Page 234 of Rogue Riders Duet

“There’s a difference,” he mutters, his breath so hot against my throat it makes a shiver run through me, so hard it rattles my spine.

A moment later, he pulls away and wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, eyes red, puffy, and unfairly gorgeous.

“What the fuck am I even doing here?” he mutters, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.

“It’s fine. Guys cry, too, and I think you needed that.” I grab his hand, determined not to let him back away this time. “I’m sorry I said all those mean things to you.”

“You already said that.”

“Yeah, but I’ll say it another five thousand times if I have to because you deserve better, and I was an asshole.”

His hand twitches in mine. “Well, you said you were mad at me, and you were already a dick when you weren’t mad.”

“Yeah,” I admit, giving a sheepish little shrug. “It was dumb, really, but without you rubbing me so hard, winning wasn’t as easy anymore.”

Mason lifts his gaze. “Rubbing you?”

Fuck.

My mind goes to places, and my dick twitches, because of course it does. My dick has zero sense of timing and distinguished taste. It wants who it wants, which is apparently a girl in disguise and a boy who scowls like sin.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, trying to adjust my hard-on subtly. “English is not my first language. You know what I mean.”

He glances down at my very obvious semi with that smirk.

Sin, I tell you.

“That’s a bit too big for you to pretend it’s not hard.”

Cocky little shit. Just like Petite.

“Yeah? And you’re probably small,” I fire back weakly.

He just smiles, which screams big dick energy, and yep. Now I’m fully hard.

“Do you feel better?” I ask, before this train wreck can get any more off the rails.

“No.” Mason exhales, lifting his chin. “Do I look like I’ve cried?”

He does. Totally.

“You look good, Pretty Boy.”

He groans and rubs his eyes with his hand. “Can you stop with that bullshit?”

I smirk. “I’ll stop when you stop being pretty.”

My hand is still wrapped around his, and I don’t want to let go, but then a soft rattling cuts through the tension.

Toulouse.

The little traitor is hanging off the side of his open cage like that was his cue for a dramatic entrance.

Mason glances over at him. “Hey, buddy.”

The lightness when Mason looks at Toulouse has me crossing the room, scooping him up, and handing him over.

Mason cradles him like he’s precious and strokes his head as he whispers, “You’re so damn cute.”