Two Thousand Miles (6 page)

“You live next door,” I gasped.

“Not exactly next door,” he said. Technically, there was one house separating
theirs.

“
Could this get
any
better?” I complained.

“It’s not a big deal. I see Dixie more at the Broussard’s than anywhere else.”

“Fantastic,” I mumbled. My mortal enemy’s headquarters was in the place where I slept.

Mason let go of my hand then climbed inside his truck. He pulled down the visor on the driver’s side and pushed a button to open the garage door.

The garage was eerily organized. Everything was clean and in its place. There was a motorcycle and two four-wheelers parked on one side and some kind of car hidden beneath a blue tarp on the other.

“I have to get my keys,”
Mason said. “You can come in if you want.” I sure as hell wasn’t waiting outside alone with a wild animal on the loose.

Mason took a
gray sleeveless shirt from the cab of the truck before shutting the door.

“So, are you going to ignore all of my questions?” I asked.

“No,” he answered simply, pulling the shirt over his head and then walking inside the garage.  I stood in place, watching him. He turned around and looked at me for a moment, and then leaned against a piece of empty wall.

“The truth about Dixie is I should never have gotten involved with her,”
Mason said.  “We were friends—have been since we were kids—all of us have. And then one night she and I became more than friends, and once you cross that line…” 

“You can’t uncross it,” I muttered, finishing his sentence
.

“It’s my fault Dixie’s
bein’ a dick. I knew how serious she was about me. I could feel it, and instead of ending things with her, I let it go on. I never felt for her what she feels for me and realizin’ somebody you love doesn’t love you back hurts like hell.”

“You can’t help how you feel—or how you don’t,” I breathed.

“I know; I still hate that I hurt my friend, and I hate what it’s doin’ to everyone else. We’ve always been a group, and now the two of us can’t be in the same place without a blow-up. It’s gotten worse since you got here. It’s hard for her to see me with you.”

I gazed at Mason until his eyes met mine
. “The other night, when Dixie and I fought, she said she’d seen the way I looked at you when we met, and she knew…”

I didn’t know how it happened, but Mason’s hand was in my hair. My scalp tingled itself numb beneath his fingers.
“She doesn’t want me to get involved with you,” he breathed, pulling me slightly closer to him. “But I can’t let her dictate the rest of my life,” he whispered.

The way he looked at me made my knees weak, my skin flush. I felt like such a girl. I’d dated, had boyfriends and all that, but I’d never felt
this strongly attracted to any of them. I’d never been so drawn to a boy before, as if a part of me needed him somehow.

Staring at Mason’s mouth, I became hypnotized, imagining what a good kisser he must have been. Without thinking, I leaned
in closer. He tilted his chin down and rested his forehead against mine, his hand moved from my hair to my cheek. “Not yet, okay,” he murmured.

Mortified, my face instantly reddened
; the heat burned my cheeks, creating an image of one of those old stove eyes on high in my head—coiled up and beaming red. But in my defense, Mason had made the first move by putting his hand in my hair.

I opened my mo
uth to say something—anything, but no words came. Mason smiled at me, and it only made me want to kiss him more. Until I heard Bit’s voice in my head,
he leads her on
. I wondered if this was the kind of
leading on
Bit had talked about.
No wonder Dixie was going nuts
. My head was spinning; my heart pounded in my ears. 

Mason opened the door to the house and held it open for me. “I think I’ll wait out here,” I said, irritated. He shut the door and stared at me
, an amused grin on his lips.

“What?” I grumbled.

“Are you mad?” he chuckled. “You’re mad,” he declared, not letting me answer.

“No, I’m not,” I huffed.

“Well, then what the hell’s happenin’ here?”

“Something I heard the other night just clicked in my head, and now I feel a little dumb
; that’s all.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Oh,”
Mason nodded. “So, spit it out—what’d you hear?”

“That you like to play games.”

“Seems you’re playin’ one right now.”

“How am I playing a game?” I shrieked.

“By bringin’ up he said—she said bullshit. If you wanna know somethin’ about me, I’m an open book, Cali girl, just ask.”

I regretted saying anything. It seemed doing so was about to bite me in the ass and possibly squash my relationship with Mason before it even began.

“Fine!”
I snapped, but fumbled over the words in my head. I couldn’t figure out how to ask him why he hadn’t kissed me without feeling like a complete loser, so instead I opted to apologize for making a big deal out of something I should never have brought up in the first place.

Mason’s expression softened
; he leaned in close. The scent on his shirt was woodsy and slightly flowery and possibly held the power to incapacitate me. “I want to kiss you,” he breathed; his eyes focused deeply on mine. “And I will,” he finished.

Mason took my hand, this time intertwining our fingers. I liked how it felt, exciting and comforting at the same time. “Now, come inside with me, please,” he said
. And I did.

Mason’s house was quiet and slightly smelled of mulberry potpourri. The only sound came from a simple mantle clock in the living room. It ticked faintly as the minute hand circled the antique brass face.

I glimpsed an old family photo on the wall. Mason looked about thirteen. He had braces
, and a spiked haircut gelled neatly into place. He favored both of his parents, but looked mostly like his father. “Hey, no lookin’ at embarrassing pictures. Keep it movin’,” he said, pulling me to the kitchen.

The
renovated kitchen wasn’t nearly as dreary as the living room. It had black cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and beautiful taupe-gray granite countertops and was open to a small family room with brown suede furniture—two recliners, and a sofa. A large entertainment center in the same finish as the kitchen cabinets sat against the back wall.

