Author: Cheryl McIntyre

I try not to laugh. “Okay, scout’s honor,” I agree.

“Back when my mom was still alive, I used to buy her tampons too.” She says it so seriously, I can’t help the bark of laughter that leaves my mouth. “Okay seriously, not much shames me. But at our first show the band ever played, I started puking not even halfway through the first song. I dropped my drum sticks, put my hand over my mouth and took off. Guy was pissed they had to play the whole set without a drummer.”

“Public puking, that’s not bad,” I say.

“Just as long as it’s not my name in your phone.”

I chuckle darkly. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Your turn. One more humiliation,” she says excitedly.

I hesitate, inhaling deeply until my lungs feel as if they’re about to burst. I silently give myself a quick pep talk. Man up, Mace. She’s just a girl. But there’s the real issue and I’m well aware of it. Hope is not just a girl. She’s the first girl I have ever really liked. I want her. And for more than a pump. And that can’t happen until I lay it all out for her. “This is embarrassing because I’m admitting it to you and I have no idea how you’re going to react.” I hesitate again, debating whether I should actually say it or not. Screw it. Balls to the wall.

“Go on...”

“The first time I saw you, I wanted to kiss you. And I don’t mean when I pulled you away from Christian. I actually saw you before that. In the parking lot. You were laying in your car listening to music. And I thought you were overwhelmingly beautiful. I still think you’re beautiful and I still want to kiss you.”

Chapter 10

Hope

I struggle for some kind of reply. Anything. But the silence is hitting that incredibly awkward point. I clear my throat quietly and tell the truth. “I absolutely do not know how to respond to that.”

Mason laughs into the phone. “Well, you didn’t hang up on me or cackle with laughter. Though the agonizing minute when you didn’t say anything might make this more humiliating than being pants’d.” He laughs again and I can hear the discomfort in it.

“I’m not disgusted by the idea,” I offer.

Now he’s quiet as he interprets my words. “But not open to it either?”

“I’m a pretty easy going person. I don’t close doors.”

“Hmm.” I can almost picture the grin on his face, the dimple in his cheek. “I’m starting to figure you out.”

“Oh?” Why is he trying to figure me out? I like it. I like it so much. Yet, it scares the shit out of me at the same time.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like what?” I ask. I notice I’m squeezing the phone and my hands are sweating.

“It scares you to tell people what you want.”

He’s right. He’s so incredibly right. My hands are shaking and I close my eyes. How does he keep doing this? “And you are insinuating that what I want is you?”

“I’m starting to think it’s possible,” he utters.

“Mason, you terrify me.”

His voice lowers in a deep murmur. “I’m also starting to think that’s possibly a good thing because you scare the shit out of me too.”

“So what do we do?” I whisper.

“Maybe we should start facing our fears.”

Thursday wasn’t as bad as I had expected it to be. Mason text me periodically through the school day and gave Guy a bag of fruit flavored Tootsie Rolls to pass on to me. We sent messages back and forth on facebook until Jenny got home and I had to get off the computer. Then after dinner and dishes were done, we talked on the phone until Mason started yawning. Some people still had to get up early and go to school even if I didn’t. I had told him goodbye and he whispered goodnight.

When I woke up this morning, I got right out of bed and into the shower, excited to start my day. I couldn’t wait to see him after school.

I’m on my way to the basement to practice when the doorbell rings. To say I’m shocked to see Mason standing on the porch holding a package of Oreos is putting it lightly. I stand there staring at him, a ridiculous grin stretching my cheeks. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”

I move out of the way so he can come in and he offers me the cookies. “The nurse told me to leave,” he says, smirking at me.

I raise one eyebrow. “Why?”

“I was so inspired by your story the other night I borrowed a few choice details from it. I told her I had just emerged from the restroom where I’d puked my guts out. Held my hand over my mouth and missed my drum solo and all. A perk of being eighteen, she sent my ass home.”

“And you came here.”

Mason’s eyes pin me in place. “I came here.”

“Hmm, well I’m glad you seem to be feeling better,” I say smiling.

“It was a miraculous recovery.”

I hold up the package in my hand. “You want milk?”

He nods his head. “Sure.” I pour two glasses and lead him into the living room to sit on the couch. Mason sits so close to me his jean clad leg rests against my bare thigh. I crisscross my legs, set the Oreos on his knee, and my glass inside the small circle my legs make.

Mason watches me as I open a cookie and lick the center clean, and then he reaches for the two halves as I start to put them back in the plastic tray. Now I stare at him as he bites into them. I am so turned on right now for some reason and I wonder if that was his intent when he purchased them. I grab another one and we form some weird, mini assembly-like line. I open the cookie, give him one side, lick the other, and then hand that one off, repeat.

“I’m establishing a pretty unhealthy routine thanks to you,” Mason says as he brushes crumbs from his shirt. “I can’t believe we ate the entire pack. Seriously. The whole package. I’m afraid I’m encouraging your habit.”

I laugh. “I had candy for breakfast the other day. Cookies are a step up for me.”

