Avery
“Why the hell are you so nervous,” Claire asks over the phone, while I toss every piece of clothing I own on the floor, looking for something—anything—that will make me feel like a pretty girl on her first date.
Max is staying with Claire at Dusty’s until the crowd lets up, and Cole is taking over her shift. I’d give anything for those two to hook up, but I know neither one would make the first move. Claire talks a big game, but she’s really quite the wallflower when push comes to shove.
“Claire, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?” I say, not really thinking about it until she fires her answer back at me.
“Yeah, about half as long as it’s been for me,” she says. Ouch.
“Sorry,” I say, sitting down on my bed and hoping something will jump out at me. “Claire?”
“What, pumpkin?” she asks, the sass back in her tone. I’m about to make her day.
“I…slept with him,” I swallow hard, waiting for her reaction.
“What! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Avery Abbot, you better tell me everything this time—no glossing over the details. I want Cinemax porn kind of details, you hear me? It’s not every day that your bestie gets to see the hottest man to ever be spawned in your hometown without his clothes on!” Her tirade has me laughing, and I promise her I will give her every last juicy drop. It will embarrass the hell out of me, but she’ll harass me until I tell her, so it’s best to just get it over with.
“I’ll fill you in tomorrow, while the band’s playing. But look, I’ve gotta go now. He’s going to be here any minute, and I’m still wearing sweatpants,” I sigh.
“Who cares, he’s just going to rip them off of you,” Claire teases.
“Not helping!” I giggle.
“Just go with simple and comfortable. I’d wear jeans,” she says, hinting that she might know a thing or two about my date.
“Jeans, hmmmm?” I ask, kicking out a few piles on my floor to unveil my favorite pair.
“Yep. Now have a good time, and don’t worry about anything. We’ve got you covered,” she says, hanging up before I can grill her for any details.
Jeans—I can do jeans. I slip on my favorite comfortable pair with the small jewels on the back pockets and pair it with a black tank top—this look never really goes wrong. I put my low black boots on just in case I need to do any walking—what if we really are tipping cows? I brush out my hair, and tip the ends with an iron so the waves look even, and then splash a little bit of my body spray on my neck just in time for there to be a soft knock at my door.
Deep breath. I barely get a glimpse of him before his lips are crashing into mine and he’s dipping me backward, holding me close to his body so I don’t fall. I start to laugh when I feel like his grip is slipping, and he teases me, pretending to let go only to catch me and pull me back to my feet.
“First off, you look amazing,” he says, and I smack at his arm.
“You didn’t even look at me!” I protest.
“I did, in that split second when I almost dropped you. I looked at you and your hotness,” he smiles, the freaking dimples doing their job. “And two, I had to get that out of the way or else it’s all I’d be thinking about doing. I should be good for the next hour then.”
“Hour?” I protest, knowing full well I can’t go that long without kissing him again. Especially with him smelling like that, and wearing those light blue jeans that sit low enough on his hips that when he raises his arms I can see those two muscles leading into his boxers, which peak out right above the waistline.
“Okay, maybe ten minutes,” he winks, holding out his hand. I grab it and am immediately soothed by the sensation of his fingers intertwined with mine. It’s such a simple touch, holding hands. But having Mason’s wrapped around mine feels so natural, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel alone.
Mason leads me to his car, and I look around for clues while he walks to his side. He catches me, and starts laughing. “You’re not going to find a map in here,” he says, looking over his shoulder while he backs out onto the road.
“Can you give me any clues?” I ask, and he just slips on his sunglasses and smiles.
“I can tell you that you’ll be out all night. Good thing tomorrow’s Friday,” he says, his eyebrows raised just above the rims of his glasses.
I huff, but it’s really only for pretend. Truth is, Mason could be driving me to a grocery store where he plans to walk the aisles for hours, and I’d happily join him. These last few weeks have been a dream, and I never want to wake up.
We pull up next to a barn about thirty minutes north of Cave Creek, and Mason jumps out quickly, rushing over to my side to get my door. “I can let myself out of a car ya know,” I say, though I secretly like that he’s going full-gentleman tonight.
