That was so not the case.
Coming to, I swung even harder. “Mason! Geez, I thought you were a bee!”
Surprised by my attack, Mason looked up at me from where he’d taken refuge, sprawled on the floor, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his lips quirking into this adorable teasing grin he has—obviously not sorry in the slightest. Still, he murmured it again, “Sorry.”
I tried to get my pulse under control, but it was kind of hard ‘cause it was just as unnerving discovering it wasn’t a bee on my lips, but him.
Mason had almost kissed me … sort of. The thought had my heart pumping all wild and spazzy. Only, I knew he was only doing it as a joke—like for fun, not for love. Or romance. Or even lust.
Still, I shoved the hair out of my face, suddenly as awake as if he’d thrown a bucket of ice water on me rather than his amazingly soft, pink lips.
“What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” He raised his eyebrows. “This is my house. And this is my bed, and—that’s my shirt.”
Gazing down, I blushed. It was true. I was wearing his shirt.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, grinning ‘cause most likely he’d figured it out already.
“I’m baby-sitting your sisters.” I tried to sound dignified in my answer, as if it was only natural to be sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes—I was baby-sitting.
He picked a piece of popcorn out of my hair. “Geez Summer, you’ve trashed my bed.”
Looking down at the mess, I grimaced. “Sorry.”
I started shoveling handfuls of popcorn out of his sheets and back in the bowl. “We were having this little slumber party type thing, only I fell asleep….” Bewildered, I glanced around the room. “Where are the kids?”
Mason grinned. “Great baby-sitter.”
It had been a long time since Mason and I had been alone together. His grin made my stomach feel funny. Also, it was kind of weird having him so near while I was in his bed, wearing his shirt. I could feel my face growing hot.
“They were zonked out next to you. I put them in their beds.”
I nodded, kind of relieved. I’d hate to think someone made off with them while I slept—that would make me seem irresponsible.
Mason picked up the rumpled issue of the teen magazine I’d been sleeping on. He thumbed through it a moment and I watched him, kind of holding my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice the quiz I’d taken about having crushes on childhood guy-friends.
“You know, you’re a really sound sleeper, Summer,” he said, still looking through the magazine.
I blinked. What did that mean? My heartbeat kicked up a notch. How long had he been here? Had he been watching me sleep? Did I snore? Drool? Ack!
I shrugged, trying to play chill.
“I woke up when you kissed me,” I reminded him.
“Yeah,” he said, cocking his eyebrows and looking adorable. “But I did all kinds of stuff before that.”
Right.
He pulled some more popcorn out of my hair, and suddenly he was gazing at me differently—like he does the Barbie dolls he goes out with. Feeling awkward, I glanced away, the word “signals” nagging in my brain.
Signals, signals, signals.
The magazine had said I should send him signals to let him know how I felt. But I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know. Letting him know would be like handing him a knife and saying, “Wound me. Cause me pain.” I wasn’t up for heartbreak.
It was weird when he got like this though, when out of nowhere he seemed to notice I was a girl. Maybe it was because I was wearing his shirt—maybe he liked seeing me in it. Or maybe I looked kind of sexy just waking up—you never know, maybe he liked my hair all tousled and full of popcorn.
Or maybe—oh my gosh! —maybe he read my diary! Suddenly I noticed it sitting open on his desk. It was angled precariously, just as I’d left it. Still, seeing it, I could hardly breathe. Did he read it while I slept? Was that why he was looking at me like that? I tried to calm down—not look at it. It was possible he hadn’t noticed the tattered thing. It was halfway covered under my shamble of schoolbooks.
I swallowed.
“So, what are you doing here?” I asked again, halfway deciding he’d tell me if he had read it. Mason’s not one of those guys who can keep things—like knowing my innermost thoughts—to himself. He’d basically have to tease me about it. To do otherwise would be going against nature. “Your parents said you went camping for the weekend.”
He nodded. “I did, but it started pouring.”
