Dream On

by Stacey Keith

  But this insane amount of attention—wouldn’t that change a person? When every little thing you said or did was under a public magnifying glass, wouldn’t that make you… she hunted for the right words… paranoid and self-conscious? Kind of like the way she felt right now?

  “Here we go.” Mason accepted the chair that Jessica handed to him and set it down for her. Then he took another chair and positioned it opposite. He seemed tense, as if maybe he was afraid she’d just up and leave. He’d also made sure that her back was to the rest of the bar.

  “I guess everybody heard that you and the guys were hanging out here,” Jessica said, all bright and friendly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to have half a football stadium inside the bar. Despite Jessica’s attempt at professionalism, Cassidy noticed how she kept tucking the same piece of red hair behind her ear.

  Jessica opened up her flip pad of order slips. “Seriously, Mr. Hannigan. You have a ton of fans. They were really hoping you’d come by again.”

  Mason gave her a smile and their drink order. Jessica made a beeline for the service aisle.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he muttered to Cassidy. “We only came here once. I had no idea this would happen.”

  It was hard to hear him because of the noise. She could still feel a thousand eyeballs boring holes into the back of her head. Behind her came a shriek of female laughter that made her inwardly cringe. The laughter was forced, obvious. Of course Mason looked to see who it was. Someone super hot, she thought glumly, one of a million sexually adventurous, unencumbered women who threw themselves at Mason twenty-four hours a day. Pride alone urged her to hold her head up, to not look as miserable as she felt, especially when Mason met her eyes.

  “Do you want to leave?” he said. “I don’t have to ask how shitty this is for you. I can see it. Me, I’m used to it. I guess. I mean, you’re never really used to it, but—”

  “They’re your fans,” she said, forcing a smile. “I know you feel an obligation.”

  “Yeah, but this is a little crazy.”

  Jessica came back with two beers, two steins with frost on the glass, and two napkins. “Drink up, it’s on the house. Nobody in this bar would let you pay for a round, Mr. Hannigan.”

  When Jessica left, Mason clicked his bottle against Cassidy’s. “See? It’s not all bad. Free stuff.”

  Cassidy took a sip. She almost blurted out how long it had been since she’d sat down and had a drink of anything, but she didn’t want Mason to think she was even more boring than she already felt right now. Instead, she tried to focus on the way he sat across from her, his expression attentive and concerned, all sculpted planes and chiseled angles. He made her brain go haywire and the lights and the noise fade away. Not just her brain. Her whole body. Those broad shoulders and strong hands. They did things to her.

  Of course, he had that effect on every woman. And that was the problem.

  Even with her back turned, Cassidy could sense that someone was approaching their table. Mason’s expression would have made her laugh if he hadn’t been so clearly alarmed. A girl with five-inch stilettos came right up to him with four girls in tow who looked just like her: Sleek, put together, oozing confidence. None of them spared Cassidy so much as a glance.

  “Hi, Mason,” the girl said in a breathless, Barbie-doll voice. No “Mr. Hannigan” for her. Cassidy could tell she wasn’t the Mr. Hannigan type. “Sorry to bother you, but we were hoping you would take a picture with us.”

  Mason’s face darkened. For a second, Cassidy thought he might actually lose his temper. “I’m on a date.”

  A second girl with long dark hair and a sparkly cocktail dress said, “Pleeease? We drove all the way from Austin just to meet you. We saw on Twitter that you hang out here.”

  All the way from Austin? For the first time since she’d set foot inside the Double Aces, Cassidy understood why being here made her feel old and boring. She had a daughter, a house, a job, responsibilities. These girls had nothing but time on their hands. Their idea of fun was to spackle on two tons of makeup and drive a hundred miles to meet celebrity athletes. Boy, was she ever glad she wasn’t like that.

  “How about one quick photo?” Cassidy said, trying not to laugh at Mason’s bewilderment. “After all, they did go to a lot of trouble to come see you.”

  Squealing, the girls rushed Mason, draping themselves over him like exotic birds. While Mason scowled, they arched their backs so their boobs were right in his face and smiled seductively. The one holding the camera-phone whispered something to him that Cassidy couldn’t hear, something that made him wince. All she could think was, This is Mason’s life. This is what it’s like for him all the time. A dream come true for some men—fame, beautiful women, tons of money, but for him? Judging by his body language, maybe not. Maybe fun at some point, but perhaps it had just gotten old. Even she could see how different she was from girls like these. Same age, more or less. But worlds apart.

  “How soon can we get the hell out of here?” Mason muttered after the girls wobbled away on their towering heels.

  “I’m okay here,” she said. “Really.”

  “I’m not.” He took a pull from his beer and glared over her shoulder. “Whoever put the first camera in a cellphone ought to be rounded up and shot.”

  “It sort of makes everyone a reporter, doesn’t it?”

  “If by ‘reporter’ you mean ‘pain in the ass,’ then yeah. Autographs are fine. I got no problem with those. But pictures tell a different story, and most of the time it’s a story that looks really bad.”

  He stood, took out a thick wad of cash and then dropped a twenty on the table. As a server herself, she admired the generosity. But as a woman, she liked that he tipped on free stuff. Mason took nothing for granted.

