Chapter 9

Nicole

Mason and I stepped into the music store, and instantly his expression reminded me of a kid in a toy store during Christmas season. His eyes were filled with hopes, dreams, and possibilities, and I fought the desire to reach up and kiss his cheek. But with five teenage girls, all with cellphones, standing next to a drum set on the far side of the store, I didn’t want to risk ending up on the Internet, with everyone speculating on Mason’s new mystery woman.

And kissing him on the mouth was a definite no-no—even if the one earlier today had been the best kiss I’d had in, well, who knew how long.

Before heading over to the girls, Mason approached the sales counter near the door, where a man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and a neatly trimmed gray beard stood. A well-worn Rolling Stones T-shirt skimmed his lanky body. His gaze was locked on Mason, his eyes slightly wide from shock. It would seem Mason had that effect on people wherever he went.

“Hey, man,” Mason said. “If it’s cool with you, can I show those girls over there a few things about drumming? One plays percussion in her school band, but she’d like some pointers. We’ll only be a few minutes.”

The man gave him a brief nod. “That’s fine. Go ahead. I’m Andrew, by the way.” He held out his hand and Mason shook it. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, man.”

We joined the girls, and Mason climbed behind the drum kit and adjusted the seat. He then spent the next thirty minutes teaching Kylie various rhythms and techniques. All the girls looked on with awe, but Kylie’s expression seemed to have less to do with who was teaching her than with what he was teaching her. Gone was the fangirl. Now she was in serious musician mode, asking lots of questions and listening intently to Mason’s every word.

My cellphone pinged with a text from Zack. Just checking you haven’t broken your phone again. :) Are you able to chat for a second?

I grinned and texted back, Ha ha. Since when do you use smiley faces in your texts? :) :) And yes call me!!! As you can tell, my phone is still happy and in one piece.

When my phone rang, I stepped away from Mason and the girls so that I could hear Zack over the noise from the drums.

“Because I’ve been told girls like getting smiley faces in texts,” Zack said.

I laughed. “True. So what’s up?”

“Nothing much. Some of the crew and I are about to head out for a pint or two. But I just wanted to make sure everything’s good with you first.”

“Awww, aren’t you sweet? No wonder you’re my favorite brother.”

He chuckled, my favorite sound. During the darkest times with our father’s addiction, Zack’s laugh had been a rarity. “I’m not sure that means a lot, given that I’m your only brother. So, is Mason still around, or did he already head back to L.A.?”

“No, he’s still here. He decided to spend the day in Desert Springs.” Mason picked that moment to generate an impressive riff. “Hear that?” I held my phone up for a couple of seconds so that Zack could hear him. “We’re currently at the music store, where he’s teaching some teens how to play drums. Hey, you know how you love the wallpaper in my house?”

Zack snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Mason has the same level of respect for it as you. We’re giving it a decent burial tomorrow.”

“Tell him I owe him. I was ready to slit my wrists if I had to look at it one more time.”

“My soon-to-be-ex-wallpaper loves you too.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him we were just doing the wallpaper in the kitchen and hallway. That would take long enough as it was—we wouldn’t have time to do the guest room too.

Zack and I talked for a few more minutes while Mason continued his lesson, and then we said goodbye.

“That’s really good,” Mason told Kylie after she had finished playing the rhythm he’d just taught her. “You have a good ear.”

The smile on her face was brighter than if she had been six years old and received a gold star on her artwork. “Thanks.”

After the girls had left—though not before Mason had signed their Pushing Limits albums—I told him, “You were really good at that.”

“What, at signing my name?” The corner of his mouth twitched; clearly he was fighting off the urge to smirk.

I rolled my eyes. “No, teaching. Have you done that before?”

“Not really. I went to a few drumming seminars in L.A. when I was first learning to play. Guess I might’ve picked up a few teaching tricks from those.”

His gaze briefly darted to a room near us where electronic keyboards and other instruments were kept. “Do you mind if we go in there?”

“Not at all.”

He headed to a keyboard and turned it on. Before I had a chance to ask him if he knew how to play the piano, he placed his fingers on the keys. The simple yet beautiful melody he played had me swallowing the question.

“Is that a Pushing Limits song?” I asked, then realized how that must have sounded. My face heated up even though he knew I didn’t listen to their music. If I did, I would have known that he wasn’t just Zack’s friend Mason when he first showed up at my house.

He shook his head and kept playing. Something about the ballad warmed me from the inside, which was crazy. I had no idea what the lyrics were. For all I knew, it was a sorrowful song about heartbreak.

The final notes drifted away and Mason glanced up at me. My breath paused in my lungs at the vulnerability in his eyes. But it wasn’t because I had heard him play and he was nervous about what I thought of the song. There was something else. Something deeper.

Without thinking what I was doing, I stroked my fingers against his cheek, and the vulnerability eased slightly. “I loved it. What is it?”

“It’s just a song I wrote.”

