Page 34 of Most Valuable Player
“But that’s not true,” he replies. “You were mad the entire first half. Kicking and groaning and whining. Now you’re different.”
I scowl. We’ve been talking for a week—why does he get to see through me as if we’ve been best friends for life? “I’m still mad, just quiet about it,” I try, to which he rolls his eyes.
“Actually, it looked more like you stopped caring.”
“The only way you’d know that is if you’ve been paying attention.”
To my surprise, Mason’s snowy cheeks actually turn pink. I won’t pretend the sight doesn’t give me some satisfaction. “I happened to notice your grating voice was no longer ringing in my ears,” he says coolly.
“Why do you care about my enthusiasm levels for this pathetic game?” I grumble.
Mason seems to consider this, like he’s not even sure himself. He massages his thin lips, and I try not to stare. Try not to think about the way he smiles. The way his laughter irritates my heart in a way nobody else’s ever has. I’ve been pondering it, trying to understand what it is about him that makes me feel uncomfortably fluttery.
Could it really just be his face?
“I guess,” he says eventually, his voice quiet, “I’m just trying to figure you out.”
I frown, tucking one knee up into my chest. “I’m extremely flat and shallow,” I tell him. “I have no depth at all. So you don’t need to worry.”
“I might’ve believed that last week.” Mason taps his clipboard against his chin, observing me from the corner of his eye. “I’m not so sure anymore. Are you acting this way because you’re not playing, so you don’t care? Or is it because of something else?”
“Am I not allowed to get bored of my team’s shitty ballhandling?” I cry out, to which some of the guys nearby scoff and flick me menacing looks. I’m nervous now. Because what he’s saying is starting to ring deeply within me.
Why did I stop caring? Why did I stop paying attention?
“Anyway, you rejected me, so why do you care?” I demand, scowling deeply.
“Just because I don’t want to date you doesn’t mean I can’t be curious,” he points out.
“You just like to antagonate me.”
“Antagonize.”
“What-the-fuck-ever.”
Mason pulls his lower lip between his teeth again, which is a sight I’m becoming annoyingly familiar with whenever he’s resisting laughter.
I fight the urge to pick him up and find the nearest trash can. “You’re not coming to that beach party tonight, right?” I ask, shifting the subject. “If I have to see you one more time this week, I’ll drown myself in the lake.”
“Don’t worry. I’m staying late to help Barnett clean up, so he’ll drive me home.”
“So…” I swallow, hating the dip in my stomach. “You’re for sure not coming?”
“Nah. I’m pretty tired.” His mouth quirks into a playful little smile, and he tacks on, “Unless you beg me to come on your knees.”
I know he’s not actually flirting with me, considering he hates—or at leastdislikes—me. But I’d be lying if I said my face didn’t feel ten degrees warmer after that. “Cam Morelli begs for no one,” I say sharply, and he laughs into his hand.
“Then this lowly peasant won’t hinder Your Majesty with his presence.” Mason wanders off without another word, leaving me itchy with aggravation and feeling like I’ve just been insulted.
I hate the fact that I feel strangely disappointed.
Chapter Eleven
Mason
“Thanks again for the ride,” I say to Mr.Barnett as he pulls into my driveway.
He pats my beanie fondly. “Have a good night. Don’t do anything too wild.”
