Page 94 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I don’t care how many drinks Mason has in him; he’ll never have enough to be a bad dancer.

We slow dance together as everyone else in the room grabs their partners and fills the space.

Mason places a hand around my waist, high enough to still be respectful, while I rest my head on his shoulder, swaying to the music.

The lyrics start to pull at me, and I hate the way they make me feel. I hate that they make me think about Tyler, about how I used to wear nothing but a smile around him, and now all I wear is a confused, sad, and pretty damn desperate expression wherever he’s concerned.

Do all relationships slowly burn out and die like this? Did we even ever have enough fire to begin with to keep us going? Has it all been my own painted-on delusion this entire time? Or does he still love me? Am I still enough for him—

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when I look up to see Mason watching me, looking down at me with a sad smile.

“Blue ain’t your color, Simone.”

He says it so quietly, so easily, like he sees through it all…like he sees through me…like he just sees…me.

How can he know me? Really know me?

We’ve only known each other for all of four months, yet I feel as close to him and as seen by him as I do with Lydia—someone who has been through it all with me.

I don’t understand how that connection is even possible.

I don’t have much time to think about it before someone rudely bumps into Mason—hard. He stumbles forward and grabs my waist with both hands to steady himself.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going,” Mason snaps over his shoulder; the words are slurred but still as sharp as a knife.

I turn and see the guy who bumped him—broad shoulders, Kappa House pin on his suit jacket, someone I definitely recognize from the football team…one of Mason’s teammates.

The guy smirks. “Relax, Sinclair. Didn’t see you there…with your pretty date.” He looks me up and down, and it makes my skin crawl. “Think I could have a turn with her later? I’ve heard how much you like passing your girls around.”

“What did you just say?” Mason asks, stepping toward him.

The guy gets in his face, and even though the music is drowning out most of what they’re saying, I can tell people feel the tension around us. Everyone nearby has already stopped dancing and started staring.

“I said…your girl looks hella fuckable. I’m just saying, if you wanna trade…” He gestures to his date, who’s now wearing a hurt and embarrassed expression on her face, “I’d be down.”

Mason shoves him, and the guy stumbles. A couple of guys around catch him, and I immediately grab Mason’s arm.

“Mason! Don’t!”

“You won’t be touching her,” he spits.

The guy rights himself and laughs.

“Oh, I’msoscared. Better listen to the little pretty bodyguard you got there. You know, you’ve always been such a pussy, Sinclair, even if you hide it well from everyone else.” He pausesto look Mason up and down in disgust. “I hope you have fun this Christmas break back home this year, kissing Daddy’s ass for your allowance.”

Mason shoves him so hard this time that he falls to the floor.

“Mason!” I yell, grabbing his arm and yanking him back.

The Kappa guy stands back up, wiping his hands on his jacket, and stepping forward again, chest puffed up this time.

“Hit me,” he challenges. “Come on. Be a man for once and throw an actual punch. Didn’t Mommy and Daddy raise you to be a man? Oh, that’s right…you don’t have a mommy anymore.”

I feel Mason’s rage beside me. It’s like there’s actual fire burning under his skin, and the heat is intense.

He pulls his arm from my grip, looking ready to swing on the guy.

“Mason, stop,” I plead, stepping in front of him. He doesn’t hear me—or he doesn’t want to.