More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Forty Nine

Standing at the gate to Mason's house, I waited for the usual bout of nerves to slap me in the face. Instead, nothing but an intense eagerness to run up his front steps appeared in my stomach. I thought back to Sunday, to the discomfort that had stiffened my body after the gala as I wondered what lay inside his house. And then I remembered the night before that, after my trip to the hospital, and the confliction that had torn me up as I stood in front of his door. 

Who knew so much could change in a few days? 

I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and practically skipped up Mason's stairs. Something about sneaking into his house this late felt criminal, and maybe that added to the thrill of the whole situation. And the situation was thrilling: the rush of adrenalin and speed of my pulse told me as much. By the time I reached the top step, my legs practically shook. 

Light poured out onto the bricks in front of me as Mason opened his front door. Looking up, my stomach did a flip as I met his eyes, already scrunched up in a grin. Straightening my posture, I mirrored his expression. 

"Evening, Rebecca," he said. He stepped backwards and held the door open for me. "Fancy seeing you here." 

"Mm, what a coincidence." 

I walked past him into the house. When I turned around, he'd already shut the door and was motioning towards the kitchen. His eyes fell to my bag and he let out a chuckle. 

"Is that an overnight bag?" he asked. Feeling my cheeks heat up, I made my way to where he'd indicated. "That's presumptuous of you." 

A smile broke out onto my face despite my efforts to stop it. Mason reached the island and leant against it, crossing his arms over his chest as he did. I dropped my bag pointedly and raised an eyebrow. 

"I thought this was a booty call?" I asked. Mase bit down on his lip. "Isn't that the whole point?" 

"Guess you got me there." 

I nodded and breathed out a giggle. Now that I was here, facing Mason, standing a few steps away from him, the butterflies I'd expected entered my stomach. Not the familiar I-don't-know-where-we-stand butterflies, or the is-this-ever-going-to-happen butterflies. Rather, new butterflies that came with knowing the inevitability of the situation, and everything that that meant. I tried to ignore them. 

"Plus, it's for your benefit as well," I said, taking a pace forward. Mason unfolded his arms and instead stuffed them in his sweatpants pockets. "I brought your hoodie back. And now I don't have to borrow another one tomorrow." 

"How considerate of you," he teased. "So you're going to stop stealing my clothes now?" 

I nodded and moved forward again, so that I was only half a stride out of Mason's reach. His brown eyes bore into mine and blood rushed to my cheeks. 

"For now, yes." 

"Yeah?" he murmured, raising his eyebrows. "So is my scarf also in that bag?" 

"Scarf?" I asked with a playful frown. "I don't remember anything about a scarf." 

Mason laughed and, in a swift effort, took hold of my waist and tugged my body against his. My head spun; my hands habitually found their way to his shoulders. Breathless, I couldn't help myself; my gaze drifted down to his lips, which curled up into a grin the second I did. Lifting my eyes self-consciously, I studied the rest of his face: the barely damp hair, no longer perfectly styled up, the slight scar on his forehead from Savic's head, the warmth in his eyes. 

Mason's grin stretched. I rose onto my toes, feeling my blush spread down my neck. His fingers dug into my lower back. Shivers whizzed down my spine and to my feet. I eyed his hair, tempted to brush my fingers through it in the same way I had the other morning. Before I could, though, the touch of one of his hands vanished.