Waves - Book #2 [completed]

17 ~ Eesome

Eesome
adj.
Pleasing to the eye

Here I am. Once again.

It's like we've found our drift. A routine of sorts. I sidle up at the house at an early morning hour with Baby in tow and am greeted with a bleary-eyed and confused Mason in different stages of undress opening the door. I still have a key, but I'd feel weird to just enter the house when he's living there now semi-permanent. Plus, he's entertaining to watch when he shuffles to the door half annoyed and half asleep to open it.

He rubs his eyes and yawns, ripping open the front door with – again – nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs on. That confidence. Or maybe he doesn't realize. At least I'm used to this view now and I don't blush like a freaking teenager. Baby begs for his attention, dancing around his legs and wheezing like she was still a tiny puppy, and Mason blinks at me with a mix of confusion and something undecipherable in his tired eyes.

"Hi." I force a smile and try to look sociable, like someone you'd want to invite in even though there's a lot of unspoken things between us.

"Morning." His raspy morning voice warms my belly.

He steps aside and I take that as a green light to come in. "Did I wake you up again?" I ask even though I know the answer already as I slip out of my Birkenstocks and drop my bag.

Yawning, he nods. "S'fine."

The burn from his shoulders has since transformed into a nice tan that complements the full-sleeve tattoos curling around his arms. He's kept his beard on the shorter side which looks really good on him. His hair looks like he rolled around in bed as it sticks and flies out every which way, curling at the tips. When he brings his arm up to run a hand through it, his bicep bulges as if he's flexing. He's certainly a sight to behold. I'm a widow, not blind. I can appreciate a pretty man. And Mason is... well, really pretty.

"Like what you see?" A knowing smirk appears on his mouth and his eyes flash boyishly.

Turning away and heading to the kitchen to hide my reddening cheeks, I wave him off. "You got a good tan going, is all."

He snorts. "Ha! Most women look at me like I'm Tarzan and all they wanna do is tame the rugged man, but you just checked out my tan."

"Coffee?" I ask wryly, surprised by my steady tone and his sharpness this early in the day.

"Sure," he mumbles roughly and slides onto a highchair at the kitchen island, not even bothering to put on more clothes.

I like that he isn't irked by how our last encounter ended – at least the flirty demeanor he lays out makes me think he isn't. And I do plan to apologize for kicking him out and driving off with flying flags like I did. I just need to build some ground level before I do.

Getting to the coffee maker going, I feel his eyes burn a hole into the back of my head. This inevitable elephant in the room is becoming a mammoth of tension. I huff and turn around, finding his blue-grey eyes focused on my face. They didn't snap up from my ass, and somehow that makes me feel even more... I don't know, rueful?