Page 59 of Game Plan

“C’mon, Shepard, it’s me. You can tell me anything.”

“Not this time. Sorry, Mase.”

He tapped the steering wheel with both palms in an overly dramatic manner. “Fine. You won’t get the chance to have my incredibly useful feedback, then.”

I snickered. “I think I can risk it.”

“Your loss, baby.”

He turned to look straight ahead after the term of endearment left his mouth, and I couldn’t tell if it was a slip-up or if it was intentional.

I buckled my seatbelt, not sure how to feel if it was not an accident.

Minutes later, Mason parked in front of his townhouse and opened his door. “You coming?”

“Huh? What are we doing here?”

“Told you already. I want your opinion on repainting my bedroom.”

“Oh. I thought it was a joke.”

“Nope. I would never joke about shades of blue, Shepard. Come on, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Sitting on the kitchen counter next to him, I watched Mason as he prepped us lunch. “You sure you don’t want any help?”

He moved with ease in his kitchen, and he looked very hot doing so. It reminded me of the time I got appendicitis, and he cooked for me in my own kitchen, watching over me that night. And ended up saving my life.

“Nope, all good.” He sucked on his mustard-coated fingertip before cutting our sandwiches into triangles. “Carrot and celery sticks?”

“Yes, please.”

He rummaged through the refrigerator, fetching a bag of baby carrots and a bunch of celery, slicing the pieces with a sharp knife. Next, he stirred mayonnaise and chili powder in a bowl and added a squeeze of lime to make a dip.

“Look at you, being all domesticated.”

“Domesticated?”

“It’s my ten-point word of the day.”

Mason grinned at me. “Could you grab two sparkling water bottles from the cupboard over there?” He pointed to his left.

I jumped from the countertop while he fixed two plates. “Sure.”

With our dishes in hand, we made it to his room upstairs. I sat cross-legged on his bed while Mason sat on the chair by his desk. His bedroom was way more spacious than my dorm room. I scanned around me since I hadn’t done so the last time I was here. The comforter looked like fake grass, and the pillows were shaped as footballs, helmets, and cleats.

Mason must have picked up on my thoughts, because he said, “Don’t comment on it. I lost a bet to Chase. It was his going away to college gift to me. I gotta keep it for the next four years, or I’ll owe him two hundred bucks if I fail. He’s supposed to make surprise visits to check on it now and then.”

I stifled a laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. It’s not that bad. It’s… It’s very much you. The kid version of you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s growing on me. I use it as a visualization technique.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me?” I twisted on the bed to check the rest of the room when I noticed the three small patches of blue paint on the wall next to the en-suite bathroom door. “So, you were very serious about this paint thing?” I brought my attention back to him.

“Yep. I’m always one hundred percent committed to everything I do.” He wolfed down the last bites of his sandwich and discarded his plate on the desk beside him before rubbing his hands together and moving to his feet. “Tell me which one looks better.” He seemed to hesitate for a beat, then turned toward me. “Nah, come here instead.”

I ate the last bite and stood next to him.

He grabbed both my shoulders and moved me until my back pressed against the wall. “Open your eyes.” He took a step back and watched me, his gaze traveling between my face and the wall. “Okay, I've chosen. Thanks for your help, Shepard.”