Reckless

BOOK TWO

Mason

There were three kinds of people at parties like this.

The ones who came because they wanted to be seen, the ones who came because they wanted to forget themselves for a few hours, and the ones who were already so fucked up by the time they walked through the door that nobody bothered asking why they’d come at all.

I’d gotten pretty good at telling the difference.

Maybe that was what happened after years of being friends with Noah Hale.

I could look across a crowded room and tell when somebody was drunk versus high. I knew when a guy was getting loud because he was having fun and when he was getting loud because somebody needed to get him the fuck out before he threw a punch. I knew the particular glassy-eyed stare that meant somebody had crossed from pleasantly fucked up into keep an eye on them, and I knew exactly how long Noah could stand silently in the corner of a room before silence became considerably more dangerous than yelling.

Tonight, thankfully, Noah wasn’t my problem.

He wasn’t even here.

Which meant I’d spent the first hour of the party drinking without checking my phone every fifteen minutes or wondering whether I’d eventually be driving somebody home while they threatened to jump out of the moving car.

It was almost relaxing.

“Mason.”

I looked away from the kitchen doorway.

Carter stood beside me holding two plastic cups, one extended in my direction.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring over there for, like, five minutes.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

I took the cup from him and smelled it before drinking.

Carter watched me do it. “You know that’s insulting.”

“I watched you make something with Everclear last month.”

“That was one time.”

“You threw up in Noah’s sink.”

“That was unrelated.”

“It was pink.”

“Also unrelated.”

I took a drink. Whiskey and Coke. Heavy on the whiskey, but nothing that was going to kill me.

Probably.

Carter followed my gaze before I could stop him.

Then he went quiet.

That was never good.

“Oh.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You just said oh.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

He drank from his cup with an expression that made me want to knock it out of his hand.

Then he looked across the room again.

At her.

Fuck.

I should’ve known he’d figure it out.

It wasn’t like she was particularly easy to miss.

She’d appeared maybe twenty minutes ago with three other girls, and I’d noticed her before she’d even made it completely through the living room.

That annoyed me.

I wasn’t usually the guy who saw a woman across a room and forgot what the fuck he’d been doing. I liked women. Slept with plenty of them. Had absolutely no moral objection to taking someone home from a party and never speaking to her again if we were both clear about what the night was.

But I didn’t usually stare.

And I was definitely fucking staring.

She was tiny.

That had been the first thing I’d noticed after the hair.

Bleach blonde. Not natural blonde pretending to be lighter. Bleached within an inch of its life, almost platinum under the lights, falling in long loose waves down her back. She couldn’t have been more than five-one, maybe five-two in the boots she was wearing, and there was something almost ridiculous about how much attention such a small person managed to pull toward herself without appearing to try.

Her dress wasn’t helping.

Black. Tiny. Straps thin enough to be mostly decorative. The neckline dropped low over a chest that looked almost unfair on someone built that small, and every time she turned sideways I found myself wondering whether the entire fucking thing was being held together by engineering I didn’t understand.

She was beautiful.

Not cute.

Not pretty in the harmless way people used the word when they meant a woman had nice hair and symmetrical features.

Beautiful.

Big eyes. Full mouth. Small nose. Delicate face that would’ve looked almost sweet if I hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes watching everything attached to it.

Because apparently God had taken one look at that face and decided balance required giving her absolutely no fucking sense.

She’d walked in already drinking something.

Finished it.

Taken a shot with one of the girls she’d come with.

Danced.

Climbed onto the edge of a couch for reasons I still didn’t understand.

Accepted another drink from some guy without asking what was in it.

And about three minutes ago, I’d watched her disappear briefly into the hallway with a brunette, come back rubbing beneath her nose, and immediately steal a cigarette from somebody standing near the open patio doors.

Which was when attraction had developed an irritating side order of concern.

Carter made a thoughtful noise.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re about to.”

“She’s hot.”

I looked at him.

He grinned. “There. I said it.”

“Congratulations.”

