Free Misunderstanding Mason by Claire Ashgrove Page B

sucked down a groan, and hurriedly looked away. “Will
you be at the Gamesquare launch tonight? We could discuss this there.”
    “Oh. You’re
going?” Surprise laced through his voice.
    “Yeah. I’m
attending with Mason.”
    Another
chuckle uncomfortably prickled her skin. “That’s right. He mentioned you did
some work on the graphical interface. Sure, we can talk about it tonight. I’ve
already run some preliminary ideas and think it’s possible we could have this
turned around in half the time you’ve currently projected. I’ll give you some
insight on my thoughts before the dinner.”
    Half the
time? Kirstin’s gaze pulled to the window once more. In four days, she could be
in an apartment across town, free from the heartache of loving Mason.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    When eleven
o’clock rolled around and Kirstin hadn’t returned his phone call, Mason stopped
pretending to read the paper and went back inside to try again. 10:00 a.m. on
the nose was entirely too early for her to have had time to consume the
requisite two cups of coffee and down something quick to eat, to approach the
conversation anyway. Besides, he needed a little time to get his head around
the direction that would work best. By now, she’d be up, fully functional. If
she refused to come over and talk, he’d show up on Sam’s patio knock until she
caved.
    As he reached
for the cordless on the kitchen wall, he glanced out the patio door and drew
back in surprise. Dressed like she intended on a run, she descended the
Roberts’ deck stairs at a jog. But instead of turning right and cutting through
the lawns to the lake, she started across the grass, on a direct trajectory
toward their patio. Nerves skittered around in his gut. Damn, he’d been so
convinced he could do this. Now, with the conversation imminent, his throat
went dry.
    Time passed
in nightmarishly slow motion. He watched the door, eyed her shadow as it
elongated on the pavestones. Then she was at the glass, her gaze locking on
him, one petite hand lifted to knock.
    He beckoned
her inside.
    Kirstin
slipped in with a hesitant smile. “Morning, Mason.”
    “Morning,
babe.” The endearment popped out before he could stop it. He cringed
inwardly—not a good way to break the ice. The last thing he wanted to do was
set her on edge before he ever got to the important matters.
    Mason nodded
at her tank top and entirely too-short cotton shorts. “Headed ’round the lake?”
    “I thought I
might.” She dropped a hip onto the arm of his orange plaid chair. “I needed to
talk to you first.”
    The fist
around his innards clamped down tight, but Mason exhaled slowly and
deliberately. No matter how impossible, how uncomfortable the confrontation
might be, he determined to overcome his nerves. He couldn’t afford to shut down
now.
    He rounded
the countertop and took a seat on the edge of the oversized chair facing her.
Hands clasped loosely between his knees, he met her jittery gaze. “I want to
talk to you too. Last night—”
    Kirstin
begged him off with a lift of her hand. “I can’t talk about last night right
now.”
    “Then when?”
The demanding overtone to his question surprised him.
    She gave him
a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Mason. We’ve talked about it. We don’t get
anywhere. I feel like I’m going in circles.”
    Talked about
what? Confusion pulled his brow into a tight frown. “Like hell we have. If we had, I
might understand why you aren’t here, in this house, with me, where you’re
supposed to be.”
    Pain flashed
behind Kirstin’s grass-green eyes. She lowered her face, her long black hair
hiding whatever other reaction she might have had. Mason’s gut rolled over. He
didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to turn this into an argument. But he
needed to know what she wanted from him, what she was so damnably convinced he
couldn’t give. And he needed her to realize just what sort of bitch Lisa