Razor: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance(7)

Is he doing this shit with no underwear on?

Mason had on gray sweats, but I could see a large imprint in his crotch area . . .

I snorted, warding off guilt and trying to keep my eyes away from his abs and his bulge. “Please. I’m not dumb enough to do something so stupid. You really should put a shirt on. You could catch pneumonia out here!”

Mason chuckled away my concern. “I’m fine, Carly, really. The energy I’m expending is keeping me warm.” He flexed his well-defined arms out in front of him. “The laws of thermodynamics, you know?”

“Whatever,” I muttered. Mason loved to tease me with his intelligence, not that I was stupid, mind you. It was just that he was the smartest person I knew. The ironic thing was his brains conflicted with how much of an athlete he was. Usually jocks were as dumb as hell, but Mason certainly defied the stereotype.

Whenever home, he spent a lot of his time on the computer, frequenting online forums and user groups. He called himself a hacker, but I wasn’t sure if that was talk or what.

With both hands, he wiped at his abs in one smooth motion. “It might be cold out here, but I’m hot as f*ck.”

You can say that again, I thought, though it was something I’d never in a million years let him know. My eyes roved down his chest and abs to his happy trail and then to that bulge before I quickly averted them, heat rising from within my stomach.

Mason was really fricken’ hot. There was no denying it.

But I was ashamed to harbor a crush on him — almost from the very moment our parents met some years back. He was my stepbrother and there was no way we could be anything more.

I cleared my throat, hoping he hadn’t seen me checking him out. “Mom wants you to help her take down the Christmas tree,” I informed him. “She’s been waiting for your help for a while, you know.”

Every Christmas, my mother would buy the biggest tree there was and decorate it to the nines, it was a tradition she’d do every year.

Mason, when he could finally be bothered to, was usually the one tasked with helping her put it up and take it down. Not that she couldn’t do it herself, but my mother always made him do it for some reason.

Mason seemed unconcerned with it, though, as usual. “I’ll do it later. She’s waited this long — she can wait a little while longer.”

“But she wants help now,” I insisted stubbornly.

“And?” Mason demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. “I’m busy, can’t you see? I’ll do it when I’m done . . . if I have time.”

I crossed my arms across my chest and scowled. He was really pissing me off. “If you have time? What on earth can you possibly be doing after this?”

Screwing some chick.

The thought made me sick to my stomach, but not because it grossed me out. I hated when Mason was with girls — mainly because I harbored a secret crush on him.

Mason scratched at his lower abs. “I’ve got an Anonymous online meeting in a little bit. I can’t miss it.”

“Oh give me a break!” I growled. I saw Anonymous as cyber terrorists. I had no idea why Mason would spend his time cavorting with the likes of them. He was so much better than that. “What is it with you and these stupid online groups?”

“And what is with you, always being your mom’s little lap dog and pestering me about shit she wants done around the house? Why don’t you two do it? You don’t need me.”

Anger flared through me. I so just wanted to slap him across that handsome smug face of his. “Why do you always have to be so defiant?” I demanded. “A little respect would go a long way into making our parents’ lives a whole lot easier.”

Mason’s insolence usually caused arguments. Mom would complain, as if Mason’s behavior was my fault, and then she’d run to Brian, who’d then yell at Mason, who would then take his anger out on me. “Come to think of it, it’d make my life a lot easier.”

“And you not bugging me every other f*cking day about something your mom wants me to do would make my life even easier,” he growled. “So I guess we’re even.”

I hissed, shaking my head angrily, unable to come up with a scathing reply. He infuriated me so much — there was no talking to him. Why was I bothering?

Because if I don’t bring him back, I thought sourly, Mom is going nag me to death and blame me for him being an ass.

Looking at Mason’s insolent smirk, I knew I was wasting my time.

“Forget it,” I snarled. “I’m leaving. Enjoy your kung-fu fighting all by yourself and in the cold.” I turned to leave, but stopped when he called out.

“Wait.”

I turned around and regarded him with the bitchiest expression I could muster. “What?

He cracked a playful grin. “I’ll come help . . . under one condition.”

Placing my hands on my hips, I knew some smartass comment was coming but I couldn’t resist. I never could. “What’s that?” Mason’s little games never ended well, but he always had a way of intriguing me and getting me involved every single time.

Mason nodded his head at the trees to the north. “Beat me to the old pond tree and I’ll be your slave.”

“Seriously?” I demanded incredulously. “You know there’s no possible way I can outrun you.”