Page 85 of Most Valuable Player
I lean over so our noses are skimming, a calm smile furling my face.
“So,” I breathe, pinching his chin between my thumb and index finger. “Will you go out with me, Mason Gr—”
He seizes the back of my neck and wrenches me down into a kiss.
The next morning, I wake with chills and a scratchy throat.
Fucking worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cameron
Mason Gray is breaking up with me.
“I am not,” he says, staring ahead of him to the twisty, curving roads as I drive us home from practice. It’s sinking deep enough into fall now that the trees are fully steeped in autumnal colors, from blazing reds and oranges to warm yellows and browns. The midnight-black asphalt before us is littered in damp, flattened leaves, making it difficult to see where the dotted lines are.
“Why are you being so shady, then?” I demand. He’s been questionably quiet, more so than usual. He didn’t tap my head with his clipboard even once today during practice, which is grounds for concern. “What did I do wrong?”
The edges of his mouth are pulling up, so I guess I’m not in trouble. “Everything is perfectly fine, Your Highness. How can this modest peasant demonstrate his innocence to you?”
My lip gnarls into a scowl. “Every time I think you’re done being a little shit—”
“Take this left.”
I choke on a curse and yank the steering wheel left, nearly sending us up onto two wheels as I swerve into the parking lot of a tiny brick building tucked among the towering trees. It’s paneled with giantglass windows and there’s only one car present—a neonOpensign is blinking in the entryway. A flower shop.
“Wait here,” Mason says, and he clambers out of the car.
“Why—?”
He slams the door and heads inside before I can even finish my sentence. I’m going to find a way to make him pay for his rudeness later. As I’m devising a list of torture methods—including poking his waist mercilessly—he reappears, holding a bouquet of pink, purple, and blue assorted flowers in a glass vase.
“Okay, we can go now,” he says, and then he holds something out to me.
It’s my fuckingdebit card.
“Excuse me?” I wheeze out, fumbling for my wallet in my pocket and flipping it open. How did he…? When…?
“Let’s head back to your place,” he says brightly, like he sees nothing wrong with this.
“What thefuck, Mason?”
“Come on. Hop to or whatever.”
I stare at him in disbelief. He stares back, smiling mildly over the flower arrangement.
“I’m adjusting your regimen,” I snip, swinging out of my parking spot and back onto the road
“Oh?” I can faintly see Mason’s smile widening in the corner of my eye. “Do tell.”
“I’m adding an abdomen exercise. You know the one.”
“You’re going to tickle me as punishment for my behavior?” He gives me that lighthearted, skeptical look that sets my heart aflutter. “You say you have no kinks, but I’m starting to think you’re a dirty, rotten liar, Cameron Morelli.”
I slide up into my driveway and park the car, then snap my seatbelt back. Mason kicks open the driver’s door, scoops the flowers off the passenger seat, and clambers out. I follow after him with a huff, snatching his backpack off the floor and hiking it onto my shoulder. The unexpected weight nearly staggers me.
“What the hell do you have in here that’s so heavy?” I demand.