“So, um,” I fidgeted with his sheets, feeling my face turning red and this deep, deep, deep, abiding awkwardness, “I guess you want your bed, right?”
“Well, actually, no. I mean, I didn’t know my parents were gone for the night.” He raised his eyebrows. “They’ve got a king size bed.”
Unable to meet his pointed gaze, I started searching his sheets for figment popcorn strays—anything to avoid his eyes.
What could I say? I chose to sleep in his dinky bed, rather than his parent’s. What was weird though, was Mason didn’t even ask why. Probably he didn’t need to. Probably he already knew.
There was an awkward, tense silence, then he ran his hands through his hair and let out a breath. “I’m beat.” It was like he was going to leave the room, but then he turned back to me. “Why are you baby-sitting on a Saturday night anyway?”
Morose, I could do nothing more than shrug. The pathetic truth was, I didn’t have any other plans. My social life wasn’t exactly stellar since I transferred back to Jefferson High mid-semester. I was baby-sitting for his family the entire weekend. What really had me down though, was he didn’t even tease me about choosing his bed over his parent’s. I mean, of all the humiliating things, he was being tactful. “I thought you were tired Mason. Go to bed.”
Instead, he straddled the chair at his desk, looking at me, bemused. “Remember when we used to be best friends?” he asked. “We used to tell each other everything. Remember that?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh, knowing what he was getting at. “We are still friends Mason. I’m sorry, okay?”
“Yeah. I just can’t believe you were back three days without telling me.”
“Well …” I really didn’t know how to explain it to him without sounding like a dork. But the thing was, he was wounded and somehow just knowing he cared enough to be hurt made me want to be slightly honest. I mean, absurdly, his pain touched me. “I specifically sought you out the first morning I got back—I did. But then, when I found you, you were with some blond on the bleachers—I would have felt stupid interrupting.”
“Yeah, but three days?!”
“Well, every time I saw you, you looked busy. You were either with a girl, or with a bunch of guys. I just never had the chance—”
“I don’t get it. We’ve been friends all our lives—we took naps together—and you can’t even bother to stop me in the hall and say `Hey Mason, look, I’m back’?”
“Well … I just felt kind of shy about it.”
“Shy?” He looked perplexed. “Why would you feel shy?”
He’s a moron. I hate him. “I don’t know. I guess I was afraid you wouldn’t care. I mean, since last year we’ve barely spoken. I was afraid that I’d be all excited, and tell you I’m back, and you wouldn’t care. That would have hurt, you know?”
He gazed at me a moment. “Why do you always think like that? You’re the one that always acts so cool, like you couldn’t care less. I never act that way.”
“Yeah, but when I do it you know it’s an act. And how should I know how you act these days anyway? I have no idea how you act anymore. It’s been a long time since we’ve actually had a conversation—I mean, besides ‘Hi, how’s your weekend?’ And every time I saw you this week you were with a different girl.”
“What, you were spying on me?”
“Kind of.”
His expression changed at that.
I couldn’t read it, which was strange because I knew Mason pretty well—he’s basically transparent. “You must have like, been hiding from me,” he said. “I mean, you don’t exactly blend into a crowd.”
“Apparently I do.”
“Man Summer, if I hadn’t seen you Wednesday in the cafeteria you would have just let us graduate without ever telling me you were back. I mean, they would have announced your name to come up and get your diploma, and I would have sat there like a jerk, wondering how you were able to get it from our school when you’d spent the last year in a convent.”
“It wasn’t a convent. It was an all girl school.”
Mason smirked. “Same thing.”
He fumbled through his camping gear. Sort of fascinated, I watched him unroll his sleeping and get it situated on the floor next to the bed.
I cleared my throat, already knowing my voice was going to be husky. “I thought you were going to sleep in your parent’s bed.”
“Yeah, I was.” He shrugged, like no big deal. “But you want me here with you, right? I’ll pass up comfort for old time’s sake.”
