of a bow as I could manage while sitting on the ground.

  “Sarah’s the reason I need to talk to you, actually.”

  “Right.” I emptied my cup and frowned. Had I finished my latte already? Bummer. I focused on him. “The ulterior motive. I remember.”

  “Right,” he repeated with a nod. “So I’ve heard a rumor from a little birdie that you have a…charm bracelet.”

  I frowned, completely confused by this line of questioning. “Umm…yeah.”

  “Can I see it sometime? Sarah has been gushing about it. So I was thinking of getting her one for her birthday next month.”

  I perked to attention. “Her birthday’s next month?”

  “Yep. She’s going to be the big one-three.” Without waiting for me to lift my arm and show him my wrist, Mason spotted my bracelet and took matters into his own hand, gently wrapping warm fingers around my forearm and lifting it to examine the piece of jewelry draped over the base of my hand. “Mom and I were going to give her a birthday party on the twenty-third if you want to come.”

  “Hell, yes, I want to come. And I’ll buy a charm to go on the bracelet as my present to her. Are you going to invite any of her school friends?”

  Mason’s good mood immediately soured. He let go of me with me a hard look. “Sarah doesn’t have any friends from school.”

  “Jeez, sorry.” I lifted a hand to calm his scowl. “I guess I should’ve worded that differently. What I meant to say was: Are you going to invite any of her classmates?”
>
  The dark fury on his face said hell, no. “Why should we? They never invite her to any of their stupid parties.”

  “I know, I know.” I gave a relenting sigh. “But…this is middle school. It’s a really eye-opening time for her. She’s beginning to see how the world works and is realizing how much having no friends sucks. I just think if there was any way to get someone her age to be nice to her, even for an hour-long birthday party, we should at least try to help her adapt to her social peers. I mean, she’s going to be thirteen. That age is the toughest time, I swear.”

  Mason blew out a breath, looking reluctant, but he admitted, “No doubt. I hated middle school. Nothing good comes from adolescence.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I playfully bumped my shoulder against his. “You learn where the most painful pimples grow.”

  With a grimace, he made a mustache with his index finger. “Right here, under your nose.”

  “I know, right.” I laughed. “Most painful place ever.”

  “My eyes would always water when I tried to pop them.”

  “Uhhmm.” I mimicked a you’re-in-trouble-now sound. “You’re not supposed to pop pimples. Bad Mason.”

  His mouth dropped open as he sent me an incredulous gawk. “How you can you not pop them?”

  Caving, I nodded and confessed. “Okay, fine. I always had to pop them too.” When we shared another smile, I grew a little too fascinated with staring at his perfect features. I frowned. “I can’t imagine you with acne.”

  Mason rolled his eyes. “Trust me. I had my fair share of craters.”

  “Well, your skin is flawless now.” I sent him a suddenly suspicious, arch-of-the-eyebrows look. “You exfoliate, don’t you?”

  He choked on the sip he was taking. After coughing and wiping a dribble of latte out of the dimple in his chin, he dryly reported, “Yes, you caught me. I put that green crap on my face and cucumbers over my eyes every night.”

  “Hey, don’t bash the cucumbers. Those actually work.”

  “Wait. You do that?” I’d shocked him yet again.

  “What? I’m a girl, aren’t I? It’s like required to try the green mask of beautification at least once in a woman’s life. It’s part of Girly Girl Law or something.” And hey, there was something else I could do with Sarah.

  After studying me as if he’d just met a new person, he asked, “Do you eat the cucumbers when you’re done?”

  Only Mason, the food vacuum, would ask that.

  I made a face. “Eww. No way. What if an eye booger got on them?”

  Mason threw his head back and shouted out a laugh. He’d been laughing a lot this morning. I kind of, sort of, totally loved it.

  Shaking his head, he gave me a look full of amusement. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever discussed zits and eye boogers with a girl before.”

  It was a first time for me to discuss such things with a boy too. Feeling suddenly awkward around him because his words somehow reminded me my hair was a disaster and my face was bare, I hugged my empty latte cup with both hands and glanced around the campus…only to frown.

  “Wow. Does it seem unusually quiet all of the sudden?”

  Mason checked his wrist. “Shit!” He lurched upright. “I’m late to class.”

  “Oh, my God. What time is it?”

  “Almost fifteen after.” He jumped to his feet, his messenger bag already slung over his shoulder.

  Fifteen after? “No way!” How had I gotten so distracted?

  I scrambled for my own bag, and Mason caught my elbow, helping me up even as he snagged it for me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  He kept pace with me as we rushed toward the entrance of the school.

