More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Forty Five

It took me a second to orientate myself the next morning. When my eyes adjusted and I realised where I was, who I was next to, my face broke into a smile. Mason's arms held me against his body; his legs tangled in mine. Weak, early morning sunshine spilled inside from the open curtains and cast a square of light onto the wall in front of me. 

For a moment I just stared at it, allowing the previous twelve hours to seep into my memory. My stomach jumbled together in a mess of emotions, most of them turning my body warm and fuzzy. The ones that threatened to sour my blissful start to the day I banished to the back of my head, where I could deal with them once I was out of Mason's bed. 

Mason!

My smile broadened. An intense wave of affection washed over me, followed by the need to set my eyes on him, just to make sure I wasn't still dreaming. I was about to turn around, but shyness stopped me. I knew that I couldn't look as bad as I imagined, but still the thought of Mason seeing my first-thing-in-the-morning look still forced me to pause. 

Behind me, Mason let out a long sigh. His breath tickled the back of my neck and sent shivers down my arms. I pushed the self consciousness away, too; how bad could I look in comparison to how I looked after a tough ninety minutes of football, anyway? As I was about to turn around, Mason's arm tightened around my stomach. 

"Beck? You awake?" 

The croak in his voice made my heart clench. Rolling over, it almost came to a stop as I set my eyes on him. 

Sleepy, slightly puffy eyes stared back at me, golden in the early light. A lazy grin inched across his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His hair, usually styled up so perfectly, fell across his forehead and for some reason this brought the most tenderness to my chest. 

"Morning," he murmured. The arm that encircled my shoulders squeezed them. 

"Hi," I replied, my cheeks heating up. 

I tried to picture myself the way he presumably saw me now: wild, flyaway baby hairs, drowsy eyes, smudged mascara that I didn't remove the previous night. Was he taking me in the same way I took him in? Was he trying to freeze the image in his head like I was? I watched his eyes flick from my left eye, to my right, down to my lips, and back to my eyes. 

Unable to fight the urge any longer, I reached out my hand and brushed the hair from his face, combing my fingers through it and all the way to the back of his head. Mason inhaled deeply and his eyelids hovered, almost shut. The softness of hair was interspersed with sticky, dried bits of hair product, but I repeated the action anyway. My left wrist ached, but I ignored it, too absorbed in the feel of his hair, the freedom I had to touch it. 

"You okay?" Mason asked softly, his eyes open and unsure. "About—" I finished his question in my head as he hesitated. "Last night?" 

Another bout of affection spread across my body, overwhelming the small ball of doubt that knocked at the back of my mind. "Yeah, I am." I cupped the side of his face, taking a break from stroking his hair. "Are you?" 

He breathed out a chuckle. "Yeah, of course." 

I tried to mimic his grin, but the ball was growing. Mason's free hand slipped under the hoodie he'd given me last night. Warm, sure fingers spread across my bare back. My stomach leapt again, but to ignore the nagging feeling in my head wouldn't be fair to Mason. 

"Just, um," I started. Panic clouded my head. "Can we maybe, just..." Mason's eyebrows raised, his eyes turned anxious. "Can we, like, not tell anyone that this happened? The team, I mean. At least not straight away?"