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I toss the plates into the trash.
A minute later, I see her marching off, pouting. She obviously didn’t get what she wanted—a date with Mason, a scandalous scoop, or both.
The reporters file out of the room, and the kids and the parents say their goodbyes and start dispersing. Mason goes to change and returns wearing jeans and a Henley shirt.
“I give that costume a two out of ten,” he informs me, joining me as I help the staff clean up candy wrappers from the floor. “At least the cock was amusing.”
“Wah wah.” I shrug. “The kids enjoyed it. And, by the way, thank you for not spitting on anyone.”
“When those reporters got all up my ass, I came close.” He scowls.
“I know, I know. They’re just doing their jobs, though. And you have to keep in mind, you don’t have to deal with them for long periods of time. Keep a smile on your face and keep it professional for a few minutes, and they get bored and move on to their next victim—I mean, interview subject.”
“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, making a face like he just tasted something disgusting. “I know it comes with playing the game.”
We finish up a few minutes later, and I grab the roller-bag and we make our way towards the front of the hospital, stopping a few times so Mason can sign autographs and politely turn down various women who are not shy about making their interest known.
He glances at me as we head through the hospital lobby. The lobby is decorated with a fun jungle theme, with cartoony animals and fake palm trees and tropical plants. “I’m not into any of them,” he says in a low voice.
“You don’t have to tell me that.” Even though I wanted to perform a root canal without anesthesia on that reporter who’d been interested in him ... But I have no right to be jealous at all.
He frowns. “But it’s true.”
“Okay,” I say. “Does it get annoying, getting hit on all the time?”
“Honestly, kinda. At first it was flattering, but that was years ago. It gets old. And really, they don’t know me. They don’t want to get to know me. They want to bang, or date, the famous Rovers forward. Any hot sports celebrity would do.” He makes a face.
I have a feeling it must be exhausting being him sometimes.
“Anyway, I was just wondering, since we’re done here, would you like to go—”
I never get to find out what he was going to suggest.
“Oh, Mason, honey,” a voice sings out.
He stiffens. A woman dodges from behind a big decorative screen painted with zebras.
She’s pretty, but her age is hard to determine, maybe late thirties or forties. She has the same color and shape eyes as Mason.
His mother, then.
She moves towards us. Mason stands perfectly still, glowering.
“Mason, baby.” She throws her arms open wide. “Aren’t you going to give your mother a hug?”
25
MASON
Tension twiststhrough my entire body. I glance around the lobby frantically. The last thing I need is for my mother to make a scene in front of the press.
I grab her by the arm and move her down a hallway, leaving Rowan behind.
“What are you doing? You’re hurting my arm,” my mother protests. I barely touched her, but whatever.
“What am I doing? Are you kidding me? Did I invite you here? Did I in any way give you the idea that I wanted to see you?” I snap. “I can’t believe you just barged in here like this. You can’t just show up uninvited.”
Her eyes widen in hurt. I’d believe her more if I hadn’t seen how fast her expressions can change. When I was younger, and she’d show up with her look of panic, desperate for money, almost in tears—and I’d agree to give her a chunk of change—the look would vanish instantly and she’d be all smiles and sweetness.
