Page 14 of Most Valuable Player
“I know, right?” Mason demands. “I have no idea how he stays awake at school.”
“Sheer willpower and natural strength,” I explain. Obviously.
Mason snags my elbow and tugs me to the counter so I can see all the fancy contraptions behind Annie. His hands are as silky smooth as they look, which doesn’t make me feel any better about him. “What do you like, Cameron? Sweet? Spicy? Nutty?”
I sniff stubbornly. “None of the abo—”
“Make that two, Annie,” Mason says, ignoring me like my words mean absolutely nothing. “He can try my favorite drink.”
I want to protest this attempt to coerce me into drinking caffeine, but Annie turns away from us to do whatever baristas do. Masonplucks out his wallet and stuffs a ten-dollar bill into the ceramic tip jar, then scurries away from the counter. Sighing, I follow after him, adjusting my backpack straps.
“So,” I say, watching Mason plop onto a love seat in the corner of the shop and shed his shoes. He’s wearing socks with smiley face marshmallows because he has that adorable soft-boy image to protect. “What did she mean? When she asked if it was ‘that kind of day.’ ”
Mason sinks deeper into the cushion. “She usually knows when I’m having a bad morning.”
“You have enough of those that she has a special drink for you?” I ask, skeptical.
“It’s just extra whipped cream.”
I huff, flopping down beside him and peeking out the sprawling window nearby. The brick business building next door is in the way of a great view, but the edge of the lake still peeks around the corner. “You don’thaveto tutor me if you hate me that much,” I mutter. “Like, damn. Even the barista lady sees it.”
Mason massages his temples with exasperation. “How many times do I have to say I don’t hate you?” he asks coolly.
“Why else would you be having such a shitty morning?” I demand.
He gives a brief, sassy eye roll. “I know this may be beyond your comprehension, my liege, but there are problems that exist outside ofyouin this world.”
I’m about to pack my ass up and haul it home so I can tell my parents I’m officially closing the book on my education. There’s no way putting up with Mason Gray is worth the money I’ll be making as a Division I college football quarterback.
Except itis, because money.
Damn it.
Annie appears suddenly at the back of the love seat to hand us ourcinnamon-twist lattes. “You boys enjoy,” she says, and as she turns to leave, a ten-dollar bill drops onto the cushion.
“Wait!” Mason grabs it, eyes glinting with frustration. “Annie, take my money.”
“Not from my favorite customer.” She tosses a wink over her shoulder, then jogs off before Mason can launch the bill back at her. I pop the lid off my coffee and stare suspiciously at the whipped cream. Does this guy walk around town getting shit for free because he’s that irresistible?
“You’re dramatic.” Mason draws his cup to his lips, then melts into the couch, his eyes fluttering. “I come here pretty frequently. It’s nice to get away.”
I should learn how to think with my mouth shut.
Before I can ask what subject we’re starting with, Mason flaps his sweater sleeve and says, “Try it!”
I want to remind him I didn’t ask for this, but he’s so eager that I feel compelled to bring it to my lips. I take a gulp, and sugary heat explodes through my mouth, frying my taste buds before laying waste to my throat like liquid fire. “Fuck,” I gag.
“Sorry.” Mason tosses a sleeve over his mouth and laughs. “Should’ve said to sip.”
“No shit?”
“Well, if your mouth ever regains feeling, try it again. I’ll take it if you don’t like it.”
Ah. It’s all making sense now. “You ordered this for me knowing I would hate it, just so you could have a second drink,” I say accusingly, glaring him down across the couch cushions. “This was part of your plan, you manipulative little bitch.”
Mason spreads his hand further over his mouth, but his eyes are crinkling, which means he must be smiling wide. “How was I supposedto know you wouldn’t like sweet drinks?” he asks innocently. “I thought they’d be your favorite. Since your personality is so soft and syrupy.”
It’s like he wants to be launched through the glass windows of the establishment. I don’t have any intelligent response to offer. My brainpower has been all but drained over the last several minutes, simply from trying to keep up with him. It’s all I can do to tear open my backpack and start rifling angrily through my books.
