There’s something about him tonight. Something darker that I didn’t see before. It’s the way he looks at me like I should be running from him. It both scares me and lures me in.

I lift the glass to my lips, my one and only glass, finishing off the sweet wine.

“Did you write today?” Mason asks. We’ve made a bit of small talk and easy conversation. But I’m still feeling him out. I thought I wanted this thing between us, but the air changed a bit ago and the tension is something else now. Like we’re at war, although I don’t know why.

“I did, yes.” All morning I wrote. The words flowed so easily. Every bit of it was about Jace though, something I’d rather not bring up with Mason. I pick up my glass, finding it empty and cursing internally.

“So, poetry?” he asks with a teasing tone. I’m not sure why I like it. I’m not a fan of being teased, but there’s something about the way he does it that makes me want more of it.

I nod my head and explain, “I haven’t tried writing anything else.” I shrug, spearing my fork through the perfectly grilled salmon and savoring the taste. “It’s easier to just write poetry.”

“I’m not so sure. Isn’t it easier to critique in some ways?”

His response catches me off guard, as if he actually gives a fuck.

“In some ways, I would think so. Maybe.” I tilt my head, searching his eyes for what’s really going on here. “Why dinner tonight? And not drinks?”

My voice is low, nearly accusatory, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Because I had to eat and so did you,” he replies.

He takes another bite of his dinner and then adds, “Would you rather I'd just asked you out for drinks?”

“Yes,” I say and my answer is immediate. He doesn’t seem taken aback. He’s so calm, unmoving and unbothered.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

I can’t look him in the eyes, so I watch my fingers nervously move up and down the silverware. I don’t know how to put it out there. “How did you know my name?” I ask him.

“From the papers,” Mason says and then quickly takes a sip of his drink.

I nod my head. That’s how everyone knows me. “The papers?”

“I’ve read a few things,” he adds.

“Then you may have me at a clear disadvantage.” I relax in my chair, waiting for him to tell me something.

“That’s possible, probable even.” He smirks at me, his brilliant smile adding to his charm. I try not to let it affect me, but I’m at his mercy whenever he looks at me like that. I grab on to the facts and spit out a good reason I have to stay away.

I’m vulnerable. Check.

I’ve never done this before. Check.

I don’t know that I’m okay with this. Check.

And a man like Mason could crush me. Check a thousand times.

“Well, all I know of you is that you’re a bit of player,” I tell him as I hold his gaze.

“I used to be, yes.”

“Used to?” I look up at him through my lashes, daring him to lie. There’s a tension steadily growing between us. It’s hot to the touch and it makes me want to climb closer to him, but I know that I need to stay far away.

“I mean it. I used to be, then I met someone.” Well, that’s enough to cool me off some.

“Oh.” I’m surprised by his confession, and suddenly I feel like I should be asking him if he’s sleeping with anyone else.

“She’s gone, and it wasn’t anything serious at all.” He answers my questions before I have to ask them, and I’m grateful for that. “It just changed things for me.”

“So now you just want someone to fuck and to take to dinners.”

A deep rough chuckle vibrates up his chest and the way he smiles at me does something to me that makes me feel dirty.

“Someone, no.” His eyes heat and he licks his bottom lip as he adds, “You, yes.”

I huff out a small breath and look down at my mostly eaten plate.

“I want to take you out, bring you back home and fuck you in my bed.” He holds my eyes as he says the words so calmly. I fight the urge to look around the room filled with fine guests and couples to make sure no one’s heard us. My body is on fire with the thought of him doing just that, over and over. But the taking me out part… that makes this seem serious.

“I feel …” I don’t know how I feel.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t really like going out anymore.” I blurt out the words and feel sick to my stomach.

“You don’t like going out?”

“It just makes me anxious because of something that happened, that maybe you read about.”

He stares at me for a moment and remains silent, although his eyes flash with a knowing look.

I don’t want to say it out loud and I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“It’s just,” my voice gets tight and I choke on the words, but only for a moment, “my husband passed away and it’s hard for me to deal with it all because we were…”

“In the papers?” he asks.

“Yes. It’s hard seeing people and not being with him. That’s difficult for me.” It feels like a weight's been lifted off my chest just to say it. “I don’t know how to handle people’s expectations.”

Mason’s words come out hard, and it's a command if I’ve ever heard one. “Fuck their expectations.”

I’m shocked by how blunt Mason is. I don’t think he understands. “I just don’t want to upset people or-”

“Fuck. Them.”

I stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious, but he is. His eyes hold an intensity that makes me shiver involuntarily, and his hard muscular arms are corded. He flexes his stubbled jaw and seems to relax slightly, but I’m still caught off guard. Mostly because I want to obey him. I want to eat up every word he’s saying as if it’s law and bow down to him.

“You’re entitled to feel and do whatever you want. It’s no one else’s business. Their perception of you is their responsibility. Not yours.”

I take in a breath, hating that he doesn’t understand. “Maybe I’m just shallow.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but I did. My breath leaves me and I pick up the empty glass again. Before I have the chance to roll my eyes or slam it on the table out of frustration, the waiter comes to my rescue, the bottle of chardonnay in his hand.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully.

The second the waiter leaves, taking both of our plates with him, Mason says, “We can play this however you’d like.”

“I don’t really want to go out yet. I’m just not ready.”

“Is it because you loved him?” Mason asks. His forehead is wrinkled and his brow furrowed. He can’t even look me in the eye.

“I loved my husband, but that’s not why.” I take a sip of wine and staring at the glass I answer, “I just don’t know how to not feel guilty about being okay.”

The words came out easier than I thought they would. It’s comforting to talk to Mason. I don’t know why, but it is.

“So you’re alright?” Mason asks me and he’s so genuine with his concern that I reach across the table and take his hand in mine, rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles.

“Some days are better than others, but it’s hard because I wasn’t much without him.”

Mason takes my hand in his at my comment, squeezing my hand and opening his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I take in a heavy breath, realizing how deep our conversation has gotten.

“I’m sorry,” I say shaking my head and pulling my hand away. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop apologizing,” he tells me in a tone that makes all of my worries vanish. “I asked you, remember?”

I nod my head and utter a small response although I don’t remember how the conversation started.

“Tell me something that will make me smile,” he says.

A grin plays on my lips at the thought of him smiling at me and I say, “You’re a very handsome man. Very charming. Obviously successful.” I lean in slightly, letting the tips of my fingers play along his large knuckles and add, “And I really, really liked last night.”

I accomplish my task and sit back in my seat, staring at his handsome face.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He keeps his eyes on me as we both take sips of our drinks. “I would have liked to have had you this morning as well.”

I almost choke on the bit of wine, but luckily I save myself, swallowing it and taking a moment to get myself together.

“About that…”

“I imagine you’ll make up for it tomorrow morning,” he says like it’s a statement, but I hear the question.

Another night with Mason Thatcher.

“I did say I was just along for the ride,” I say to both him and to myself.