“Just preserving your energy,” he says, tipping his glasses down to give me a look that has my body tingling and wishing we were alone. He holds my eyes for a few long seconds and then shakes his head. “Damn.”
“Damn, what?” I ask.
“Just…damn,” he smirks, and I blush.
Mason leads me to the other end of the barn where there’s an older man saddling up a few horses. “Hey there. Are you Jeff?” he asks, and the man dusts his hands against his jeans, sending puffs of dirt in the air, before turning around to shake Mason’s hand.
“That’s me. You must be Mason?” he says, his mustache groomed into this perfect handlebar. We have a lot of cowboys in town, but the further away you get from the big city, the more authentic they are. Jeff here looks like he’s probably the real deal.
“I’ve got ‘em saddled for ya. You’ll want to follow the green trail on the map. Dinner’s at eight,” he says, handing the reigns over to Mason. When I realize Jeff is leaving us alone, with two ginormous horses, I start to laugh nervously.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” I say, taking the reigns of the smaller horse from Mason. I pet my horse along his nose, and he dips his head down to sniff me. I’ve been around horses a lot. I’m not a great rider, but I’m comfortable with them.
When I look back to Mason, he’s already swinging his leg over and getting ready. I don’t know why I’m surprised to see him so relaxed on a horse, but I can’t hide my shock. “You are full of surprises, Mason Street,” I smile, lifting myself up and climbing onto my horse.
“Her name’s Dixie. This is Red. I had to sell them when the contract fell through,” he says, running his hand down his horse’s neck and back up again. When he looks at me, his smile is forced and flat, and I feel heartbroken for him.
“I had no idea. I’m sorry, Mason,” I say, my brain entertaining silly thoughts like running away with him and his horses right now.
“It’s okay. It was just one of those things; I always wanted horses. You know, like some people always want a racecar or…whatever. I didn’t get to see them much, and it didn’t really make sense to own them anyhow. It was the first thing I did with the money we got, and it was probably a stupid financial decision. Jeff works for the ranch I sold them to. They let people ride. I haven’t been up since I’ve been home, but it felt like a good time to come…with you,” he says, and the way he’s looking at me feels like he’s been looking at me for forever.
We ride Dixie and Red for about an hour, winding through a trail along a riverbed and through a few small hills deeper into the desert. By the time we reach a small group of people, the sun is starting to set.
“Here,” Mason says, dismounting and reaching to hold Dixie for me while I climb down myself. We never rode fast or hard, but my thighs still hurt anyhow. I know I’ll pay for this tomorrow, but I’d ride for hours in pain just to end up here with Mason.
There’s a large campfire going, and a few older men sitting with guitars and playing. I notice three or four other couples walking over to a small table to pick up food, and I smile up at Mason.
“Are we having a cookout?” I ask, watching him pull a rolled up blanket from the back part of the saddle.
“I figured I could take you to a fancy restaurant anytime,” he says, reaching for me. I fold right against his body, his arm tucking me in tightly.
The fall weather is starting to settle in and the desert air is chilly at night, so Mason lays out our blanket close to the fire, and makes me comfortable while he goes to make our plates. The three men playing and singing on the other side of the fire are singing old country tunes, and they remind me of my mother. She loved Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings.
Mason comes back with two plates piled high with more food than I could ever eat, and we both sit close together on our blanket, devouring barbecued chicken legs, cornbread, and beans. I’m barely though half of my plate and I have to stop.
“Are you giving up?” Mason asks, his mouth busy working a bite while he talks.
“Uhhhhg, I’m so full,” I say, lying back on the blanket and pushing my plate toward him. He just looks at me and grins, then grabs my cornbread muffin and eats it whole. “You are like a bottomless pit!”
He stands up and brushes the crumbs from his shirt, then picks up our plates. “Bottomless pit of lovin’,” he says in his most ridiculous fake sexy voice. I roll my eyes at him, and slap at the back of his leg as he steps over me. “You know you love me.”
I can’t help but smirk when he walks away because he’s right—I know I do.
