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“So, what’s so important that we had to meet before the crack of dawn?” Mason asked, after taking a swallow of his coffee.
Seriously? Before I’d shown up at Mason’s house, I’d finished a math assignment and did a round of yoga. The morning was practically gone already. I laughed at him and helped myself to a sprinkled donut.
“It’s not the crack of dawn, it’s nine o’clock. And I figured you’d want to hit the stores early so no one from school sees us.”
“The stores?” He grimaced. “What do you mean?”
“The clothing stores at the mall. You said Polly always complained that you didn’t try hard enough. This is the first step to winning her back in the Trina Frye handbook. I’m thinking we start at Banana Republic and end at Urban Outfitters.”
If he’d paid attention to my notebook in class, he would’ve seen the plan all laid out. Fir
st step: get Mason a cool new outfit that didn’t involve athletic shorts and sports t-shirts. Shouldn’t be too hard. He’d probably look cool in just about anything.
Mason scowled and leaned back into the couch cushions, the muscles in his abdomen rippling with the effort. I did my best to keep my eyes glued on his face. Staring at his stomach was not an option.
“So let me get this straight,” he said, dragging out each word. “If I want to get back with Polly, all I have to do is buy an expensive new outfit and show it off? And then, she’ll like me again?”
I grinned and nodded. Now, he was getting it. “That’s all part of it.”
He harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you sure that’ll work?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t it sound kind of...shallow?”
The smile melted from my face and I looked down at the half-eaten donut in my hand. Shallow. That was a heavy word. A word that I didn’t particularly like. Was I guilty of thinking Polly was shallow? Or even worse, was I the shallow one, thinking she’d fall for it?
Maybe Mason had a point. Dressing him up in a new outfit did seem kind of childish. Cliché, even. Polly and all of her cheerleader friends would see right through it. My throat tightened and tears of frustration sprung to the corners of my eyes. What had I been thinking? How was this going to make Mason happier?
“Hey, hey, hey, forget it. Don’t listen to me.” Mason reached for my arm and leaned forward to look me in the face. Regret was written in the lines on his forehead. “My mom’s always saying I know nothing about girls. I know for a fact that in a few minutes I’m going to realize that your plan is brilliant and I’m just being crabby. I mean, that’s what happens when someone wakes me up before the crack of dawn. It’s kind of to be expected.”
So maybe the plan would work after all.
I smiled gratefully at him and laughed softly. “You know, it’s still not the crack of dawn. And you’re always crabby.”
He chuckled. “Whatever you say, Frye.”
His face was so close to mine that I could see small flecks of yellow in his blue irises. Despite his deep frown, there was a warmth in his eyes that made my stomach lurch. As I studied them, I couldn’t forget his hand still lingering on my forearm. His touch was comforting and unsettling all at the same time.
My gaze drifted down to his mouth, forever forming that brooding expression. He had the perfect cupid’s bow, as if an artist had masterfully sculpted his lips with clay and heated them in the kiln. I couldn’t help but wonder what they felt like. Were they soft and giving, or hard and insisting? I’d bet anything he tasted like sugary breakfast foods covered in frosting.
His fingers tightened the tiniest bit around my arm, as if he suddenly realized what I was thinking, and then he released me and rubbed the palm of his hand briskly against his thigh. He hopped up from the couch and quickly rounded the ottoman, until several feet separated us. Heat filled my cheeks as I realized what had just crossed my mind.
Kissing Mason was an absolute no-no. A restricted area. A no parking zone. I couldn’t believe my brain had just led me there. What was wrong with me?
“Just let me take a quick shower and we’re out of here,” he said, his voice breaking. He avoided my eye contact and went to put his coffee cup on the kitchen table. “Then, you can tell me exactly what sort of outfit will win Polly back. Sound good?”
“Yep. Good.” I choked on the words as they exited my mouth, but Mason couldn’t hear me. He was already halfway down the hallway, leaving me alone in his living room.
I glanced up at the photographs on the wall. Empty eyes and empty expressions. Nothing like the buzzing going around inside my body, like hornets trying to escape the nest. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, willing my heart rate to return to normal.
“Not a word from any of you,” I whispered, giving the photos the best stern expression I could muster. “Just give me a couple weeks and Polly won’t be able to keep her hands off of him.”
My promise fell on deaf ears, but it didn’t matter. Just saying it aloud kept me on track for my goal.
No detours allowed.
Chapter Eleven
