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He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Yes. That’s why we always liked the same music and TV shows.”
He was right. We’d discovered so many commonalities during those months that we’d been lab partners. He had been more into sports than I was, but otherwise, we enjoyed so many of the same things. Even though he was the typical popular jock and I was anything but, we’d connected over our love of science and music.
He would come over to work on homework, and we would talk and laugh for hours. If we hadn’t existed in completely different social circles, maybe we would have become more. Maybe something would have happened before that night he kissed me. But every time we were together around other kids from school, his friends always seemed to pull him away.
Each time, I’d remember that I wasn’t good enough for him. His friends knew it too. And that night, when the girl had pulled him away from me, in my mind, hadn’t been an exception. It was just one more instance of someone from his friend group saving him from the pathetic nerd who looked at him with hearts in her eyes.
For one second, I wondered how different it would have been if I hadn’t blocked him so quickly. If I’d gone to see him after my mom told me he stopped by the house. If I’d given him a chance to explain.
“Finishing Bones wasn’t the same without you around.”
I blinked back to the present and ducked my chin. “I didn’t finish it.”
“Really?” He cocked his head. “Why?”
I’d never admit that it hurt to watch it without him, so I summoned my best look of indifference and said, “No time.”
“Hmm.” He looked at me for a long minute, almost as if he could see there was more to the story. But then a bolt of confusion flashed in his green irises, and once again, he’d lost track of the conversation.
I let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t one we needed to have anyway.
“What do you want to do for lunch?” I changed topics.
He dropped onto the sofa and slumped back, closing his eyes. “We ordering something? I’d love to say I’m an amazing cook, but I’m not, so what are we doing?” The last sentence came out mumbled, like he was exhausted.
I glanced around, taking in the books on his shelves. Our tastes were similar in that respect too. From what I could see, I had more romance than he did, but he had plenty of books.
“How about we order pizza, and I can read The Sorcerer’s Stone to you?” With a concussion, watching TV was out, and in high school, we’d both loved Harry Potter, so hopefully he didn’t think it was a stupid suggestion.
He smiled. “When you read it to me the last time, you used all kinds of voices.”
My cheeks heated, so I dropped my chin to hide the blush. God, I was such a dork in high school. “I was just messing around.”
“I thought you did a good job.” With his eyes still closed, he pointed toward the kitchen. “The takeout menus are in the closest drawer to the fridge. The one for the pizza place around the corner should be on top. You still a ham and pineapple fan?”
“Yup. Still my favorite.” I pushed to my feet and pulled open the drawer.
“Mine too. Get that.”
Once I’d ordered, I wandered back into the living area, my palms sweaty and my heart beating a little too quickly. I wasn’t sure what to do next, and I wasn’t sure how to be alone with this man.
He hummed from his spot on the couch, sending a tiny wave of comfort through me. “You should read the illustrated one by Jim Kay. You’ll love it.”
Mason still hadn’t opened his eyes or moved from where he’d planted himself when we arrived. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was fast asleep by the time the pizza came.
I moved over toward the shelves anyway.
“Middle one, second shelf from the bottom.”
Sure enough, the large illustrated editions of the first five Harry Potter books were there.
I hadn’t gotten them yet, although I’d eyed them more than once. I already had two sets of the books, and I really didn’t have the space for a third. Mason clearly didn’t have that issue. His bookshelves covered one entire wall of his massive apartment. But he’d been drafted straight to the Revs after his senior year at Penn State, so he was in his eighth season with the team, and he was making eight figures a year.
I crouched and pulled the book from the shelf, then shuffled to the chair.
A few pages in, we were both lost in the Potterverse. It was amazing how the story could grip me and make time fly, no matter how many times I’d read it. I had strong-armed Mason into reading the series during Christmas break of his senior year. He’d teased me endlessly about how it had ruined his week because he couldn’t put the books down.
Once the pizza arrived and I’d plated a couple of slices for each of us, we continued reading. I’d just finished a second slice when movement from Mason drew my eye again. More than once, he’d lifted his left arm and winced. Although nothing was torn and his shoulder wouldn’t require surgery, the impact had caused some swelling in his rotator cuff.