***
Mason and I grew up next door to each other. My mom used to baby-sit him in the afternoons while his mom taught Kindergarten. And yes, as he said, we took naps together. But we were like three years old at the time—so don’t misunderstand the “for old time’s sake” thing. Mason and I were never a couple. Or anything like that.
No kissing.
Ever.
And that Saturday night was no different. Mason crawled into his sleeping bag and immediately started snoring. I, on the other hand, was up all night. Partially my lack of sleep was due to his snoring, but it also had to do with this sudden feeling of despair I couldn’t quite shake.
See, the thing was, I wouldn’t have even seen Mason that night if his camping plans hadn’t got axed. I mean, he could say he missed our closeness all he wanted, but as the saying goes, actions speak louder than words, and well, let’s face it, the guy put out zero action. Basically, with Mason it was—out of sight, out of mind. When I wasn’t in his sight, I was completely out of his mind. At best, I was like a stray dog to him. Whenever my pathetic existence reached his attention he threw me a bone.
It was weird, but I was still contemplating the Mason’s-neglect thing Monday at school, when suddenly he was there, hovering over me as I shut my locker.
He smiled, amused by my surprise—or so I thought. I thought that’s why he was smiling all I’m-totally-entertained-like.
He sort of pinned me against my locker, playful at first, not scary or romantic. But then he leaned in close, so close I could feel his heat—or imagined I could. My heart started beating all spazzy and wild.
He played with a tendril of my hair and quirked a small smile.
“You want to get a hot chocolate?” His warm breath tickled my ear, sending tingles through my body, all the way down to my toes. What was going on? Why was he … flirting? With me? His hungry brown eyes lingered on mine. Had my knees weak and my palms sweating.
What. Is. Happening?
I swallowed.
“Can’t.” I managed to choke out. “I have a test.”
He tilted his chin to one side, then the other—something he does when he’s thinking. Finally, he pulled away, gave me room to move, a little. He leaned against the locker next to me. “You’re studying during break? That's so boring.”
“Yeah, well, you know me…” I headed towards the library.
“Yeah, I do.”
The way he said that made me turn back to him, a shiver of dread running through my body.
His lips quirked. “I have something of yours.”
Suddenly, I felt sick. “What?”
Mason flashed a grin. Then slowly, he unzipped his backpack and took something out. Seeing what it was, my heart stopped. I mean it. I no longer had a heartbeat.
“My diary! Aaahhh! You didn’t read it, did you?” I hadn’t even noticed it was missing. See, that’s what a person gets for being sporadic with a journal, they lose it, and don’t even realize it’s gone. But obviously, I’d forgotten it at Mason’s in my hasty exit Sunday morning. “Mason, you didn’t … did you?”
He nodded that he did.
“No, you’re kidding,” I begged. “You wouldn’t read it.”
“No, I did,” he assured me.
“But—you had no right.” I clutched my stomach, so incredibly sick. “It’s personal.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Look, I didn’t even know what it was. I swear. I just found this open notebook in my desk—an ugly, ratty thing. I thought girls were supposed to have pretty diaries, with locks and everything. Anyway, I had no idea what it was. It was in my desk, I thought it was mine.”
“I put it in there to hide it from you.”
“Yeah, well, clever spot.”
“Mason, you had no right to read it.”
“I realize that—I do. But I really did at first think it was mine. I mean, I hadn’t been in that desk for like, a year practically—it’s a mess—and so I had no idea what was in there. And it was right on top, and it didn’t look like a diary. It was just a notebook, and it was open, and I started reading, and it was about me, so I kept reading.”
“Mason!” I was mortified.
For about a second he looked truly sorry, but then he smirked. “You really think I look like Zak Efron?”
“I hate you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what I read.”
I threw my diary in my backpack and tried to storm away, but he grasped my shoulder, pulling me back. “Summer, I promise you, when I first started reading I had no idea what it was.”
“But when you found out you should have stopped.”
“Yeah, I should have, I know that. I was going to—but it was about me.”
“So? That doesn’t give you the right to read it.”
