Loving Mason (Imperfect Love Book 2) Read online

  “Yeah. I overheard Josephine in class once, talking about him with her freaky friends. He’d obviously knocked her back and she was full of spite as usual.” Ella leans forwards in her seat, encouraging me and Kayla to adopt the same position. We copy her posture, resting our elbows on the table. Her expression solemn and free of malice, Ella says, “Most people celebrate their eighteenth birthday with a party. Mason beat up his teacher. Apparently, he broke the guy’s nose and cheekbone, busted his ribs, and stood over him while he rang the Police. He received a two year jail sentence. That’s all I know. Old Smithers started the lecture at that point so I didn’t get to find out why he did it.”

  Shit. How did I not know this? I automatically glance in Mason’s direction and he catches me in the act. I know he’s too smart not to know we’re talking about him and I feel embarrassed, ashamed even. I look away, though not before I see his frown. Disconcerted, I lift my glass and down my shot in one, as if it’s liquid fire and will melt away the ice that’s settled in my chest.

  I don’t want to think about Mason Zannuto.

  I don’t want to think of him standing over his teacher the way a trophy hunter might stand over their kill.

  And I don’t want to think of him in prison.

  I want the Mason I knew ten minutes ago. The sexy, flawless guy who might be darker and moodier than any guy I know, but that’s because it’s his way, not because he learned it during two years of incarceration at Her Majesty’s pleasure.

  Ella and Kayla down their shots, banging their upturned glasses on the table and it takes everything I have to forget about Mason Zannuto.

  In the end I drink too much.

  I’m tipsy – maybe a little drunk, even – but that doesn’t stop me from downing more shots. Kayla’s humour is dry and self-deprecating and she has me and Ella laughing at her tales about her family. We roomed together in halls and we’re good friends though we have completely different taste in guys. She’s dating Jono, whose idea of fun is getting stoned. It seems to work for her, and it’s not my business to interfere, at least not yet. If the time ever comes when he’s leeching off her to pay his dealer, that’s when I’ll say something.

  With all the catching up and sharing of gossip, I don’t glance in Mason’s direction until it’s time to use the bathroom. His friends are there, but Mason is gone. I guess his sixty minutes are up. Zigzagging through the bar, I give a wide berth to a couple of guys who are squaring up to each other, their heads craned forwards, their faces red and angry. Two of Mason’s friends glance at me as I pass by, their eyes following me with blatant curiosity. I’m unsettled, but it’s almost immediately forgotten when I find the queue to the ladies toilets is backing out the door. A blue-haired girl with kohl rimmed eyes stares at my black pinafore dress, ankle boots and my pale, skinny legs. I’m about to stare right back when she tells me she likes my style. We talk about clothes and hair while I wonder, in a semi-drunk kind of way, where Mason goes after he leaves Torment. The fact that I want to know more about him is disturbing. I begin to list the reasons why Mason Zannuto is not for me, beginning with the fact that he and Nora had every intention of sleeping together and finishing with his two year stay in prison for assault. I’ve never been attracted to bad boys. And a guy who beats up his teacher is most definitely a bad boy.

  Once I’m finished in the bathroom I step into hall. A hand grips my wrist and pulls me towards the far end of the corridor. Fear bursts through my chest and when I realise it’s Mason who’s pulling along I’m not exactly panic-free. “What the hell are you doing?!”

  “Time for payment,” he says, as if it’s a good enough explanation for hauling me down the hall. I’m about to point out that it’s too soon and I haven’t had chance to get his money, when his body crowds mine. I’m backed against the wall. I might be wearing my killer heels but he’s still a good few inches taller than me. I tilt my head back to see his face, an action I regret when his mouth is the first and only feature I focus on.

  “You owe me.” His head dips down and his mouth claims mine. I’m expecting rough and violent, and though his mouth is hard, the kiss is understated and patient, pulling me in when I should be pushing him away. Instantly this feels right. The taste of him, the smell of him, it’s brand new and thrilling, stealing my breath and scattering my senses. His tongue slides against mine, fuelling my need. I forget I didn’t invite his kiss and give him what he wants, because I want it too.

