Crashed: Mason Brothers, Book 2 Read online

  “Okay, then,” she said. “I guess I’ll try the herbs.”

  Eight

  Tessa

  * * *

  It was hot. The worst heat wave in Michigan in ten years—the Internet said so—and the air conditioning in my grandmother’s house was broken. I had found a small, 1980’s-era oscillating fan in the basement, and I’d plugged it in next to the bed, but the whisper of air it gave off wasn’t doing much to cool me off, even at nearly midnight.

  Yet another night without sleep. I might become delirious.

  I lay on top of my grandmother’s bedspread, wearing only a tank top and a pair of panties, staring miserably at the ceiling and sweating. I had a busy day tomorrow: an interview at one of the bars I’d applied at and, incredibly, a modeling casting call. I’d found an ad for an open call for a catalog. I wasn’t used to open calls anymore, but without an agent I had no choice but to try it. I needed to do what I did best: show up, wear underwear, and smile.

  But without any sleep, I’d look terrible. I sighed and flopped over on the bed, trying to get closer to the fan.

  Next to my pillow, my cell phone rang. It was Andrew Mason.

  “Hello?” I said in surprise as I answered it.

  “Your light is on,” Andrew said. “Why is your light on?”

  That voice. It instantly calmed my nerves and gave me that familiar shiver at the same time. “I can’t sleep,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  I rolled onto my back again. “It’s hot,” I panted.

  He was quiet for so long I wondered if he’d hung up.

  “Andrew?” I said.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

  I realized what I’d said and how I’d said it. “Sorry. Did that sound sexual?”

  “It’s fine,” Andrew said. “Totally fine. Is your air conditioning broken?”

  “Yes. I called four different companies, but this is the worst heat wave in a decade and they’re all booked solid. The earliest I could get someone to fix it is next week.”

  “That sucks. Do you have a fan?”

  “Yes. It does nothing. I might not live until next week, in which case you’ll be rid of me. Why are you awake so late?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t sleep.”

  For the first time, I realized we weren’t arguing, bantering, or—whatever it was we had done before. We were just talking, his voice low in my ear. I felt some of my nerves relax. “Are you in bed?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. Where else would I be?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a stupid question, I guess. I’m just curious about you. Your life.”

  “It isn’t very interesting,” Andrew said. “Ask me anything you want to know.”

  “Anything?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Are you in pain?”

  He paused, as if the question was something he didn’t usually think about. “Not really. Not like you think. The muscles in my back and my hips can get knotted. The injury itself doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “Not after the first two years.”

  Two years? He’d had two years of pain? “Okay. Are you in your wheelchair all the time?”

  “When I want to get around, so usually yes. Otherwise I’m on my couch or in bed. Or in the shower.”

  “And your legs don’t work at all? There’s nothing the doctors can do?”

  He surprised me again with his honesty. “I have sensation to mid-thigh, then nothing. My hips move but not my knees or my ankles. They can’t do anything about it now, but by the time I’m old they’ll probably be able to do amazing shit. Make a spine in a 3D printer or connect the nerves with nanobots or something. Some guy a hundred years from now is going to think I lived in the Dark Ages.”

  “That’s an optimistic view.”

  “I’m the least optimistic guy you’ve ever seen.”

  I smiled at my ceiling. “I want to meet you. Can I come over?”

  “You really don’t, and no. It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I’ll be quiet.”

  “No. Now it’s time for you to answer personal questions,” Andrew said. “Why are you in Michigan and not L.A.?”

  So I told him. I told him about my hippie parents, my grandmother, my life. I told him how I’d ended up in L.A. modeling, but when I inherited this house I’d packed my bags and left.

  “Sounds like you didn’t like it much,” he said when I finished.

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “I left home at seventeen. I just needed to be gone. I was used to being on my own, anyway. L.A. and modelling seemed like it would be glamorous and fun. Instead I lived in dives and dated jerks and went on soul-crushing auditions. I didn’t tell myself I didn’t like it. Yet when I got the opportunity to leave, I did.”

  “Michigan, though,” Andrew said. “Seriously. Michigan.”

  I laughed. “It isn’t so bad. The neighbors are nice, when their kids aren’t being little shits on Halloween.”

  “Yeah, about that. Can I confess something?”

  “I might regret this, but yes.”

  He paused. “The Hi cake was fucking delicious.”

  I laughed again, louder this time. “I knew you liked my cake. I knew it!”

  “Okay, fine,” he said. “You’ve said hi. So hi.”

  I grinned to myself. I had that giddy feeling you get when you’re talking to a gorgeous, smart, amazing single guy, and he’s said hi. The best feeling, really.

  He’s in a wheelchair, Tessa.

  It should matter. It really should. I should back off.

  Instead, I said, “Hi, Andrew. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Now go to sleep.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. I have an audition tomorrow and I need to look fresh.”

  “A bra audition? That’s a thing?”

  “Yes. So I need my beauty sleep.”

  “Turn your light out or I’ll worry.”

  I reached over and switched off my lamp. “Better?”