“I’m concerned you may have a tapeworm,” he says, gesturing toward me. “I don’t know where else all that candy is going.”

“Oh, I just throw it up. And you thought it was nerves that had me puking on stage.”

He gazes at me and I can tell he’s trying to determine whether or not I’m joking. I blink my lashes slowly and smile at him. Something changes in his expression. I can’t quite identify it, but suddenly my stomach is tightening and my face feels hot. I can’t tear my eyes away from his. This moment, whatever is happening here, is so intense, my breath shudders out of me. I feel a flash of terror roll through me. I can’t do this. I can’t deal with these feelings. I don’t know how.

I force myself to blink and I look down at my hands. “I was just kidding,” I say. My voice sounds funny, raw.

He clears his throat softly. “I know.”

I stand up, the need to cut taking me into its unyielding grip. My mind shifts through different excuses, trying to find some way I can get away without him becoming suspicious.

Mason’s fingers brush mine and I look down at him. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” I say.

I watch a muscle in his neck move as he swallows and I’m mesmerized by the sight. He is incredibly sexy. Part of me is pooling on the floor in front of his feet, while the other part is screaming at me to run upstairs to the safety of my bathroom, to the comfort of my razor.

Somehow I reach down and take his empty glass from his hand and walk into the kitchen. I stand at the sink, rinsing the glasses and staring at the water. I inhale deeply.

“Did I do something wrong?” Mason asks from behind me.

Turning off the faucet, I twist around to look at him. “No.”

He stares at me, his eyes raking over my face. “I feel like I did something to upset you in some way.”

I’m grasping the counter so tightly my fingers are beginning to hurt. “You didn’t,” I utter.

Mason walks toward me, his gait measured, careful. He reaches around each side of me and loosens my death grip on the counter, holding our hands in between us. “Are you scared?”

My head jerks up, my body trembles. He always knows. I shake my head slowly. “Absolutely petrified,” I whisper.

“Do you want me to go?” His eyes are darting over my face again, searching for something.

All I can do is shake my head.

He steps closer to me until I can feel his breath on my face. His head lowers, our noses nearly touching. My heart is slamming inside my chest, beating much too fast. His nose skims mine and I gasp. I feel the tickling brush of his eyelashes against my skin when he closes his eyes. I tilt my neck back, bringing my chin up.

And then I slide sideways, putting distance between us. Mason turns, following my movements with his eyes. I shake my head again. “I’m not ready to face my fears yet. Don’t be mad.”

His brow puckers. “I’m not like that. I’m not going to get pissed off because you don’t want to kiss me.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair and sighs. “I read you wrong. I misinterpreted the entire situation.”

I shake my head, yet again, like it’s the only thing I’m capable of. “No, you didn’t.” I suck in a shaky breath. “That’s what scares me.” I can’t stand the expression on his face. Can’t take seeing him so confused, so torn. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to spend the day with me, but I need a few minutes. I’ll be right back. Please don’t leave.”

He nods and I flee up to my room. I close the door quietly and practically run into the bathroom. Once the lock is latched, I take a razor blade from the medicine cabinet and slide my shorts off. My hand is shaking when I bring it to my flesh and I bite down on my lip as the sharp edge sinks through the old scar tissue. I slide it over my skin and inhale sharply as I’m rewarded with the bright red beaded trail it leaves behind. I sigh as I feel the release. Closing my eyes, I imagine my fear rising from the open cut like smoke and fading away as it mixes into the air. It’s enough for now. Wiping it away, I stick a bandage to the fresh wound and wash the razor before replacing it.

This is the part I hate the most. That moment it sinks in that I’ve sliced myself open. When the rush and release are over and I’m left with the knowledge of just how fucked up I am.

I put myself back together, making sure all evidence of what I did is cleaned up, and then I go back downstairs to find Mason.

There’s a quick moment of panic when he’s not where I left him, but I find him on the couch and breathe a sigh of relief.

Grinning at me, he holds a DVD up. “Wanna watch a movie?” I start laughing as I pluck A Nightmare on Elm Street (the remake) from his hand.

“Mason Patel, your pants are on fire. You don’t watch it when it comes on HBO. I can’t believe you own this!” I put it in and settle back on the couch beside him, incredibly grateful he didn’t take off on me and even more so that he didn’t let things get weird.

I have no idea what I’m going to do about this boy.

Chapter 11

Mason

I screwed up big time. Hope told me she was scared and I pushed her anyways. But I’ll be damned if I don’t learn from my mistakes.

I’m cautious all day. I make sure to keep just enough space between me and Hope. Even though my whole body aches to reach for her, I make no attempt to touch her again. I keep my glances short, careful not to get caught up in her eyes or hunger for the taste of her mouth. I make sure our conversation is fun and lighthearted. And I try to make her laugh every chance I get.

I think she expected me to leave, but after she told me she wanted me to stay, there was no way in hell I was leaving her. I wanted to prove to her that I won’t abandon her. That she can trust me.