  Needing air, I twist my head to the side, not realising it’s a mistake until his tongue begins to trace my ear and I’m instantly frantic for more. I’m out of control, acting like someone who’s not me, someone who lets a guy she barely knows kiss her as if he’s ten seconds away from fucking her. When Mason draws back I see the heat and desire in his eyes and there’s a red cast to his cheeks. His mouth parts to allow for the slide of his tongue along his bottom lip and I can’t help but wonder if he’s tasting me.

  He releases a sigh and a curse before saying, “Give me your number.” There’s anger in his voice, as if the words were never meant to be spoken, but that’s okay because suddenly I’m angry too. Angry that Mason wanted Nora before he ever wanted me. Angry that my need for him surpasses my need for my ex-boyfriend, Sid, whose face has faded into the ether as need for Mason settles in my belly.

  My anger is bitter and violent, burning like acid. I imagine him saying those exact same words to Nora, and though it pains me to confront this, I don’t flinch from the truth. I am, after all, Frankie Finnegan, the girl who dresses in second-hand clothes. And though I’m blessed to have Ivy in my life, I guess you could say she’s my second-hand mother, so I’m not about to add a second hand lover to the mix.

  Mason watches me, his steady brown gaze exuding a confidence that borders on cocky. I scan his face, his brows, and his hair. His rich brown quiff is an erotic invitation to coil my fingers through its lush strands. He smiles at my semi-torpid state and leans in to kiss me again. This kiss―it’s a tease, a sample of what’s on offer and I barely participate as his mouth glides against mine, damp and warm, a heady enticement towards darker needs. When he eventually draws back, he repeats his demand for my number and though I don’t believe my refusal will hurt him, I offer a deflated smile and a mumbled, “No.”

  He frowns, his eyes scanning my face for clues and coming up empty. Straightening, he creates a few inches of much needed space between our bodies. “Why not?”

  His question is as blunt as his tone. I’d half-expected him to give up, but I guess that’s not his style. There’s something appealing about his tenacity and I know it’s most probably a personality trait, but I like it, aimed as it is at me.

  “Uh, how about the fact that you and Nora almost had sex? Or the fact that you got in a fight with her boyfriend? You think either of them would want me getting involved with you?”

  “I’m not asking them, I’m asking you.”

  He smirks and plays out my fantasy by drawing his thumb along his lower lip and that’s all it takes for me to lose my train of thought. I’m a muddled mess of hormones, searching for words the way a dog chases the fake throw of a tennis ball. His smirk grows broader and suddenly my words and thoughts line up in tidy, meaningful sentences. “Smirk all you like, Mason, but you’re not getting my number. There’s a shitload of second hand things in my life right now, but that doesn’t mean I have to be second best, and that’s exactly what I’d be. We both know it’s Nora you wanted and Nora you couldn’t have!”

  There’s a vast difference between being honest and revealing your inner soul to a virtual stranger. I’m pretty sure I’ve overstepped the mark but it’s done and I refuse to acknowledge the regret that’s sitting heavy on my shoulders.

  “What the fuck?!” Yeah, that scathing sentence right there tells me he thinks I’m bat-shit crazy. I don’t need confirmation from his expression, but I’m a sucker for punishment. I soak up the anger that’s bleeding from his eyes before I try to move around him. He steps to the
side, blocking my path, studying my expression. I glare at him, but he sees something that has him breaking out in a knowing smile. “You’re jealous,” he says.

  His words are so close to the truth, I half expect a round of applause to echo through the corridor. “What?!”

  “That’s what this is about? Because Nora and I had a failed hook-up?”

  That’s it! I don’t want to listen to anymore. “I’m done here, Mason.” I push away from the wall, but he blocks me again, placing a hand on my arm.

  “Are you for real? Because of Nora?”

  I push against his chest. “No, Mason, because of you and Nora!”

  He takes an step backwards and rakes a hand through his quiff. “That’s a crock of shit and you know it! Nothing happened.”

  “I don’t care if it did, or it didn’t. God! I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation!”

  “How about because you want to fuck me!”

