Morgan Rielly Imagine

It's October, In Canada

               With just my eyes left uncovered, I throw a sharp look at Morgan who looks unfazed by the cold.

               "You're welcome," he whispers to me as he passes me my bag that he just retrieved from his backseat.

               "Thank you," I try to say politely but my inner annoyance at smug expressions gets the better of me and it comes out like a child being forced to apologize.

               Morgan winks at me and then leads the way to the plane.

               -

               "What Mason?" I ask flopping down my folder on the small table that sits between us on the plane.

               Since we took off for Nashville half an hour ago he's been glancing at me every few minutes and looking like he wants to say something.

               "Whatever it is spit it out so I can go back to pretending you don't exist," I gesture at him and lean back in my seat.

               Mason gives me a mix of a sigh and a scoff but regards me carefully.

               "What's gotten into you?"

               I stare.

               "What?" I ask after a beat.

               "You're acting different and you don't look grumpy as usual. It's unnerving, to be honest. You like a human being," he says without a single sly grin or smug expression.

               "I don't know what you're talking about Mason," I roll my eyes and move to pull my folder back to me but his long arm stretched out and flattens my papers back on the table.

               "You do, and I want to find out," he says and I'm reminded of a poorly made teenage movie with Mason staring as the main antagonist.

               "You do that, and when you find out. Let me know."

               I smack his hand off my folder and open it back up with a flourish.

               "You rode here with Mo."

               I tense and peek over my folder at Mason and then back down quickly.

               "So?" I ask, feigning disinterest.

               "Why?"

               "We live in the same building."

               "That's not much of a reason."

               "Yes it is?"

               Mason throws his head back in annoyance.

               "You're an idiot," he sighs and ignores me as I stare in shock at him as he pops his headphones back on and hums his laptop back to life.

               Taking a risk, I cut my eyes to the back of the plane, the only good thing about being in the first seat and facing everyone else. I quickly find the blonde head I'd been looking for and as if I called out to him, Morgan meets my eyes.

               I've aware of his scarf still wrapped around my shoulders and the fact that Mason is once again looking at me. The seconds tick by and still neither of us break the contact.

               "My point exactly, Y/N," Mason mutters to me and I blink, trying to ignore him but it breaks the invisible tread between Morgan and I. "You're an idiot."

               I keep my head down the rest of the flight. Eventually I doze off, my head supported by Morgan's scarf bunched up on one side. The intoxicating smell still oozing off of it with every breath I take.

-

               Morgan was right. Hotel rooms are cold and lonely.

               I pace the room after saying goodnight to Steve and staring through Mason like he wasn't there. It's a very nice room, with an extremely comfortable looking bed surrounded by gold and purple walls all illuminated by the lights of the music city shining in through my single floor to ceiling window.

               It's late but I don't feel a bit tired. My nap on the plane having acted like a shot of expresso.

               Made it Nashville. Talk to you in the morning.

               I send the message to Nick, adding a pink heart.

               To my surprise, my phone starts vibrating in my hand and Nick's face appears on the screen as well as the option to answer and reject his phone call.

               "Hey, I thought you would be asleep," I say, flopping down on the edge of my bed.

               "Not without saying goodnight to you," Nick replies with a sleepy rasp in his voice.

               "You're ridiculous."

               I roll my eyes and glance out the window absently, not really seeing anything.

               "It's true," he persists and then goes into a rant about his day and his upcoming game.

               I listen as best I can, making the appropriate noises of surprise and agreement when Nick pauses or takes a breath. But nothing is keeping my attention. It's the same conversation as last night and the night before. Only this time he has yet to try to get me out of my clothes from hundreds of miles away.

               "So, are you going to bed anytime soon?" He asks after a long talk (all his talking) about his purchase of a new car that he really didn't need.

               Ahh, so much for that.

               "Yes," I say quickly, too quickly and Nick's end of the phone goes quiet. "It was a long trip to Nashville and it's late. Gotta get up early, ya know?" I say nonchalantly and wince waiting for his response.

               "It takes like ten minutes, Y/N. Come on," he presses and I close my eyes in annoyance.

               "Nick," I say as calmly as I can, "I'm tired. I've had a long day and I want to go to bed. You want entertainment? Google it."

               I end the call before I realize what I just did and stare at it in surprise, as if the phone hung up on my boyfriend and not me.

               I wait for a few minutes to see if Nick calls or texts me. I get neither.

               Oh boy. I'm going to pay for that tomorrow.

               Shaking my head, I flop back onto the bed and rub at my eyes hard.

               "What am I doing here?" I ask out loud.