“Like, really hot.”

“I’m aware.”

His grin widened.

Fuck.

I drank again.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re twelve.”

“I’m just enjoying this.”

“Enjoy something else.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stare at a girl this long.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You knew exactly who I meant when I said she’s hot.”

“Because you’re looking directly at her.”

“Sure.”

I considered walking away.

Then she laughed.

I couldn’t hear it from where I stood. The music was too loud and there were too many people packed into the house, but I saw her head tip back, blonde hair sliding down her back as the brunette beside her said something.

And there I fucking went again.

Carter laughed under his breath.

“Go talk to her.”

“I don’t need coaching.”

“Apparently you do, because you’ve spent twenty minutes conducting surveillance.”

“I’m drinking.”

“So is she.”

“She’s doing considerably more than drinking.”

Carter looked at her again.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

The blonde had moved farther into the living room. Somebody caught her hand and spun her beneath his arm, and she went easily, laughing as she nearly collided with another couple. She didn’t seem embarrassed. Didn’t even slow down. She steadied herself with one hand against a guy’s chest, said something that made him laugh, then disappeared into the crowd again.

Carter shrugged. “She’s at a party.”

“I know where we are.”

“Then why do you sound like somebody’s dad?”

“I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.”

“Fuck off.”

He laughed and wandered toward the kitchen before I could decide whether I actually wanted to hit him.

I stayed where I was.

Which was stupid.

Because now I was standing alone, making the staring significantly harder to disguise.

I told myself to stop.

There were plenty of women here. A girl I’d hooked up with twice last semester had smiled at me when I came in. Another had spent ten minutes earlier standing close enough that I didn’t need advanced social skills to figure out what she wanted.

I hadn’t been interested.

Apparently I preferred watching a five-foot blonde make progressively worse decisions from thirty feet away.

Fantastic.

I finished my drink.

When I looked again, she was gone.

The disappointment was immediate enough to piss me off.

I pushed away from the wall and headed toward the kitchen, telling myself I needed another drink and absolutely not acknowledging that the kitchen gave me a better view of the back half of the house.

It didn’t matter.

She wasn’t there either.

I poured whiskey over ice and skipped the Coke this time.

“Mase.”

I looked up.

Some guy I vaguely knew from one of Noah’s old circles lifted his chin at me from the other side of the counter. I couldn’t remember his name.

“Where’s Hale?”

“Not here.”

“No shit.”

I stared at him.

He laughed. “How’s he doing?”

“Fine.”

That was the answer I gave people who didn’t need the actual one.

Noah was doing better.

There was a difference.

He was still going to treatment. Still dealing with probation. Still calling me sometimes when his head got bad enough that being alone in it felt dangerous. Abby was still around, which surprised exactly nobody except perhaps Noah and Abby, who’d apparently needed several months of chaos to discover they were disgustingly in love.

But Noah’s shit wasn’t mine to hand out at parties.

The guy nodded like I’d given him more than one word.

“Tell him—”

A small body slammed directly into my side.

Whiskey sloshed over my hand.

“Fuck.”

“Oh my God.”

I looked down.

Bleach blonde.

Of course.

She’d collided with me hard enough that one hand had automatically grabbed my forearm for balance. Up close, she was somehow even smaller than I’d thought. The top of her head barely reached my shoulder, and the boots apparently weren’t doing nearly as much work as I’d assumed.

She looked at the whiskey dripping between my fingers.

Then up at me.

Big blue eyes.

Jesus Christ.

“I’m so sorry.”

Her words were clear.

Mostly.

There was a slight looseness to them that confirmed what I’d already suspected.

I looked past her.

A guy was squeezing through the crowd behind her, laughing.

She pointed at him immediately. “His fault.”

“It was absolutely not my fault,” he called.

“You pushed me.”

“You backed into me.”

“Same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

She turned around enough to give him the finger.

He laughed and disappeared.

Then she looked back at me.

And caught me staring at her.

Her mouth curved.

Interesting.

“You mad?”