“That picture was cute,” I protested.

Mason smirked.

“I am surprised
you got all that gel out of your hair though.”

“Oh, she’s got jokes,” he gasped.

I laughed at his tone.

Mason opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic pitcher of sweet tea with lemon wedges floating inside. He removed the lid and put it to his mouth, gulping down several large swallows. When he finished, he was almost out of breath.

“Want some?”
he asked, holding the pitcher out for me.

I shook my head no.

“Oh, I see,” he grinned. “You can’t drink after me, but you’d be fine if I kissed you right now. Which is funny, because it’s sorta the same thing if you think about it.” I willed myself not to turn red. “How is that?”

“Either way
, you’d end up with my spit in your mouth.”

I smirked. “Give it,” I said, snatching the pitcher from his hands and turning it up.

He applauded. “Cali gir
l has got some moxie! I like it.”

I ha
nded the pitcher back to Mason and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I thought we decided you were going to call me Kat,” I said.

“We did,” he grinned. “What we didn’t decide is that I would stop callin’ you Cali girl.”
Of course
.

Mason returned the pitcher of tea to his mouth and drank some more. I slid myself onto the island countertop and watched him.

“Are you an only child?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I had a brother who died before I was born. He was a baby; my parents still aren’t totally over it.”

“They probably won’t ever be totally over it,” I blurted.

“Yeah, but…”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “They mourn him twice a year—the day he was born, and the day he died—like it just happened. It was twenty-one years ago. I mean, I have no idea what it’s like to make a human being and have it die, but the way they handle it makes it hard for me. It’s why I don’t stay home much—a couple more months, and I’ll be out of here altogether.”

“Where are you going?” I asked,
slightly panicked.

“College, Cali
gi—Kat,” he corrected.

“Are you going to LSU?”

“Did the hat give it away?” he teased.

“Maybe,
” I smiled.

“What’ll you be
doin’ this fall?” he asked.

I felt sick for a moment because I had no idea where I would be living in the fall, much less what I would be doing, and I guess it showed in my expression.

“Hey, you okay?” Mason asked.

“Yeah, fine. I’m still thinking it over.
UCLA, maybe.”

“
Maybe
? I didn’t take you for the procrastinatin’ type, Cali girl. Fall’ll be here before you know it.”

“Yeah, I know.”
I exhaled until my lungs were empty then sucked in another breath. Mason watched me. I wondered how much he knew about me. No one had asked me why I was in Slidell, or how long I was staying or anything else for that matter. I was sure Marion told Dana; I just wasn’t sure Dana told anyone.

“Have the Broussard’s told you why I came to Slidell?” I asked.

“Bit said her aunt was sending a friend to stay for a little while. The last thing I expected was you.”

I smiled.
I’d thought the same of him, which was why I couldn’t tell him about my father. Not yet. It might have changed his opinion of me, and possibly changed the way he looked at me. I didn’t want to be pitied, so I stuck with Marion’s explanation.

“Marion said Slidell would be the perfect place
for me to spend some time before college, it might help me sort things out. So far, I agree with her.”

Mason studied me for a moment
, as if he was waiting for me to say something more, so I did. “Whose motorcycle is that in the garage?” I asked.

“Mine.” Mason paused. “You
wanna see it?”

“Sure,” I said
, and hopped down off the counter and followed him to the garage.

The bike was a Kawasaki Ninja, lime green and black and in perfect condition. It looked like it had hardly been ridden at all.

“How long have you been riding?” I asked.

“I raced dirt bikes for a few years when I was younger. I was ten when I started, sixteen when I quit.”

“Why’d you quit?”

“I had baseball durin’ the week and racin’ took up my weekends. I was missin’ out on everything my friends were gettin’ to do. Wantin’ to be somewhere else when I was racin’ made me realize I shouldn’t be doin’ it anymore.”

“Do you ever regret quitting?”

“Nah. It stopped bein’ fun. It felt more like a burden. Ridin’ takes focus, and I didn’t want to get hurt or hurt somebody else because I wasn’t motivated to be there. It was for the best. My parents gave me this bike for graduation. I’ve only been out on it a few times. I don’t like to ride by myself that much.”

“It’s nice,” I said, running my fingers over the sleek front fender.

“You ride?” Mason asked.

“Never,” I said, a little too sharply.

“Why not?” he chuckled.

“It looks scary.”

The corner of Mason’s mouth curved up. “Maybe to someone who’s never ridden before.” He stepped closer, no doubt intending to fluster me. “You should let me take you for a ride. It’s more fun than scary. I promise.” I hesitated before taking him up on his offer. I didn’t want him to think I was overeager.

“Okay,” I hummed, trying to seem casual.

“Alright,” Mason smiled. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m wearing a bathing suit.” I opened my towel to prove it.

“I’m aware,” Mason said, artfully keeping his eyes on mine. Then I realized something else. “I don’t have shoes.”

“You are completely unprepared to be spontaneous,
Cali girl,” Mason joked.

We went back inside the house
, to Mason’s room. Judging the way it was decorated, he was telling the truth about not spending much time at home. There was an LSU banner on the wall, a few trophies on a desk, and a basic dark-blue comforter on his double bed.

Mason
pulled out the top drawer of his dresser and unfolded a gray and white T-shirt that read Northshore High School Baseball and had a ball with two crisscrossed bats in the center and handed it to me. The shirt was slightly faded, comfortable looking, and smelled like Mason. I put it on over my bathing suit, and he grabbed me a pair of his mom’s flip-flops before we went back out to the garage.