  I’m shocked by his words, but not so much that I don’t hear the sniggers from the opposite end of the corridor. I glance beyond Mason, to where Josephine and two of her friends are posing in the space between the gents and ladies. With their heavy make-up, shiny lank hair and orange tans they look like over-inflated sex dolls. A repulsive shudder runs through my torso and I know Josephine notices when I see her eyes narrow and her mouth pinch, but it’s not really me who holds their interest, it’s Mason. All three shoot him coy glances beneath overblown lashes, their giggles irritating and immature. I decide to ignore their laughter, but Mason scowls in their direction before swinging his gaze back to mine.

  “Give me your number,” he asks again. His voice is low, and oh so tempting, doubly so when it’s accompanied by his sexy scowl.

  I think about it. I even imagine writing the digits on his inner wrist, in a space between his tattoos, but it’s not difficult to refuse when I know I’ll only ever be second-best. “Sorry Mason.”

  I turn away and make my way back down the hall, ignoring the hostile glares of Josephine and her freaky friends. I also ignore Mason when he yells after me. “We’re not finished, Frankie!”

  I hear him cursing, but it’s swiftly drowned out by the noise from the bar. I return to Kayla and Ella. They’ve been joined by a couple of guys I don’t recognise. From Ella’s expression and body language it’s clear to see she’s not interested. Why would she when she and Cooper are so happy? It’s difficult being around them, they’re that damn connected. Nora and Carred might be intense, but at least they’re aware when I’m around. Carred will take time out to have a conversation and include me in whatever they’re doing. But Cooper, he’s friendly enough and I like him just fine, but sometimes I feel he’s only showing an interest because I’m Ella’s friend.

  “What’s going on?” Ella’s question throws me. Lost in my thoughts, I’m unaware she’s been watching me, but I see now that her wide brown eyes are searching my expression. Her gaze shifts to a point beyond my left shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she trails someone to the door. When a blast of cool air whips around the bar, bringing the ambient temperature down by several chilling degrees, I know that Mason has left.

  Ella says, “He’s gone,” as if she’s a damned psychic. I don’t insult her intelligence by pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  “He kissed you,” she says, her voice soft and vaguely triumphant. I choke on my drink, but she simply waves a dismissive hand and rolls her eyes. “Don’t pull that distraction shit on me, Frankie Finnegan! There’s nothing wrong with my senses!” She gestures towards me with an elegant flick of her finger. “Your mouth is swollen and I caught a hint of aftershave when you sat down.”

  “Jesus, Ella, are you turning into Sherlock Holmes or something?”

  Her eyes shine with triumph. “Am I right, or am I right?”

  “Yes!” I hiss, not making eye contact because she’s beginning to piss me off.

  “What was that? Did you say yes?”

  I can’t refrain from laughing at her ridiculous need to gloat and now it’s my turn to perform an eye roll. “Yes, damn it.”

  Humour fades from her eyes, replaced by a solemnity Ella rarely exhibits. “Be careful,” she warns, not minding her words because Kayla’s attention is still fixed on the guys. “Carred’s not his biggest fan.”

  I don’t need to be reminded, seeing as I was watching from the kitchen window when their fight broke out. I saw the blows they traded, the lesions and bruises that marked their skin. It was me who wiped Mason’s face clean of blood, me who washed his split knuckles. What was it he said at the bar? “Don’t I know you?”―as though I was a vague memory, a shadow unnoticed in the blaze of Nora’s sun. I shake off my melancholy and give Ella my best smile. “I’m not about to start something with Mason.”

  ♥ TWO ♥

  Three Kisses

  Frankie

  I draw back the navy blue curtain of the changing cubicle and enter the communal space. Kayla is already there, turning her body at various angles in front of the mirror. She holds her long brown hair bunched up against her head so that she can see the plunging back of her red dress. “What do you think?” she asks my reflection.

  “Are you kidding me?” My voice overflowing with scorn. She looks amazing. She’s tall, maybe five eight, with long legs and generous curves. Her skin is olive toned and her hair has a natural gloss that I once tried to emulate by taking a pair of straighteners to my curls. The resultant damage took a bucket-load of conditioner to rectify.

  She checks out my reflection and does a mini happy dance on the spot. “My god, Frankie, you look gorgeous!”