  “Better. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  We hung up and I lay in the darkness, sweating. And I pictured Andrew Mason in bed.

  I didn’t mind that picture at all.

  Nine

  Andrew

  * * *

  Tessa didn’t get her beauty sleep.

  I didn’t get much either, but I got a little. Enough for me. I was up early the next morning, drinking my coffee as the sun rose high and started baking the street outside. I turned on the monitor showing the house across the street just as Tessa came out her front door.

  She had on a loose, flowing top, practically a piece of cotton. Peeking from the wide neck I could see the straps of a bikini tied at the back of her neck. She wore shorts and flip-flops, no makeup, her hair messy. She walked slowly out of her front door, opened her car, fished in the front seat for something. Then she walked back to her door.

  She looked fucking exhausted. Even on the monitor I could see it, the way her walk didn’t have any bounce to it. She ran a hand through her hair in a tired gesture and disappeared back into the house.

  I picked up my phone. Hesitated.

  This is a bad idea.

  It was creepy, for one thing. It was weird enough that I’d called her last night when I’d seen her light on—I shouldn’t even have been looking. Now I was looking again.

  But that wasn’t the only reason. It was just a bad idea. Very, very bad.

  This isn’t going to work out.

  She isn’t interested in you, even as a friend. No one is.

  You’re going to get hurt.

  I held the phone in my hand and I closed my eyes.

  Do it.

  Don’t do it.

  Try something. Do it.

  No. Don’t.

  Jesus, everything was so fucking hard.

  Tessa had been friendly to me. Even when I was a dick to her, she’d been friendly. Maybe I c
ould be friendly in return for once in my life. Just… nice. Like a normal person.

  You’re not a normal person.

  “No, but I can pretend to be one,” I said out loud, my voice a rasp in the quiet. Then I took a breath and dialed her number.

  She answered, her voice flat. “Hey, Andrew.”

  “Did you get any sleep?” I asked her, as if I didn’t know.

  Tessa sighed. “No. The heat is so awful and they say it isn’t going to break soon. It’s hitting me today, you know? The air conditioner has been broken since I got here, and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep.”

  She’d moved in what, a week ago? No wonder she was so tired. “What time is your audition?” I asked her.

  “Four. Then I have an interview for a bartending job at six.”

  I glanced at the clock. “It’s only eight right now.”

  “I know. It’s early, but I wasn’t sleeping so I thought I might as well get up, and—”

  “If you come here, you can get a few hours before you have to go to your audition.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  I closed my eyes. Nice job, fuckface. Here it comes.

  Then Tessa’s voice came over the line. “Really? You’d let me do that?”

  She sounded like she was about to cry. “I think lack of sleep has made you emotional, but yes. My air conditioning works fine.”

  “You have a spare bedroom?”

  “No. I have one bedroom, but since it’s morning I’m not using it right now. I have light-blocking shades and it’s cool. I don’t have anyone coming today so it’ll be quiet. I’ll just be working at my computer. You could probably get six, seven hours. It makes no difference to me.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Please, please don’t change your mind. Give me ten minutes. I’ll be right there.”

  “Tessa?”

  She hung up.

  Ten minutes later she appeared on my front door security camera, a bag over her shoulder. She was waving, tired but excited. I took another breath and pressed the code to let her in.

  I heard the front door open and close, and her flip-flops coming down the short hall. Then she came into the living room. In the flesh. Wearing the bikini top, the loose shirt, the shorts. Her legs were slim and perfect. Her bobbed hair was a spiky, sweaty mess. She had no makeup on, and she’d left off the giant sunglasses. Her eyes were soft blue, her lashes dark. Her cheeks were flushed with heat and exhaustion. She was so fucking gorgeous I could hardly breathe.

  We stared at each other in silence for a minute. I realized she was looking at me the same way I was looking at her—up and down, taking in every detail. Then she smiled—a real smile, one with actual happiness in it.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” I replied.

  Her gaze wandered the room. This used to be a living room once, but I’d transformed it. On one side was my sofa and chair, but on the other I’d put in my workstation, including a small bank of monitors, my drawing tablet and pen, and two keyboards. The whole thing looked high-tech, and her eyes widened a little. Then she looked back at me, sitting in my chair. I was wearing black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt and I hadn’t shaved this morning, though I had showered. I had socks on my feet. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me.

  She put her bag down. “I could kiss you,” she said.

  “No,” I said.

  She sighed. “Can I at least thank you?”

  “In a non-physical way, I suppose.” I gestured to myself. “I realize this is spectacular and hard to resist, but I ask that you try.”

  Her eyes widened. “It is spectacular,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if she was playing along with the joke or not. She lowered herself and sat on the sofa. “It’s nice in here. I like it.”

  “It’s a man cave, and you don’t have to be sociable. You can just go to sleep if you want.”

  “It is sort of a man cave.” She looked around and sniffed a little, as if she could smell testosterone. “I’ve spent the last week in my grandma’s old-lady cave, though, so I find it refreshing.”

  “Fair enough. Does she have poufy curtains?”

  “Yes, flowered. And a china cabinet with china she never used.”