“I thought maybe you left it there on purpose. I thought maybe—subconsciously, or whatever—you wanted me to read it. You know—read the things you dare not say.”
“Mason, cut the crap—you’re a nosy jerk.”
“And you”—he grabbed my arm again as I tried to storm away—again—this time pinning me against my locker— “are a romantic girl. I never knew that.”
His eyes lingered on mine for a second all hot and hungry, but then his lips quirked in that teasing way he has. “I had to stop and take a cold shower every three pages.”
Not! He was so teasing. Still, I could feel my face turning red just the same.
“Right. That’s what my whole life’s been about—to get you hot and bothered.”
“Yeah,” his eyes danced, “that’s what I read.”
***
Not wanting to burst out into tears in front of everyone, I waited until I got home to re-read my journal. I had to find out exactly what Mason read.
I started with my last entry, figuring that’s where Mason began.
March 18,
I’m at Mason’s house, baby-sitting his little sisters. He’s not here though. He’s camping with his friends. I’m a lunatic. At the moment, I’m in his bed, wearing his shirt, smelling his Mason-scent. I even brushed my teeth with his toothbrush.
Wednesday he finally noticed me back at school. He’d just gotten his pizza and noticed me standing in line. He seemed hurt I hadn’t told him I was back. It’s weird, but it made me feel good that he felt bad. I mean, at least he cared. At least there’s that. Ugh! He’s adorable, but a menace.
It just went on like that. Nothing too incriminating—but extremely embarrassing. I figured if that’s all he read everything could still be okay. Pretty much. I mean, he’d just realize I’m slightly demented, and basically, he already knew that. At least I didn’t write anything stupid like I loved him.
I crawled into bed, but though it was after twelve, I couldn’t sleep. Sheep didn’t work. Nothing worked. My heart was all anxious.
As I restlessly tossed and turned, I remembered
an entry I’d written in my journal over winter break. Feeling sick, I kicked off my covers and reached for my journal, fumbling through the pages until I found that entry.
December 21,
I ran into Mason at Steph’s party. We played pool all night. It was fun. I miss him! I didn’t realize just how much until I saw him again. He makes me laugh. Sometimes it seems he is the only person in the world that can do that. The only person. With all my heart I wish … Well, it doesn’t matter what I wish. When Mason looks at me, he only sees his childhood buddy. He doesn’t see me as a girl. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t think of me that way. And he never will.
Ugh! The entry went on and on. I’d written about his warm brown eyes, how they made me weak in the knees when I’d catch them staring into mine, and how when he licked his soft, pink lips I wondered what it would be like to have them press against mine.
Ugh, ugh, ugh!
I sighed, closing the journal, wondering if Mason was gloating over that entry right this minute. I wondered if he even cared enough to gloat….
Just as I was being swallowed by my own despair and humiliation, I heard a noise outside—at my window. My stomach knotted with panic, but there was a wisp of hope stirring in me as well. Holding my breath, I listened. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Our old signal. My heart suddenly leaped against my chest. I got out of bed and ran to the window. There I found Mason, crouching on the roof below my windowsill. He gave me his most adorable smile and with my heart beating all crazy, I let him in.
It had been years since he’d done this—climbed up to my window in the middle of the night. He hadn’t done it since elementary school—since we were best friends and told each other everything.
Now we stood in the middle of my room, gazing at each other, neither of us saying anything. It was weird.
“What are you doing here?” I finally asked, folding my arms like I was mad.
Mason ran his hands through his hair. “Man, I don’t even know.”
Again, we just stared.
“Look, I’m sorry I read it Summer,” he finally blurted out.
He sounded sorry. That was weird. “The thing is though, it told me stuff about you I didn’t know—stuff you would have never told me. Like, you’re attracted to me—I never knew that.” When I tried to protest, he interrupted. “No, I swear, I didn’t. Sometimes I thought maybe you were, but then I’d think: No, this is Summer—she doesn’t think of me like that.”
The Heartbreaker Next Door (The Hockey Team Book 1) Page 23