Page 67 of Most Valuable Player
I’ve started to like this water boy.
The thought of holding his hand, sprawling my head in his lap when I give up on studying, encouraging him during workout sessions, talking casually with him on the benches of the football field sidelines, discovering vegetarian places we can eat, watching him paint…it’s overwhelming. I want my existence to be interlaced with his, even if all we’re doing isthis—staring at each other in the dim bedroom lighting, silent aside from quickened breaths.
“Cameron Morelli,” he says softly.
Everyone calls me “Cam” or “Morelli.” He’s the only one who lets the weight of my full name leave his tongue. It used to aggravate me, but now there’s something intimate about it. “Mason Gray,” I shoot back, because how else do I respond?Yes, that’s me. ’Tis I.
“Why do you pretend you’re such a prick?”
“Who’s pretending?” I snip, to which he laughs, one finger rising to conceal his lips, just one, and my God, I want to devour him.
“I like you.” Mason reaches out and sprawls his hand along my jaw, eyes still watery.
I…wasn’t expecting that.
He’s so nonchalant, I can barely comprehend his words. The tornado of fire that’s been contained to my chest since he crawled through my bedroom window spirals out of control, lashing into the rest of my body, setting my skin ablaze.
“You like me?” I squeak. His gaze is pouring into mine, but something feels strange. There’s a hint of detachment, like part of his thoughts are lying somewhere else. And since when has he ever been so forward?
Mason nods. His fingertips are nestled along the curve of my ear, and he pinches my lobe, sending my heart into a panicked, hot frenzy. Is he coming on to me? He’s made some snarky, suggestive comments in the past, but he’s never actuallyflirtedwith me before. He’s fluttering his lashes, like he knows exactly what I’m drawn to.
“Aren’t you the school’s biggest player?” Mason’s head tips, curiosity lining his features. “Why are you so flustered? It’s cute.”
Okay, something isdefinitelywrong. His smile seems genuine, and there’s honest desire in his eyes, but it’s overshadowed by something more intense.
Desperation.
“What are you running from?” I ask, catching his wrist. His heartbeat is elevated against my thumb, though it’s nowhere near as wild as mine, which means all of this…it’s calculated. “You’re using me as a distraction.”
Mason’s eyes shoot wide. He takes a startled step back and twists his hand free with such urgency, it’s like he thinks I’m going to attack him. “Sorry,” he says in a weak, broken gasp.
I rise to my feet, and he stumbles farther back, pupils dilating, arms rising defensively.
“Sorry,” he says again, faster. Quieter. “I didn’t mean…I wasn’t trying to…”
His reaction is so visceral that I freeze, not daring to flinch. I’d been planning on grabbing a sweatshirt for him, because he’s still shivering.
“It’s fine,” I say, swallowing. Seeing him wince every time I moveunexpectedly drives a dagger of pain through my heart. I hate what it means. I hate whoever did this to him. “But if you kiss me, I want it to be because you like me back.”
“I do.” Mason’s eyes lock on my bedroom carpet. “I wasn’t lying.”
And maybe this should be a critical moment where everything comes together with a perfect, fiery kiss as passionate testosterone spills out of our pores. I’m supposed to sweep him off his feet and go on a tirade about all his qualities that frustrate me but also draw me to him. But I can’t. Because even if Masoniscatching feelings…
He’s scared.
“Why did you walk here so late?” I ask, sinking into the bedspread.
Mason’s defensive stance loosens. He takes unsteady steps toward me, and suddenly, his face is falling into the crook of my neck, and he’s slumping against me. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my shoulder.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands. Eventually, I wrap my arms around his narrow waist, hugging him against me, slotting him between my propped legs. When he feels this, he leans more heavily into my chest.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Can I spend the night? I can sleep on your floor.”
“We slept in your bed once,” I point out. “Might as well do the same in mine.”
Mason melts fully into my grasp, until I’m the only thing keeping him from folding onto the carpet. I shift, rolling him onto my mattress and then creeping beneath the blankets. I flick the light off, plunging us into darkness as we rustle around, trying to get comfortable. Soon after, the only sound is the whirring bedroom fan.
My body starts unwinding, despite Mason’s distracting presence.My breathing lengthens as consciousness slips out of my grasp. I want to press him until he relents, but I don’t want to force an answer out of him. And I’m exhausted after spending hours in Darius’s backyard, running the ball and exercising my throwing arm and getting shoved to the ground so I don’t return to the football field rusty and useless.
