Page 8 of Game Plan

“Lost your tongue, Nichols?” I asked, using my most sassy tone. “I thought you had balls seconds ago.”

Mason didn’t resist immersing himself in the conversation, as if I still needed him to save me nowadays. “Evan, you say another word, and my fist will connect with your jaw, and your sorry ass will be out of commission for weeks. I don’t care if you’re one hell of a cornerback.” His words were clipped, his tone lethal. “Say you’re fucking sorry. Now.”

Nichols blinked, not sure whether it was a game or not. His gaze traveled back and forth between Mason, who was still standing behind me, and me.

“I said fucking now,” Mason repeated. I didn’t have to look at him to feel the tension rolling off him. I could picture the corded forearms, those I admired whenever he did manual work or played ball, and the tense stance, ready for a fight—or to defend my honor.

I felt his heat spreading all across my back.

His breath caressed the nape of my neck.

I clenched my jaw. Why was my body still so receptive to him? It’d been a long time since I walked out of his life, and yet, suddenly, it felt like I never had.

At that moment, I missed him more than I had in the last eight months and seven days since our friendship fell apart. I remembered it all. It came rushing over me like a tsunami of memories and regrets. I recalled how nice and collected he usually was and how intimidating and unapologetic he could become when threatened.

Nichols cleared his throat. “Huh, I’m…sorry?” It sounded more like a question rather than an apology. “People, I know my ass is kinda magnificent, and it’s easy to get obsessed with my physical attributes, but can you all stop threatening to kick it to the curb, please?”

“Try again,” Mason said, his voice sharp and lacking any traces of amusement. “Drop the humor. You’re not even funny.”

Nichols frowned. “Are we still talking about my ass here?”

Mason growled and stepped closer to me, the heat of his body enveloping me, and added, “Your apology. Do better.”

Nichols rolled his eyes and sighed. “Lady, I’m sorry for what I said.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Mason asked through gritted teeth. “Nichols, I swear…” From his tone, I could tell he was getting agitated. How could I read him so well after all this time without even looking at him? My pulse accelerated, and goose bumps blossomed across my arms.

“Lady, I’m sorry for the dick comments. I was being a dick…while talking about how you should suck my dick. Double dick. See what I did now? A pun.” His gaze shifted past me, and his humor died down. “It was not cool of me to talk to you like you’re some side piece I wanna fuck, and I apologize.” He nodded and cast a glance down, his focus now solely on the plate of food in front of him.

A hand closed around my elbow, and I sucked in a breath. Without thinking, I spun around, and my free hand shot to his torso when I realized Mason stood way too close for comfort. Our chests almost brushed with each intake of air. For a second, I was tempted to move the tray I was clutching in my other hand between us, to create a physical barrier.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

“Mase.” I swallowed as I gave him a slow once-over, his closeness intoxicating and bringing back the feelings of the high schooler with a crush that I had been not so long ago.

Mason was at least two inches taller than when we last faced each other, and over thirty pounds bulkier—all lean muscle that he’d gained over the summer.

Wide shoulders and bigger biceps, I felt small beside him. Even at five-foot-eight, I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes.

My fingers itched to run through his tousled light brown hair, a bit longer than it used to be. A light stubble framed the sharp lines of his square jaw, a look I’d never seen him sport before but suited him well. The boy I grew up with looked older, more assured, and wiser. He had turned into a very hot and muscular version of himself. Gone were most of his boyish features. Mason Pierce was now filled out in all the right places, which added up to a very attractive man. Heat swirled inside me, and I felt my face growing hotter by the second as he studied me, his expression unreadable.

I worried my bottom lip with my teeth, trying to prevent the last threads of my self-control from slipping away.

All the feelings I had pushed away came rushing back at the sight of him. My knees weakened, and I felt dizzy.

He rested his large hand on my hipbone to keep me upright, and I did nothing to jerk away from the burning touch searing my flesh through my clothes.

From up close, Mason Pierce didn’t seem angry with me. From the spark in his eyes and the way his tongue swept his lips, he looked entranced…or curious about me too.

I hadn’t changed much since I had graduated from high school a few months ago. My hair was shorter, just past my shoulders now, and my breasts fuller, thanks to the birth-control pills my mother had demanded I take when I left for college. “Just in case,” she had said. “You can never be too careful with boys.”

“How have you been?” Mason asked. Even his voice sounded deeper than it used to be. It spread shivers all over my bare arms.

I swallowed, trying very hard to keep my composure and not jump into his arms like I would have done back when we were still friends or kiss him like I’d dreamed of doing so many times in the past.

His eyes drifted down, and I noticed my palm was still splayed across his chest, his heart hammering beneath the pads of my fingers.

The heat of his body seeped through mine. Mason was standing so close, but there was a lingering chasm between us—one I’d created.