“Bailey?” Mason calls when he walks in from the garage.
“I’m in the kitchen.” I hoist myself on the island and cross my legs at the knee. Anticipation races up my spine as I hear his heavy steps coming toward me. I spent my day working but distracted by thoughts of Mason. What happened in the pool last night was sweet and intense, and I’ve spent all day giddy with nerves and anticipation for the moment he returns home from practice.
He comes around the corner, and my insides shimmy when I see him. When I first moved in, I thought he’d come home sweaty straight from practice, but it turns out that there’s a lot more that goes into being a professional football player than running around on the field. It seems like he spends more than half of his “working” hours in meetings.
Tonight, he has on faded jeans and a green Gators polo that makes his eyes look an even deeper green than usual. He got a late start this morning and must have skipped his shave, because there’s stubble on his jaw. My fingers itch to run over it.
He freezes when he spots me. “I’m pretty sure I would have blown off my last meeting if I realized what was waiting for me at home.” He steps forward and grins. “There would have been hell to pay, but it would have been worth it.”
His eyes go dark as he takes me in—from my red stiletto heels up to my blue-checked kitchen apron with nothing underneath. I did a photo shoot for a baker once, and some of the best pictures were of her in nothing but her apron.
I uncross my legs and swing my feet as I grip the edge of the counter. “Still trying to figure out this wife thing. Like I said, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. Does this seem about right?”
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath as he steps closer. He puts a big hand on each knee and slowly slides them up my thighs, guiding them apart so he can stand between them. “I’d say you nailed it.”
I loop my arms behind his neck. “How was your day, dear?”
“Hard,” he says, his hands inching higher on my thighs. “Painfully hard. What about yours?”
“It was long.” My breath hitches when he sucks at the tender spot beneath my ear. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
He slides a hand between my legs and groans against my neck. “That sounds awful. Let me make it up to you.” Then he does.
Sex on the kitchen counter, followed by a shower, and ordering dinner in—because Mason’s worn out and the only thing in the house I can cook is Pop-Tarts—and I’m feeling mighty content.
“I almost forgot.” Mason hands me a business card. “This guy does my website. I talked to him yesterday, and he said he can make room in his schedule to get your site up and running.”
I frown at the card for the graphic designer before looking at Mason. “My site for what?”
He opens the fridge and pokes around. Even though we just ate, he’s hungry again. I don’t envy his hours of training, but I’m a little jealous that he can eat so much—not that I’d choose the healthy foods he does. Boring. “For your photography business.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need a website.”
“Sure you do. People will take you more seriously if you have a web presence. He said he’d get you set up on social media, too.”
“I don’t need people to take me seriously.” I put the card on the counter. “Thanks for thinking of me, but I don’t think this is necessary. I’m not launching an enterprise or something.”
Mason closes the fridge and turns to me. “Bailey, you have natural talent, and you already have a line of football wives dying to get an appointment with you. Do you know what a great opportunity this is to launch a career? A real career? You’ve made it clear you don’t want my money, so fine, don’t take it. But you could start charging more for your sessions and stop living paycheck to paycheck.”
“I don’t take pictures for the money. I do it because it makes women feel good about themselves.”
“And that’s probably why you’re so damn good at it.” He studies me for a beat. “You’re so afraid that everyone’s going to look at you and see the trailer park girl who took off her clothes for money that you’re afraid to try to be someone else.”
“But that is who I am.”
“That’s who you were. That’s where you’re from. It’s not who you are now, or you’d be getting ready to get on stage and not sitting here with me. They all want what you have to offer. I have guys trying to call in favors with me so their wives get bumped up the schedule.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “If you’d believe in yourself just a little, you’d be amazed what life has to offer you. You’d be amazed who you could become.”
Does he want me to be someone else? The last conversation I had with Nic, we fought about Mason. He said Mason was just another rich boy who manipulated women with his money. He accused me of selling myself to Mason. “Just like you sold yourself to Clarence.” I told him he was an asshole. Told him he could go fuck himself because he would never be able to love someone like Mason could. Then he got the text from Mia asking for help, and an hour later, he was dead.