“About what?”

“Your drink.”

I glanced at my hand.

“I’ll survive.”

“Good.” She looked down at the cup. “Because I’m not buying you another one.”

“Wasn’t planning on asking.”

“Perfect.”

She started to step around me.

I don’t know why I did it.

“What’s your name?”

She stopped.

Slowly turned back.

Her eyes moved over me in a way that wasn’t even remotely subtle.

My face.

Chest.

Arms.

Lower.

Then back up.

Well.

At least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

“Why?”

“Usually how introductions work.”

“Who said we’re being introduced?”

I almost smiled.

“You ran into me.”

“That’s not an introduction.”

“You spilled my drink.”

“You spilled your drink. I just provided momentum.”

There it was.

Trouble.

Up close, I could see a tiny shimmer of glitter at the inner corners of her eyes. Her lips were glossy. There was a faint flush high on her cheeks, whether from dancing or alcohol or whatever she’d disappeared into that hallway to do.

She smelled good.

Something sweet underneath cigarette smoke.

“What are you drinking?” I asked.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Are you always this nosy?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether somebody nearly takes me out on the way through a kitchen.”

She looked me up and down again.

“I’m pretty sure you’d survive.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

That seemed to please her.

“So?” I asked.

“So what?”

“Your name.”

She leaned one hip against the counter beside me.

“Tatum.”

Tatum.

It fit her somehow.

“Tatum,” I repeated.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why’d you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re deciding whether you like it.”

“Maybe I am.”

“And?”

“I haven’t decided.”

She smiled.

Fuck me.

“What’s yours?”

“Mason.”

She tilted her head.

“Mason.”

“Why’d you say it like that?”

“Deciding whether I like it.”

“And?”

Her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.

“I haven’t decided.”

I laughed.

She reached past me for a bottle on the counter.

I caught it first.

Her eyes lifted to mine.

“What?”

“Is that yours?”

“No.”

“Do you know what’s in it?”

“Vodka.”

“You sure?”

She stared at me for a second.

Then glanced at the bottle.

“Pretty fucking sure.”

“That’s somebody’s water bottle.”

“Filled with vodka.”

“Whose?”

She shrugged.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Then a smile slowly spread across her face.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“The responsible ones.”

I laughed once. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you just interrogated me about vodka.”

“Because you’re about to drink out of a random bottle you found on a counter.”

“It’s a party.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It actually explains almost everything.”

She reached for it again.

I moved it out of reach.

Her mouth fell open.

“You did not just do that.”

“Do what?”

“Take that away from me.”

“You don’t even know whose it is.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s becoming obvious.”

She looked at me for a long second.

Then she stepped closer.

Not much.

She didn’t need to.

Her chest nearly brushed my stomach, and suddenly I was extremely aware of exactly how low the neckline of that dress went.

Her voice dropped.

“Give it back.”

I looked down at her.

“No.”

Her eyes flashed.

Then, unbelievably, she smiled.

Not annoyed.

Interested.

“Oh,” she murmured. “You really are one of those.”

“You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It does.”

“What?”

She reached up, took my whiskey from my other hand, and drank from it before I could stop her.

I stared at her.

She swallowed and made a face.

“Jesus. That’s awful.”

“You just stole it.”

“You stole mine.”

“It wasn’t yours.”

“Technicality.”

She took another sip.

“Thought it was awful.”

“It is.”

“Then stop drinking it.”

“No.”

I should’ve taken the glass away.

Instead, I watched her mouth touch the same spot mine had.

Which was significantly less responsible than the conversation we’d just been having.

She noticed.

Of course she fucking noticed.

Her eyes lifted slowly.

“Something wrong, Mason?”

The way she said my name this time was different.

I knew exactly what she was doing.

And judging by the small, satisfied curve of her mouth, she knew I knew.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

She handed my drink back.

Our fingers touched.

Neither of us moved immediately.

The music changed somewhere behind her. People shouted. Somebody bumped my shoulder hard enough that Tatum shifted closer, and my free hand automatically settled at her waist.