“Will it be on the band’s next album?”

He turned away and I let my fingers slide from his face. “Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not the one who writes the songs for our albums. I’m just the drummer. Which is fine with me.” He tried to shrug it off, but would have done a better job convincing me Santa really did exist…and spent his summers in Hawaii.

“So who writes them?”

“Nolan and Jared. Both are talented songwriters. I’ve just been messing around with stuff while we aren’t touring.”

I blinked. “Are you telling me they haven’t heard this song yet? You seriously need to play it for them.”

He laughed—and my girlie parts clenched at the deep, sexy sound. Every time he laughed, it sent a delicious shiver skipping across my skin. Every. Single. Time. “You only heard me play the music. You might not be so impressed if you heard the lyrics.”

“Why? Are they obscene?”

He shook his head, laughing again.

“Well, I can tell from what you’ve played that it’s a great song.”

He smiled, but the smile was nothing like the one Kylie had given him after his compliment about her playing. It came up short by several miles.

Disappointment at his reaction sat down hard in my gut. I had no idea why it should have bothered me, but it did. “So the band has never heard you play the song? Ever?” I asked.

Mason stood up from the bench and started toward the door. “They don’t even know I play piano.”

I hurried after him. “Why don’t they know you play? I would’ve thought it would come up at some point during your time together as a band.”

“You’ve obviously never heard Aaron play.”

“Is he in the band?”

Mason waved at Andrew, who had looked up from helping a customer. “Thanks, man.”

“My pleasure,” Andrew called out.

“So who’s Aaron?” I asked again as we stepped out of the store into the bright afternoon sun. I didn’t want to be a pain about the song, but I really didn’t understand why I got to hear it while none of his bandmates did.

“He’s the band’s keyboardist. He was Juilliard bound, but then changed his mind and joined the band instead. Next to him, I sound pretty lame.”

“But I still don’t get why you can’t play the song for them. I mean, it’s not like I’m suggesting they kick Aaron out of the band and you switch to playing the keyboards.”

“Because it’s nothing like what Jared and Nolan write,” Mason said as we walked toward my car in the parking lot. “Besides, like I said, I’m the band’s drummer. I love drumming and I’m good at it. That’s why I switched from piano to drums when I was a teenager.” He smirked. “Of course, it also didn’t hurt that it’s easier to get laid if you’re a drummer in a rock band than if you’re a pianist playing in some dinner club.”

The corners of my mouth twitched. “You probably have a point there.”

We returned to my house. After checking on Bernie and taking him for a brief walk so he could do his doggy business, I went into my bedroom and got started on the paperwork I’d picked up at the store. Once I’d finished, I went to see what Mason was up to. I found him with screwdriver in hand, fixing the sticky front door.

“I’ve almost got it.” His arm muscles bunched as he turned the screwdriver, twisting the screw into the doorframe. He closed the front door, then opened it. Unlike before, it opened smoothly.

I had to fight back the urge to throw my arms around him and kiss him. Escaping my bad dates had become that much easier, thanks to him.

But kissing him was definitely a bad idea—because if I had another one, I’d never be able to stop. I’d only want more.

“Wow, thanks. I can’t believe you actually managed to fix it.” As soon as I said it I realized how bad it sounded, so I hurriedly added, “I mean, I didn’t think it could be fixed.”

“You’re welcome.” He stepped into the house and flipped on the hallway light…and it worked. “And your back gate won’t keep opening and banging shut when it’s windy. I fixed that too.”

“I’m definitely gonna miss you when you’re gone.” And it wasn’t just the fixing up around the house that I would miss. I’d been having fun hanging out with him. He was funny, as well as incredibly giving—which was the last thing I would’ve ever expected from a rock star. I’d always thought they were just into drugs and alcohol and sex, but none of that described the down-to-earth guy standing in my hallway.

“I’ll fix the toilet and shower now,” Mason said, stepping out of the house and grabbing his new toolbox off the porch.

I laughed under my breath. “Well, have fun with that. I’m going to make dinner.” Momentarily forgetting my earlier resolution, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then headed for the kitchen.

But that didn’t count as a real kiss, right? It wasn’t on the mouth.

Dinner was just about ready when Mason emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered. In the background, the latest Pushing Limits album was playing through the Bluetooth speakers. Yes, I might’ve been a tiny bit curious and downloaded it onto my iPhone. I’d heard a couple of their songs a few times with Heidi, but back then I hadn’t really paid much attention to them because the band wasn’t country. Now I had a reason to listen to them.

“So what do you think?” He did the chin-nod thing I’d seen him do a few times.

“You guys are really good. I especially like your drumming.” Not that I was knowledgeable about that aspect of the music, but it did sound good to me.

“Enough that you’re a new fan?”

I pretended to consider it for a second. “Yes, I think I could definitely be a new fan.”

He grabbed hold of my hips with both hands and pulled me against him. “And it has nothing to do with me fixing your front door?”