  I smile, because she’s not wrong. I can’t deny the dress looks freaking great! It’s made from thin, slightly faded denim, with gathers around the drop-waist. It stops mid thigh and looks a size too big, but that’s how it’s meant to look. It shows off my petite frame and slim limbs and I look like a naughty, sexy imp. I don’t have Kayla’s natural, sexy vampiness, but I do have my own, somewhat eclectic, style and it works for me. Plus, the dress I’m wearing is half the price of Kayla’s kick-ass red dress, which is vital seeing as I have a tiny budget.

  Once we’ve changed back into our own clothes and made our purchases we head deeper into the mall, searching for a cheap diner. Kayla takes a call from her boyfriend, Jono, and I wonder whether that’s his surname or a nickname. Whatever he’s saying, it’s not going down well with Kayla. Her voice grows loud and heated, her tone snarky.

  I tune out of her side of the conversation and instead admire the beautifully shaped arse of the guy in front and I can’t help doing an internal sigh because walking by his side is a young boy who’s gazing up at him with admiration. If I had to guess, I’d say the boy is around six or seven years old. He’s dressed in trendy jeans and trainers and a fleece-lined bodywarmer that looks ultra cute. Man and boy turn off into a burger joint and I stumble when I notice the man’s quiff and his neck tattoos.

  Grabbing Kayla’s arm I pull her towards a nearby pillar. She’s so engrossed in her argument with Jono that she barely registers our detour. I peer round the fake Greek column like a comedic spy and watch through the gaps in passing pedestrians as Mason purchases food and drinks. They sit in primary-coloured seats close to the window and I’m able to observe as they talk between bites of food and sips of drink.

  It’s easy to see they have an easy rapport, a familiarity that normally comes with family. Shit, is Mason a dad? I study the boy’s hair and profile, but in the end it’s his mannerisms that convince me they’re father and son. The way he cocks his head to the side is pure Mason. Shocked by my discovery, I hustle Kayla away. She shoots me a bewildered look and continues her subdued but urgent conversation with the undoubtedly stoned Jono. Meanwhile, my mind has ‘Mason is a dad’ on repeat play, until it’s stalled by Kayla complaining about Jono. This is a first, and I’m glad she’s finally coming to see him as the loser he surely is. We find a booth in a diner two floors above Mason’s and I let Ka
yla continue her rant while I order lunch. I know her well enough to know she’ll have the Cajun chicken with a side of fries and a diet cola.

  “Seriously, Frankie, if he thinks I’m spending another Saturday night at home, he can go take a running jump. Do you know how many times I’ve been out since I met him?”

  Kayla’s on a roll and I don’t get a chance to answer.

  “Five. Five bloody Saturday nights in seven months of dating! Then he has the gall to moan because I went out with you two weeks ago. Two stinking weeks ago! Jeez, you know the scariest thing? My mum has a better social life than I do. Shit, even your gran has a better social life!”

  I laugh and cola escapes my mouth. Kayla squawks and my laughter keeps on rolling, drawing the attention of several diners. Ivy says I have a contagious laugh and I guess that’s reflected by the diners’ smiles. I wipe the cola from my chin with a cheap serviette before asking Kayla if she’s going to ditch Jono.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I mean he’s cute and funny, and when he’s not totally stoned he’s great in bed, but I guess there’s more to life ...”

  “What about those guys in the bar the other week?”

  “Not my type.”

  “You have a type? What stoners? Druggies?” I’m teasing, but we both know there’s an underlying seriousness to my question.

  “No! I like guys who are chilled, you know? I can’t be dealing with strung-out, ambitious types who get stressed over miniscule things.”

  “You do know Jono is only chilled because he smokes skunk, right? Christ, who knows what he’d be like in a drug-free state.”

  Kayla gazes into the distance and nods. “You’re right. I should finish with him. I know this, but still ... I kind of like him.”

  I roll my eyes, smiling at her wistful tone and soppy, big brown eyes. Swirling my curly fries into the mini-mountain of ketchup that’s sitting on the edge of my white plate, I wait a beat before casually saying, “Changing the subject, have you thought about where you want to go tonight?”