Intercepted (New Hope #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mallory

The next morning, it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am.

The echo of pain sharpens my mind like a tack, reminding me that I'm in my apartment over the studio. Reminding me that I overexerted myself last night. Reminding me that I threw my sloppy, desperate soul at Mason's feet, and he ceremoniously turned me down. Not only that, he took care of me in that special way of his. He hasn't done anything like that since we were kids.

I take a deep breath, noting that even my diaphragm is sore, then meander out of the empty bed. I follow the sounds of rummaging in the kitchen, spotting Mason behind the half wall.

He's wearing the same jeans and T-shirt from last night, albeit they're wrinkled, and his hair is a wonderful mess of wavy curls. His biceps bunch as he mixes something in a small bowl, the smell of coffee waking the rest of my aching body.

When I take a seat at the barstool, his eyes linger on my bare legs. He quickly averts them, sliding a mug across the counter.

"How are you feeling?" he asks in that deep, half-asleep voice of his.

I shrug, wincing at the movement. "Sore."

"How long were you doing that choreography?"

I've been dancing ballet since I was four years old. Mason knows as well as I do that dancers aren't supposed to repeat the same choreography for hours at a time. Even professionals separate their training into fixed sets, with breaks for physical therapy and rehydration. Last night, I was too far gone to pay attention to my own safety. I was lost in the movement, the desire to go, go, go. If I kept moving, the sorrow couldn't catch me.

I shrug again, loosening my shoulder blades. "Three hours, maybe?"

Mason flashes me a disapproving glare, but his words are soft. "It was beautiful. You always are."

I bite my lip, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug. It's too hot to drink, but I'm considering burning my tongue. If only to have an excuse not to talk about David. Not right now, anyway.

Mason seems to understand my discomfort, changing the subject with ease. "You don't have much in the way of food. Is oatmeal okay?"

I take the bowl of porridge he offers. "Thanks."

He nods, dipping his spoon into his own breakfast.

"I mean it. Thank you for last night. Thank you for not having sex with me."

Mason grimaces, but masks it as a smirk. "Never thought I'd hear those words from a woman's mouth."

I chuckle, reveling in the strange tension in the air. "I would've regretted it."

His smirk turns into a frown, the twinkle dimming in his chocolate eyes.

"Because I'm dating Daniel," I clarify, not wanting him to think I don't find him attractive. Lord knows I find him irresistible on so many levels. "He's been cheated on before. We're not technically exclusive, but it wouldn't be fair to him. It also wouldn't be fair to use you as emotional Drain-O, like I did at David's funeral."

I'm seeing that for what it is now. Mason may've benefited sexually from my vulnerability, but I used him to carry my burden of guilt. I forced him to take a few pounds off my shoulders, to share it with me. I tried to do it again last night, but he stopped me. Mason has truly changed, and I'm grateful for it.

"I don't want you and Blake to leave the house when the kids graduate," Mason states, swallowing a mouthful of oatmeal. I swirl the spoon in my own, listening. "Blake has lived there since he was two. That's his home as well. I'll contact my lawyer and find a way to put your name on the lease, if it makes you feel better."