  When he reached out ahead of me to open the door, his fingers lightly cradled the small of my back. The sensation of his hand there sent sparks up my spine and exploded in the base of my skull with blissful fireworks until I experienced a full body throb.

  Ignoring the reaction, I started to turn right toward my Brit Lit class when it struck me—I actually had Virology today…in the other building.

  Crap. I began to rotate back around and noticed Mason was going left. We realized at the same moment we had to part ways.

  He halted and opened his mouth. Gray eyes scanned my face.

  More than curious to know what he wanted to say, I froze in my sandals and held my breath.

  “Well…bye.” He winced, making me suspect he’d wanted to say more than that.

  I gave him a small smile. “Yeah. Bye.”

  He nodded and went left. I stared after him a moment before rushing from the main building and dashing toward the nursing department.

  But I wondered all day what he’d really wanted to say to me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The rest of my week was a dream come true. Mason showed up at my lunch table every day. And he was the only one. No Eva, no jealous professor clients. Just him and me.

  By Friday, we’d fallen into a rhythm. I know this sounds totally nerdy, but we worked on homework together, usually calculus since we were both in a calculus class—same professor, different times. We could bounce ideas and helpful tips off each other.

  The best part was I was smarter and worked faster. Not that I’m bragging. Okay, I’m totally bragging. But it was just so awesome to be better at something than he was.

  “Have you finished question three yet?” he asked about five minutes into our lunch…after he’d polished off half the chicken strips I’d gotten from the cafeteria.

  I snorted. Of course I’d finished question three.

  He held up a hand before I could spit back something sarcastic. “Wait, scratch that question. Of course you’re past question three already.”

  Aww, he was learning me so well.

  “Ergo, I revise my query to, ‘what did you get for an answer on question three?’ I keep coming up with sixty-four over zero. But that looks wro—”

  “And you would be wrong.” I spoke over him, making a game show’s buzzing sound. “Now you have to admit you’re not smarter than a fifth grader.”

  He sent me a scowl. “I’d like to see a fifth grader try college calculus.”

  “Hmm. I bet a fifth grader would’ve answered number three as eleven over four.”

  Mason threw his pen on top of his notebook full of equations. “How in the hell did you get eleven over four?”

  With a grin, I leaned over and pointed out each x and limitation.

  He picked his pen back up and scribbled numbers madly, working the equation the way I suggested. “Damn,” he murmured when he came up with eleven over four. “Why didn’t the professor explain it this way? This way is easy.”

  I gave a long sigh. “They rarely do explain anything the easy way. Their brains just don’t function the same as a normal person’s, so it’s harder for them to translate equations in layman’s terms. My dad’s a high school math teacher, so I know.”

  Mason looked surprised as he glanced at me. “Really? That’s cool. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know your way so well around numbers. Must run in the genes.”

  I shrugged, modest about my geeky side. “Hmm.” Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear when a breeze caught it and sent it fluttering in my face, I asked, “What did you inherit from your dad?”

  As soon as I asked, I remembered Dawn was a single mother. Wincing, I held up a hand, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to impose. I totally forgot your mom’s—”

  Mason waved a hand. “No. It’s fine. My dad died when I was four, so I don’t remember much about him. I just know he was in the army.”

  I set my hand over my chest. “I’m so sorry. Was he killed in the Middle East?”

  Sending me a telling look that seemed to snarl, you just had to ask that, didn’t you, Mason sighed. “No. He never went to combat. He got tanked one night and killed a family of four, plus himself, in a drunk driving accident.”

  My mouth fell open. Whoops. “Oh, my God, Ma
son. That…sucks.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. And in this small town of a community, everyone knows how he died, so I can’t even fabricate some hero’s death for him.”

  I chewed on the end of my pen as I stared at the calculus book in front of me. “So…can I ask about Sarah’s dad?”

  His narrowed eyes told me I shouldn’t have asked about that guy either, but he answered me. “Butch Arnosta. That loser ran off after we learned about Sarah’s condition. Mom met him when I was seven. They had a quickie romance, she got knocked up, they got married, and then he was gone again as quickly as the doctor said the words cerebral palsy. After that, I think Mom gave up on men completely. She never really dated again.”

  I made a sympathetic sound in the back of my throat. “Well, I don’t blame her any. Sounds like she has as bad a track record with men as I do.”

  Mason shot me an incredulous glance. “How can you have a bad track record? You’re only, what, eighteen?”

  I sniffed. “Eighteen and a half.”

  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.