Page 84 of Most Valuable Player
Mason shrinks into my chest. I wish I’d beaten the shit out of Liam when I met him.
“You should sleep,” I say, placing the empty soup bowl on the bedside table.
I hear a small puff of laughter into my shoulder. “Clueless…”
“What?” I ask defensively.
“Go home, quarterback. If there’s a chance you’re still healthy, you should get out while you can.” There’s a playful lilt to his voice as hesquirms onto his side, faced away from me. The realization slams into me.
I’m supposed to ask him out.
I’ve been so distracted that I forgot my initial intention for this night. Snickering, I wriggle under the covers and scoop him against me, hugging him. “Cameron,” he groans, but I catch his jaw and tilt his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
He gasps, ripping his face free. “Don’t!” he snaps. “Do youwantto get sick?”
“Yes,” I say simply, trailing kisses up the length of his jaw to his earlobe. I tug it between my teeth, and it glows red alongside his face.
“Cameron Morelli, if it turns out I have a deadly virus, you’ll be comatose for the next game.”
I frame his hip under my hand and tug so he fits snug against me. “Go out with me,” I breathe in his ear.
He makes several incoherent noises before scoffing at my audacity. “Maybe I don’t want to now,” he says.
“You don’t like the way I kiss you?” I roll my fingers over his shoulder, drawing his flannel sleeve with it and exposing his pale, smooth skin. I bend over and give him a gentle nibble that causes goose bumps to spring up his neck.
“You’re impossible,” he grumbles.
“And you’re avoiding the question.” I catch his hand, which was moving to thunk my head again, and draw it to my lips so I can slide the tip of my tongue between his knuckles.
The color deepens in his face. “Because you’re a dick,” he says tightly.
“Or because you like being teased,” I suggest, carefully dragging his flannel sleeve up his elbow so I can kiss his forearm. “Go out with me, water boy.”
The brief tremble of his skin under my lips doesn’t help him plead his case. “What will you do if I say no?” he murmurs.
“Respect your boundaries,” I say solemnly, before adding, “Or just continue taunting you until you say yes.”
“How toxic,” he snips, burying his face deeper into his pillow.
Is that permission? I drag my fingers up from his pale waist to his torso, bunching his shirt as I move higher up his ribs, to his chest, to his collar. I shift farther down into the bed and hold his bunched shirt up, then kiss every inch of skin I can find between his shoulder blades, my fingers fumbling with the elastic of his flannel pants. When I start massaging the flare of his waist, Mason seizes my wrist like I’ve electrocuted him. I make a mental note that he’s sensitive there.
“Go out with me,” I whisper into the divot of his spine.
“You’re not even asking. Just demanding.” His breath has noticeably shortened and his skin is flushed enticingly, to the point where I wonder if his fever is flaring up. Maybe I shouldn’t be so mean. “How is that romantic?”
I roll over him and prop myself on my elbows, smiling at his attempt to conceal himself. “Can’t you pull your face out of your pillow?”
Mason shifts onto his back to glare at me. His eyes are bruised with fatigue and his pale lips are curled down with feigned disdain. His black hair is in cute disarray from having been lying in bed and his honey-brown irises are rimmed red. Even plagued with debilitating illness, he’s enchanting to look at.
“Mason Gray,” I say, slow and careful. “You have bewitched me, body and soul.”
“You’re really going to recycle—”
“I fall asleep thinking about your smile,” I continue, grazing my knuckles against his soft cheekbone. “I like the way you put me in my place. I can’t stop thinking about the look on your face when you’resomewhere that makes you happy. I want to do everything I can to see that side of you, to make you smile and glow.”
Mason stares at me with wide, glistening eyes.
“I want to make you feel safe,” I whisper. “And heard. I want to be someone you can trust and rely on. I want to become your new favorite place. More than Annie’s Brews, more than the gallery. When you think of escape and warmth and comfort, I want you to think of me.”
