Page 29 of Most Valuable Player
I make a choked scoffing noise. “Rude?”
“It’s an innocent question,” Mason says, fluttering those long black lashes.
“Bullshit,” I snap. “You’re just mad that I’m making sense.”
“Hmph.”
“Your pouting isn’t as cute the second time around.”
“Hmph.”
Okay, maybe it is. I’m sure as hell not going to tell him.
We move through an assortment of stretches and warm-ups. He loathes them, but none so much as the sit-ups. I pin his feet with my weight, my arms hugging his propped knees as he struggles to lift his head off the yoga mat. “Come on,” I encourage. “I’ll let you up after five.”
He groans, arching his head back with annoyance. His skin is already gleaming with traces of sweat. It’s not a bad look on him.
Another trip and stumble, courtesy of my heart. I don’t know where it comes from or why it strikes now, but I brush the unfamiliar sensation away. First stomach flutters, and now my heart is literally skipping? How? Why? I can’t remember this ever happening.
Worse, I still can’t figure out what’s different.
“Two crunches,” I say, slapping his kneecaps. “Just get your shoulders off the ground.”
With a pained grimace, Mason hurls himself upward so fast he nearly bashes my forehead. “Fuck your crunches,” he snaps, his fiery eyes inches away.
“One more, then,” I say, smiling sweetly. Pointedly deciding not to count those lashes.
He flops onto the mat with a choked sob.
Eventually, we move on to cardio. He maintains a light jog on the treadmill for two minutes before petering out. He lasts half that time on the bike. He holds a wall squat for twenty seconds before ducking out. And the chest press machine…It’s not lookinggreat.
“How about some curls?” I suggest, setting two ten-pound weights in his palms. The longer we test his limits and strengths, the more he appears to deflate. While he moaned and groaned through stretches,there was still an aura of determination around him. Now it’s withering away.
I instruct him how to properly curl, and he does it himself, silent, before I notice his wrists shaking with strain. “That’s enough,” I say, reaching for them, but he evades me.
“They’re only ten pounds,” Mason snaps, the rims of his eyes reddening. “If I can’t handle these, I’m a lost fucking cause, right?”
The ferocity in his words startles me backward. Am I missing something? Where is his sudden desperation coming from? “I said you’d have to build yourself up slowly, right?” I ask, leveling my voice. In the back of my head, I know that Cam Morelli should shrug this off and act like he hasn’t noticed Mason’s apprehension. But…I don’t know. I can feel the anxiety radiating off him, and it reminds me of my old self, back when I first came to this school and only had the summer to reinvent myself. “It’ll come easier with time—”
“Maybe I don’t have time to grow slowly,” he whispers.
I scrunch my face at such an ominous claim. “What?”
He must’ve let something slip, because panic flickers across his expression, and he drops the weights so suddenly that I jump. “Thanks for letting me try your equipment. I should get home.”
Mason tries fleeing up the stairs, but I’m not going to let him escape so easily after what he just said. I catch the crook of his arm, swinging him toward me. “I feel like you’re expecting something out of this that isn’t going to happen,” I say sternly, the words coming in a jumbled rush. I don’t want to upset him, but he needs to hear it. “It might be months before you start noticing a difference. But you can’t skip the stage of warming your body.”
Mason’s glaring at the floor now, like he might melt into it if I release his arm. “How long did it take you?” he mumbles.
“I’ve been working on my body for four years. When I started, Iwas pretty twiggy.” I scratch my neck with a sigh, wishing I could read his mind so I could understand his intentions. “I started bulking up because I felt people would take me more seriously. And maybe I wouldn’t get pushed around anymore.”
Mason stiffens, peeking up at me. “You’ve been bullied?” he whispers.
Ah…fuck. Fuckedy fuck. I didn’t realize he might askquestions. Why the hell did I say that? I’m normally so good about watching whatever past-related words come out of my mouth, so how did I screw myself so thoroughly? My brain didn’t even warn me to hesitate before I yapped.
“I was a well-balanced and emotionally sound individual,” I say sharply.
He stares at me, unconvinced.