After dinner, we snuggle close, and Mason pulls the bottom edge of the blanket up over my legs to keep me warm. The old men tell a few stories, but we’re not really listening. We’re whispering to one another, like young campers up late at night.
“When did you know you wanted to play music?” I ask him, situating myself along his arm so I can watch his eyes animate while he talks.
“I used to watch your dad play with some of his friends, and I liked the way everyone looked at him. So one day I asked him to show me how to do a chord, and he did. The next day, I asked him to show me another. And we just sort of kept on going like that for months until he finally just gave me a guitar of my own,” Mason says. I love the way he loves my dad.
“I’m glad he taught you. You’re better than him, though, you know?” I say, leaning my weight into him, just needing to be closer.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, his face serious at first but quickly falling into a grin.
“How about you. Why are you studying English?” he asks.
I have to think about it for a few seconds, because my answer has changed since I took my first classes years ago. “I’ve always loved reading,” I start, but then I pause. “It’s more than that, though. It’s like I really understand books, and the story underneath the story. And, I had this fantasy of getting my PhD. I wanted to teach at some fancy college back East. But now…I think I just want to finish something.”
Mason’s stare at me seems thoughtful, and he leans forward to brush a hair away from my face and kiss my forehead lightly. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he says, still looking at me with the same intensity.
“I guess,” I say, looking down at my lap, uncomfortable with his compliment. There’s nothing very amazing about me at all.
“No, you are. Look at what you’ve done, on your own. If you want to teach at a college, Avery, you should,” he says, lifting my chin to look at him. “You should.”
The way he’s looking at me forms a lump in my throat. I’m not used to anyone challenging my decision to give up. My father supports me, and I know he’d cheer me on in whatever I do. But Mason—he’s doing more than that. He seems to actually believe in me.
“Why don’t you talk to your mom much?” I ask, wanting to divert the focus away from me for a while.
Mason lies back when I ask this, taking in a deep breath and folding his arms under his neck. His shirt lifts up just enough to show off his bare skin, and I want to touch it, so I lie back against him and run my hand under his shirt just to feel his warmth. I feel his body react when I do, so I don’t linger there long.
“My mom did the best she could,” he starts, but then chews at his cheek for a few seconds, his brow bunched, until he turns his body to face me. “No, that’s not true. She probably could have done better. She was always pawning me off on people, your dad more than most, so she could go on long weekends with guys she’d meet at the bar. She was always looking for that quick fix in life—marry rich and live easy. When I got old enough to realize what she was doing, I’d confront her about it. We had some serious fights when I was a teenager.”
“That’s when you stayed at our house a lot,” I whisper, connecting Mason’s story, which I already knew, but for some reason hearing it from him made me feel differently about it all. I felt sad, for him and for Barb.
“Yeah, Ray said it was better for me and my mom to have space, rather than ending up hating each other,” he says, his eyes coming to mine while he talks, and his lips tighten into a soft smile. “He was right. And I don’t hate her. I thought I did for a while, but I realize that she and I aren’t very different. We’re both selfish in our own way. And I know my mom loves me…she loves me the best she can.”
For some reason his words make me want to hold him tightly, so I cling to his side and squeeze his entire body to mine. When I do, he pulls me up to his face and kisses my lips softly. Then, he just stares at my eyes for minutes, the sounds of everything else behind us fading away. The longer he looks at me, the faster my heart races, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I won’t.
“I love you, Avery Abbot,” he says, and my stomach leaps up into my chest, my ribs constricting with every second that passes since he said it. I can’t help the tear that forms in my left eye, and I don’t dare stop it from sliding from my cheek onto his arm. It’s the happiest tear I’ve ever shed, and I’ll never forget it, or this moment.
“I loved you first,” I say, my lips actually shaking with my nerves as I speak.
Mason chuckles lightly at me, smoothing my hair from my face and turning completely on his side so we’re both lying under the stars staring at one another—alone among a dozen strangers. “Okay, but I get to love you more,” he says, cupping my face in both of his hands and pulling my lips to his, his eyes intent on our barely touching lips before flicking back up to look into mine. Then he closes them completely, and kisses me for the rest of the night.