  “I feel for you, then. Enjoy my tech gadgets and dirty socks.”

  I didn’t have dirty socks, actually. I did my laundry, and I had cleaners who regularly cleaned my house. But still.

  Tessa pointed at my workstation. “What do you do there?”

  I ticked off on my fingers. “Code things. Draw comics. Hack websites when I’m bored. Monitor my security system. Watch porn.”

  She politely raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Sounds lovely.”

  “It is.”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet my dream man.”

  “Of course you have. I’ll consider it, but you’ll have to compete with the other women.”

  She looked around pointedly. “What other women?”

  “If I told you, the competition wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

  She grinned at me. A goofy grin, like she was giddy. “Right.”

  I let her stare at me for another minute, punchy with exhaustion, and then I raised my eyebrows. “Well? Are you going to go sleep in my bedroom or not?”

  Tessa closed her eyes. “I might just nap on this sofa, I’m so tired.”

  “Please don’t.” I couldn’t watch her sleep, those long legs and that bikini top. “Go in the bedroom and close the door so I don’t hear you snore.”

  “But I feel rude. I’ve barely even said hello.”

  “We’ve talked plenty, and I told you not to be sociable. I sure as hell am not.” I paused, then said more sincerely, “Tessa, go sleep. We can talk when you wake up. The bedroom is down the hall.”

  She rubbed her face. “Okay.” She stood up and left the room. I heard my bedroom door close softly behind her.

  She was probably asleep in minutes. She had no idea I sat there for a long while after she left, smelling the remains of her scent in the air. Thinking about her in my bed. And wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

  Ten

  Tessa

  * * *

  Andrew Mason may be an asshole, but his bed was heaven.

  It was big, and cool, and perfectly soft. The sheets were dark gray, the manliest possible color except for black. As promised, there were blackout shades on the windows, which I gleefully used to block out the burning hot day outside. Then I tossed off my flip-flops and got in bed.

  It smelled good. Clean. A little masculine, but not gross. I pictured Andrew getting in and out of this bed. How exactly did he do it? There were no handle bars on the walls. Nothing that indicated someone whose legs were paralyzed lived here.

  Did he sleep naked?

  Did he sleep alone?

  A guy in a wheelchair could get dates, especially if he looked like that. Dark hair, trim dark beard, incredible cheekbones. Eyes that had a gleam of relentless intelligence and missed nothing. Tightly muscled chest. Standing in front of him, in person for the first time, I’d felt like his gaze stripped me naked in the very best way.

  His shoulders were hot, too, as were his arms in his T-shirt. I had a weakness for nice biceps.

  For the first time, I let myself wonder if his injury had affected his ability to have sex.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that—as if he were a piece of meat. He was my neighbor, and he had a life that was much harder than mine. He was doing me a favor. Aside from his looks—and his prickly personality—I actually liked him. He was funny and smart and fascinating. I was lonely here in Michigan. Okay, to be honest, I’d been lonely in L.A., too. All my life, really. It felt good that I’d found someone I could be friends with.

  “Friends,” I mumbled to myself, snuggling into the pillow that smelled like him. “Definitely friends.” And then I tumbled into nothingness.

  I woke to cool darkness. I was groggy and completely rela
xed. I hadn’t slept so well since leaving L.A. Since before that, in fact—my last apartment in L.A. was hot and the walls were paper-thin.

  I rolled over and blinked sleepily. Then I remembered my audition.

  I bolted out of bed and opened the bedroom door, stepping out into the hallway, sweat breaking on my skin. Where the hell was I, and what time was it?

  “Relax,” said a familiar voice. “You’re not late.”

  I turned. At the end of the short hallway was the living room, where Andrew was sitting at his work station. He was quietly bent over his graphics tablet, pen in hand, his features still with concentration. His profile was to me, and I stared at him for a second as I got my bearings.

  Andrew paused what he was doing and turned his head, looking at me. His eyebrows went up. “You okay?”

  “What time is it?” I asked, my voice a rasp.

  “Two-thirty.”

  I blinked, doing the math. “I’ve been asleep for six hours?”

  “I guess you were tired.”

  Jesus. It had felt like ten minutes, tops. I touched my hair, which I could feel was standing on end. My clothes were askew and I probably had red pillow-marks on my face. “Uh,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “I guess I’ll clean up.”

  “Bathroom is to your right,” Andrew said.

  In the bathroom mirror, I was a disaster. I was sweaty and wild-eyed, a warmed-over cadaver. I patted my hair ineffectually, then remembered I was going to a casting call. In which I was supposed to look good.

  There was a brief knock on the door. “You want your bag?” Andrew asked, as if reading my mind. “You can take a shower if you want.”

  I opened the door to find him just outside, holding my bag out to me. “You’re being awfully nice to me,” I said, taking it.

  “The sooner you shower, the sooner you leave,” he said logically. “Also, in return for my hospitality, you can make me a sandwich when you’re done.”

  “I never agreed to that,” I said.

  “You will. I’m just thinking of a way to word it.”

  I closed the door in his face.