With the erotic sensation of his stubbled jaw against the skin of my cheek and the sound of his I-want-to-have-sex-with-you-now voice—even though he didn’t actually want to have sex with me—I almost had an orgasm right there. “Among other things.”

Clearly unconcerned about having left me in an aroused state, Mason pulled back and sniffed the air. “Hmm, that smells good. Are those your world-famous chocolate chip cookies?” His face brightened.

I smiled back. “Possibly.”

He glanced at the stove next to us and the covered skillet. “What’s in there?”

“Beef stroganoff.” I turned to the stove and lifted the skillet lid. With a spoon, I scooped up a small amount of the creamy sauce and raised it to his lips.

He sampled the liquid. “Mmm. It tastes as good as it smells.”

The food wasn’t the only thing that smelled delicious. “Do you know you smell fruity?” I giggled.

He glared at me, or at least attempted to. It was hard to be convincing when he had mischief gleaming in his eyes. “I didn’t have much choice. You need a soap that’s more manly.”

“Just how often do you think I have men staying over?” I pretended to be indignant, which wasn’t easy when all I craved was to sample the man in front of me, fruity-smelling or not. “Besides, I happen to think you smell sexy.” Kudos to my acting abilities, since I managed to say it without giggling again.

Mason stepped closer, our bodies a hair’s width from touching. “You do, do you?”

I swallowed hard. “I do.”

His gaze dropped to my lips. “We probably shouldn’t kiss, should we?”

I shook my head, the movement negligible. “No, we probably shouldn’t.” That might be what my brain was saying, but my body definitely wasn’t agreeing with it.

In the background, a ballad played, the lyrics speaking about taking things slow and how it would be worth it in the end. The song was beautiful and I loved the melody, but it was nothing like the song Mason had played for me earlier. Even without the lyrics, that song had touched me deep in my soul.

Mason moved back a step. “Do you need any help?”

My body already missed his closeness. “Sure. You want to chop the carrots? Then I can cook them.”

“Chopping carrots happens to be my specialty.”

I laughed. “I thought drumming was your specialty.”

“No, that’s just my day job. By night I’m a super carrot cutter.” He winked at me.

“Ooh, does the job come with a cool superhero cape?”

“Normally, yes. But I had to leave it at the dry cleaner after my last carrot-chopping mission. You would’ve liked it. It’s red.”

“So, like Superman’s cape?” I tossed over my shoulder as I walked to the fridge and removed the two-pound bag of carrots.

“Much cooler than Superman’s cape.”

I giggled again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much in one day. “Now I’m really sorry I missed out on that.” I set the carrots on the counter next to him and fished through the utility drawer for the vegetable peeler. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

“Sounds good.”

Mason peeled the carrots while we joked around and he told me about the guys in the band. The last time I’d felt this comfortable around a man was…well, a long time ago. Maybe knowing that what we had between us wasn’t going anywhere in the end made it easier. There were no expectations. We were two people who had become friends.

After dinner we washed the dishes, I popped popcorn in the hot-air popper, and we retired to the couch to watch another movie.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Mason said, removing a DVD case from my collection. He held it up for me to see: Die Hard 2.

I laughed. “Glad to see you appreciate me for my Die Hard movies.”

“I might have to kiss you due to your brilliant collection.” A smirk appeared on his face. Stupid, panty-dropping, sexy smirk. “Except we already agreed, no more kisses.”

“I don’t think one more would really hurt.” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them—before I was even aware I’d been thinking them deep down. “I mean, it’s really just once. Nothing more than that.” Nothing that would signify what we had between us was anything beyond friendship.

He didn’t say anything, but the smirk remained in place. He put the disc into the machine and joined me on the couch. He then removed the bowl of popcorn from my lap and set it on the coffee table. Before I could say anything, his lips were against mine.

There was nothing tender about the kiss. It was a kiss heavy with promises: promises to melt me to the core if we didn’t stop soon, promises to leave me wanting if we did stop. If I was to rate it on a scale from one to ten, it was a definite twelve.

My tongue glided against his, and once again I felt the electrifying hum that I’d experienced when we’d kissed at Blooming Love and then again after going to the ice cream shop. It also caused the ache between my legs to become more demanding.

How was I planning to survive once he left for L.A.? No other man would ever come close to being as great a kisser as he was. He had spoiled me for all other guys—nobody else would ever stand a chance.

Somewhere in the back of my head, a rational, slightly irritating voice reminded me of the list of traits I was looking for in the perfect man. Mason might be perfect when it came to the kissing (which wasn’t even on my list—silly me!), but he didn’t have the traits that counted the most.

Just try telling that to my body.

It took a few moments to realize the previews were over. Mason moved away, grabbed the remote control, and started the movie. And instantly my body and lips wanted more of him.

It was official. I was going to need some sort of substitute while I recovered from my newfound Mason addiction—only I didn’t think there was a gum or patch that could help in a situation like this.