Tiny.

Jesus.

My palm nearly spanned it.

Her eyes flicked down to my hand.

Then back to me.

She didn’t move away.

“Still worried about what I’m drinking?”

“Yes.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Why?”

“Because I was starting to think you were fun.”

I leaned down slightly.

“I’m plenty of fun.”

Her gaze dropped to my mouth again.

“Prove it.”

There were moments when a man could make a good decision.

This was probably one of them.

I knew she’d been drinking. I suspected she’d done something else earlier. I didn’t know how much of either, and despite what Carter thought, I wasn’t interested in taking home somebody who couldn’t make a clear decision.

So I didn’t kiss her.

I wanted to.

Fuck, I wanted to.

Instead I moved my mouth close enough to her ear that she could hear me without shouting.

“Ask me again when you’re sober enough that I don’t have to wonder whether you mean it.”

She pulled back.

For the first time since she’d crashed into me, Tatum looked genuinely surprised.

Then annoyed.

“I’m not wasted.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“You just implied it.”

“I said I don’t know you well enough to know.”

She stared at me.

“You’re irritating.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Frequently?”

“Starting to feel like it.”

Her eyes searched mine.

Then she stepped out from beneath my hand.

I expected her to leave.

Instead she reached into the tiny bag hanging from her shoulder, pulled out her phone and held it toward me.

“Fine.”

I looked at it.

“What?”

“Put your number in.”

“Why?”

“Because apparently I have to pass a sobriety test before you’ll kiss me.”

A laugh escaped me.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Close enough.”

“And you’re planning to call me when you’re sober?”

“I’m planning to text you in an hour.”

“That isn’t how sobriety works.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Tomorrow, then.”

I took her phone.

Typed my number.

Handed it back.

She looked down at the screen.

Then up at me.

“Don’t leave.”

“Thought I was irritating.”

“You are.”

“And?”

Tatum smiled.

“And you’re hot.”

There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment in it.

No coy little look away.

She simply said it because she thought it.

Something low in my stomach tightened.

“Good to know.”

“I figured you already knew.”

“I had suspicions.”

“Arrogant too.”

“You’re the one who asked for my number.”

“Because I want to sleep with you.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

She said it as casually as she’d told me her name.

I looked at her for a second.

Tatum lifted one shoulder.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Staring at me like you’re trying to figure me out.”

“I’ve known you for five minutes.”

“Exactly. Stop working so hard.”

She backed away.

One step.

Then another.

I watched her.

Of course I did.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“We’ll see.”

“No.” Her smile turned wicked. “We won’t.”

Then she disappeared back into the party.

I stood there holding a bottle of vodka that wasn’t hers and a whiskey she’d stolen half of, watching bleach-blonde hair vanish into a crowd of bodies.

I should’ve gone back to Carter.

Should’ve found somebody else.

Should’ve forgotten about her.

Instead, ten minutes later, I saw Tatum dancing on the other side of the living room with her hands above her head and some guy behind her.

Twenty minutes after that, she was sitting on the kitchen counter laughing with her friends.

Half an hour later, I watched her refuse something somebody offered her.

That made me feel better.

Which was fucking ridiculous.

Then she accepted something different from someone else.

That made me feel worse.

Even more ridiculous.

At some point Carter appeared beside me again.

He followed my eyes.

“Still conducting surveillance?”

“Shut up.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

He looked at me.

Then at Tatum.

Then back at me.

“Nothing looks a lot like you’re about to murder the guy touching her.”

I hadn’t noticed the guy’s hand on her thigh until Carter said it.

Now I couldn’t stop noticing.

“I’m not.”

“Great.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I drank the rest of my whiskey.

Tatum looked across the room.

Right at me.

The guy beside her was saying something near her ear.

She wasn’t listening anymore.

Neither was I.

Her eyes stayed on mine.

Then she smiled.

Slowly.

Like she’d known exactly where I was the whole time.

Fuck.

I had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a problem.