Reckless (The Mason Family Series Book 3) by Adriana Locke (no david read aloud .TXT) 📕

that it’s really a he said versus she said kind of thing. So what do you do? He didn’t touch me.” I scowl and open my eyes. “Lucky him.”

“Yeah, lucky him. He hasn’t seen this bestie pissed off.”

I can’t help but laugh at the idea of Libby’s sweet face angry enough to be forbidding.

“I’m out of that apartment now,” I say. “I’m away from Shawn and his new fiancée. I won’t accidentally run into them at the grocery store again.”

Despite the fact I’m happy to be free of Shawn too, my insides squirm at that memory. “Why are you always just standing around in my way, Jaxi? I should’ve left your ass with your mom.”

“Every door that closes has an equal and opposite door that opens,” Libby says. “Or … something like that.”

“I think that’s an old wives’ tale mixed with one of Newton’s laws.”

“Hey, it works.”

“It does indeed.” I get to my feet and stretch my arms overhead. “If you want me to do anything around here, let me know. I have time on my hands.”

“Just don’t touch my plants and don’t mess with Ted’s office. I know you wouldn’t anyway, but just keep the door shut. He’s so fussy about it.”

My spirits begin to sink. “I hope me being here doesn’t make Ted mad.”

“It doesn’t.” She sighs. “And if he does have a problem, it’s because he’s a jerk and really has nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t say that, Libby.”

“Why? If he has a problem with me helping a family member—and a friend, then that’s jerkish behavior, and I’m not going to make excuses for jerkish behavior.” She sucks in a breath. “I love him, and I respect his wishes. But this isn’t even a vacation that will screw with his day. You need a place to stay for a week, and he’s not even there. He can deal.”

My heart swells. I’m so grateful for her. Still, we both know that I’m going to go out of my way to make sure this doesn’t impact Ted—especially when their marriage seems to be stronger than ever.

I stretch again and walk over to the window. I slip my finger between the blinds and part them.

A security light over Libby’s garage glows bright, illuminating half of the yard between her house and Boone’s. His house looms in the shadows. The only light comes from a room on the front corner with a window facing me.

My breathing gets shallow as I watch a shadow move behind the curtain.

“I’ve avoided bringing it up,” Libby says, “but I think I warmed you up enough.”

I brace myself because I know where this is going.

“How in the heck did you break into Boone’s house and not mine?” she asks with a hearty laugh.

I rub a hand down my face. “Look, the GPS stopped at the entrance of the cul-de-sac, and I didn’t see house numbers. And you all use those fancy mailboxes that are in a big block at the same place, so I had nothing to go off.”

“I can actually see how you mixed it up,” she admits. “I just find it hysterical.”

“It’s only hysterical because it ended well.”

“I wouldn’t be laughing if it hadn’t.” She pauses, getting herself together. “Only you, Jaxi. Only you.”

I plop on the couch again. “Only me.”

“You’re lucky it was Boone’s house and not the Keaton’s on the other side of us. They aren’t as …”

Handsome. Funny. Forgiving.

“Helpful.” Her tone is laced with amusement. “Boone sent me a text and said that he got a locksmith to open my door for you.”

“He did. I told him I wanted to pay him back, but the guy was working for his brother. Building a recording studio,” I say, the detail coming back to me. “Who are these people, Lib? Who needs a recording studio?”

Libby’s laughter is full and loud. My brows tug together as I try to figure out what’s so funny about that question.

“What?” I ask. “People don’t just have recording studios at their house, do they? If that’s a thing, I’ve definitely been living the wrong life.”

“Nope. Normal people don’t have them. But Kelvin McCoy does. You know, the country music star.”

She just tosses that out there for me to catch and then goes silent. Maybe she knew I’d need a minute for that to sink in.

A barrage of information bolts through my mind.

Of course, I know who Kelvin McCoy is. He’s on half of the rag magazines next to the cash register at every store in America. I also know he’s from Savannah because Libby mentioned it when she saw him perform one summer. I never paid much attention because what do I care?

I care a little more right now.

“You’re telling me that the man who lives beside you is Kelvin McCoy’s brother?” I yelp.

She giggles.

“What are the freaking odds?” I ask, placing my palm against my forehead. “I mean, go big or go home, right? Well, I certainly went big.”

“You went the biggest, my friend.”

I laugh, but it’s more out of pity for myself than humor.

“So, yeah, don’t worry about paying him back,” she teases. “I think he can afford it.”

“Obviously, he can. But that doesn’t mean he should have to.”

A chair slides against the ground. “I’m being honest when I tell you this, okay?”

“Okay …”

“He’ll be offended if you take money over there. He’s always doing little things for us, and I used to scramble to pay him back, but I learned you can’t with him. It’s not tit-for-tat. He’s genuinely a nice person. It’s … kind of odd, almost. You’d expect someone like him to be more standoffish.”

I look across the yard again with my suspicions about Boone Mason confirmed. He is a nice person.

There’s something great about that.

“So, what do I do? Just forget it?” I ask. “Just forget that he did something nice for me because there’s never going to be anything I can do for him because I’m too poor to repay the favor? I just have to suck it up?”

“Was that an innuendo