Page 77 of Most Valuable Player
Cameron
I’m not sure how I went from wanting to punt the water boy off my football field to wanting to kill a man for him in a couple of measly weeks. Yet here we are, standing on a soaking-wet beach in the middle of an autumn rainstorm for no explainable reason other than that Mason was feeling the vibes of misery.
It makes sense, all of this. Why he is the way he is. My stomach is gnarled with nausea and anger, the passages of his journal coming back to me in short, violent clips. I can almostseeit, these horrible implications. And suddenly it’s not about tutoring or football or being rejected or stomach flutters.
I want to protect Mason. And I want to hurt the person who shattered him.
Mason’s kiss is short but intense and pleading, like he’s been waiting for a moment like this and doesn’t care that his lips are wet, purple, and quivering with cold. I’m so startled that by the time I reconcile that his lips are on mine, he’s pulling away, lowering himself to the flats of his feet. “Sorry,” he chokes out, staggering back when he notices my bewilderment. “It’s just…nobody’s ever said something like that to me, and—”
I scoop his face up and plant my mouth against his. The taste of syrup lingers between his lips, despite the rain attempting to wash itaway. Water trickles down our faces, dripping from my lashes, hair, nose, and jawline as I draw back. “You deserve happiness,” I say sharply, massaging his brows to prevent more water from falling into his eyes.
Mason’s eyes leak despite my attempt to keep them free from moisture. He curls his hands around my wrists and closes his eyes, as if reveling in the feeling of someone holding him in this way, or maybe fearing that I might pull away and leave him in the rain.
“Ask me,” he says quietly.
“Ask you what?”
“Out.”
My brows shift higher into my forehead. I say, “No.”
Mason blinks with surprise.
“I told you I’d ask you out after Friday’s game,” I say with a smile, and I muscle out of his grasp so I can place one hand on the flare of his hip, guiding his waist against mine. “So, I’ll wait until I’m the star quarterback again. What better thanks can I give you for helping me study than the honor of being asked out?”
Mason rolls his eyes, but then he’s laughing, and I momentarily forget that we’re shivering, sopping-wet messes standing in clumpy sand while heavy rain wrenches leaves free from the trees framing the beach. “I feel special,” he says with a sardonic nod. “Not many get to experience the pleasure of Cameron Morelli asking them outtwice.”
“You are special.”
A hint of color returns to his otherwise pallid face. “We should make sure you ace your quizzes. It would be embarrassing if you asked me out after bench warming the game.”
He makes a fair point. “You’re saying you want to spend more time with me?” I ask, fluttering my luscious lashes.
“I’m saying you ended up embarrassed the first time you asked meout, so you should do what you can to not be embarrassed the second time.”
Fair point. Again. “Then we should study today,” I say, shrugging. I take his wrist and pull him up the mucky, slippery slope of the beach to the parking lot, because the purplish undertones of his ice-cold skin are difficult to ignore. “It will be completely casual since we’re just friends.”
Mason smiles again and I want to throw myself back down the hill and into the lake. “Right,” he says. “Then I guess we can’t kiss again until then.”
“…Friends with kissing benefits.”
“Sounds scandalous.”
We approach my car, and I startle him by flipping him at the shoulder and nudging him against the passenger door. Maybe it’s wrong to look at him like this when we’re not together, but seeing his wet clothes clinging to him for dear life causes flaming heat to itch my stomach. I want to see the color return to his skin and redden his face.
I’m beginning to understand why he’s different.
It’s because I started to get to know him.Reallyknow him. In a way I’ve never gotten to know other partners. Even on the rare chance they were interested in me beyond my reputation, I wouldn’t let them close enough to develop any actual attraction to them. Mason, though, didn’t even give me the choice to shove him away. For some reason, my protective walls became fully translucent to him after a few hours of hanging out.
“Scandalous is the best kind of kissing,” I say softly, using my index finger to guide his chin up. With little more than the strength of my knuckle, I pull him to his toes. The power I wield with masculine charm frightens even me sometimes.
His cold, shaky breaths unfurl against my lips. “There’s an unfairpower dynamic,” he says unconvincingly. “I’m your tutor. It would be wrong to kiss a student of mine. Like, twice.”
“Yes, your authority over me is very problematic.”
He smirks, but his throat bobs like I flustered him. “I didn’t know you could understand sarcasm, Cameron. Let alone use it.”
“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” I say, fluttering my wet lashes seductively (again). “I’m sure you’ve fantasized about doing that.”
