“Yeah.” Her voice comes out quiet and swift. She tugs at my shorts, her nails scrapping across my skin. “Mason?”

“Mm?”

She looks up. I recognize the shift in her eyes. Desire.

With her small, very capable hands, she glides up my arms, slowly, squeezing my muscles and wrapping her grip around my neck. Our bodies press together.

She doesn’t mind my appearance?

“You’re all sweaty and sweet. Just like last night,” she whispers, standing on her toes to kiss me, crushing her perfect tits to my chest.

Jesus.

“Do you really think I can do this?”

I moan when she rubs her hip against my slowly hardening length. My hands rest on her waist. “Are we still talking about cakes?”

“Yes.” She smiles against my mouth. “What else would we be talking about?”

“You’re touching my cock. I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.”

Laughing, she twists and brushes against me again.

“Baby,” I moan. “I need to go.”

“And I need to come.”

Ah, fuck.

I groan and suck on her tongue a little, touching her arse, feeling my reserve and all responsibility for the business I own fading to nothing.

Maybe I can make this quick? Maybe my attendees will understand my weakness for this woman and wait me out?

Maybe I don’t need to make this quick?

With a soft moan, Brooke pulls away so it’s only her hands on my hips and nothing else. She looks up, a softness pooling in her eyes.

“Thank you for coming over and talking to me. I’m sorry I worried you with my text. I wasn’t thinking.”

Christ, that text. I nearly got run over by a delivery truck sprinting over here like I did.

I frown. “It’s fine.”

“I’m with you.” She touches my face.

My breath catches in my chest. Brooke. I lean into her hand, my throat tightening as I try to swallow. “Yeah.”

“I’m with you, Mason,” she slowly repeats, her lip trembling, tears brimming her eyes again, but her voice so fucking sure it shatters any wall or shield she ever put up between us. Obliterating every hesitation and uncertainty. Every whispering doubt in my ear.

Gone. She’s mine, and I am so fucking hers I don’t remember the person I was before this.

“Baby.” I crush her against me, kissing her, giving her my racing heart and my urgent touch and every breath I will ever take. “With you,” I tell her.

She nods and breaks away to kiss my jaw and my cheek, pressing her lips all over my face.

We embrace each other, just holding, until our bodies steady and the pressing urge to touch and kiss and fuck lessens to a sufferable longing.

“Okay,” Brooke whispers against my mouth. “Go, before you lose half your class.”

“I don’t care.”

“Mason,” she laughs, kissing me hard and then with a firm hand, pushing against my shoulder, shoving me in the direction of the door. She gives me an incredulous look.

I don’t care . . . fuck, that’s a bit mad. A truth, nonetheless.

This is Brooke. My Brooke. She’s finally mine and she’s with me.

She’s with me.

I stop at the door. “Say it again.”

Lifting her head from the attention she’s giving the paper on the counter, a contented look shadows her face. Her hazel eyes appearing brighter now. Bigger, as she looks me straight on, standing taller, holding my gaze with that swelling confidence I’m used to seeing on her.

“I’m with you.”

Her sweet voice lifts in the air, her words soaking into me, saturating my heart, my bones, and somehow going deeper than that. I feel them absorbing into my blood and taking on the life of my pulse, beating . . .

I’m with you.

Beating . . .

I’m with you.

BROOKE

I’m excited for tonight. More than excited, actually. And not a bit nervous.

Wait . . . I’m not nervous at all?

I hold my hands out in front of me, turning them over in the air, watching for any signs of panic.

They’re steady. No tremble to my fingers. Not even a slight twitch.

Huh. Look at that.

I press two fingers to the inside of my wrist. My pulse is stable, and my stomach doesn’t feel like I just stepped off the world’s scariest rollercoaster.

I’m not sweating.

I’m not pacing my bedroom or annihilating every sweet in this condo.

I’m not trying to talk my way out of tonight, or making up an excuse as to why I can’t make it.

This is a big deal. A huge deal, and the only reason why I’m anxious is because I’m ready for it to happen.

I’m ready. So fucking ready.

Bringing Mason with me to dinner at Juls and Ian’s house, officially stepping out with him as a couple, introducing him as my boyfriend. Any one of these would usually send me into a fit where I’d be locking myself in my room and blowing everyone off, refusing to answer my phone or faking an illness. I normally don’t do stuff like this. I never do stuff like this.

But something is different. I’m different.

Maybe it’s seeing the look on Mason’s face when I tell him he’s not alone in his feelings. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s become more than just a man I’m interested in. He’s a man I want to be with all the time, doing everything with, including breakfast dates and dinners at my sister’s house. Camping and late night drives through the city.

Or maybe it’s just him. No one else could’ve gotten me here. I’m sure of it.

Mason went from being a guy I wanted to fuck, to a man I wanted to know, to the only person I care to be around.

The only person . . .

I sure as hell didn’t see this coming, but I want it, and I’m not nervous.

I’m ready.

As I’m tying my navy cinch dress and securing the loose bow at my hip, my phone rings from on top of my dresser. I run my fingers through my loose curls before hitting the speaker phone button.

“Hey. I’m just finishing up getting ready. Mason should be here any minute.”

Picking up my gloss, I apply a thin coat of the shimmery peach shade and press my lips together as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

“Change of plans. I think Jake has chicken pox,” Juls says.

“What?” I look down at the phone. “Are you sure? How did he get it?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Playground, I guess. Ian was giving him a bath and saw the blisters on his stomach. My poor guy.”

Poor Jake is right.

“Well, shit. That sucks.” I toss the tube of gloss into my makeup case and carry the phone over to the bed. I plop down on the mattress. “You know Izzy will probably get it now.”

“I know. I’m almost hoping she does, that way I can just get them both out of the way at the same time. God, does that make me a horrible mother? Wishing a miserable infection on my child? Ian thinks I’m crazy.”

Juls, a horrible mother? Please. She kills it. She’s that mom other mom’s hate because she’s so fucking good at life.

She’s organized. Her kids are perfectly behaved and always look like they hopped out of a Children’s Place catalog. She still looks like a pin-up girl after two babies, and she rocks heels every day.