  He stayed close behind her as they threaded their way to the door. Cassidy tried not to look at the curious faces. Twice she saw a girl she’d gone to school with give her an excited wave or a thumbs up. Even Mrs. Woburn from the grocery patted her shoulder. But for every encouraging gesture from people she’d known since childhood, there were far more hard stares from strangers. Cassidy just knew they were looking at her clothes, her shoes, her everything. And that she’d been found wanting.

  Mason stopped to sign an autograph for Sara Jo Merriwether’s grandson, Jason, who beamed up at him from his wheelchair. While Mason talked with him about an upcoming game, a man, maybe forty, wearing a shiny suit that looked out-of-place at the Double Aces, shoved a card in her hands.

  “Marvin Fussell,” he said. “I’m with Hanover Insurance—term, whole life, you name it. Listen, could you give my card to Mr. Hannigan?”

  “No, thanks.” Mason took the card out of Cassidy’s hands and gave it back to Fussell.

  “Hey, Mr. Hannigan, are you sure I can’t just stop by—”

  “I said no thanks.” Mason turned away to sign a jersey for Jason.

  “How ’bout you, honey?” Fussell said in an undertone. “Someone around here told me you had a daughter, ain’t that right? Whaddya say I come around and give you a great price on some term insurance. Maybe you can put in a good word for me, eh?”

  Cassidy flinched. To hear a stranger talk about her daughter shook her.

  “Stay away from me,” she said.

  Mason was now standing over Fussell, who gave him a hasty smile. “We don’t have a problem here, do we, buddy?”

  “No, no problem. Me and your gal here, we were just—”

  But Mason had already shielded her with his body and had pushed his way out the door.

  * * * *

  If there was one thing Mason had learned from having two sisters, it was that when a woman got quiet, it was never a good sign.

  Cassidy was quiet. It made everything louder by comparison. His thoughts, for instance. Definitely louder. Their footsteps on the sidewalk to Doak and Prisci
lla’s house. Louder. Dried leaves scraping along the gutter. Even his breathing.

  He wanted to apologize for what had happened at the bar, to explain that what he really loved wasn’t the fame, it was football. Football was one of the only things in life that made sense. There were rules, teams, clear objectives. Few moments on earth were more perfect than a packed stadium, the grunting of linemen holding back a surging defense, a football clutched, launched, the roar of the crowd, a thousand flashbulbs, and then a running back wide open downfield and the ball arcing up in a wobble-free spiral, tight and fast as a bullet, followed by the catch, the wild cheering, a madhouse of sound. Finally, the victory dance in the end zone—not too much celebrating, of course. Not enough to get you flagged by the refs.

  If he could just stay on the field all day, life would be a lot easier. He sucked at this other shit. Life should be one long football game, he thought as the silence grew deafening. There should be playbooks for everything.

  Especially women.

  So he asked himself what Shari, his older sister, would do. Shari suffered no fools. He pictured her sitting at her desk with a pyramid of papers on one side, a gallon Thermos of coffee on the other, taking phone calls from whiny-ass rock musicians who didn’t like the venue she’d booked them into or who wanted a different brand of Vitamin Water in the green room. Shari would have given it to him straight. As his older sister, she pretty much always had. Otherwise, the whole deal with Cassidy would just fester, no words to air things out between them, and the next time he saw her, he’d know right away that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

  Mason took a deep breath. Shari would have told him to man the fuck up. She’d have told him to stop circling around the issue and tackle it head on. He needed to do this before they got back to Doak and Priscilla’s.

  He spotted a park bench beneath a pair of yellow pines. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  They sat. The wind lifted the hem of Cassidy’s dress and fluttered it up her thigh. Mason had a moment of panic when the words wouldn’t come. He swallowed hard and forced himself to picture Shari, fearless, filterless Shari, yelling into her phone.

  “You looked pretty rattled back there,” he blurted out. “All those people, all that craziness. Tell me that didn’t freak you out a little.”

  “I hate people looking at me. The insurance guy just scared me, that’s all. I don’t know how you hold up under all the pressure.”

  Mason started to talk about how he dealt with the insanity, but stopped. This wasn’t the way. She didn’t need to hear him mansplain his thoughts on the subject. She just needed him to listen. At least, that’s what Shari would have said.

  “You got a big ole dose of being famous back there,” he said. “But you totally handled it.”

  She bit her lip. “I did?”

  “I thought so.”

  “I felt like one of those prairie dogs that pokes its head up and then goes running for the nearest safe hole.”

  “Yeah, but that’s exactly what I like about you.”

  She blinked at him in obvious confusion. Well, that was awkward. She had no idea what he was talking about. Plus, Mason knew he was in dangerous territory here—admissions of liking a girl weren’t a Mason Hannigan vertical post pattern specialty.

  He could feel her staring at his profile in the semi-darkness. “You like the fact that I’m a complete idiot?” she asked.

  “You’re not an idiot. You’re normal.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “I mean it, Cass. You aren’t like the women I meet.”

  Silence again. Despite the drop in temperature, he could feel a light film of sweat develop on the back of his neck. “Look, no bullshit, okay? Let me see if I can explain it. My life is kind of like this. There are women pretty much everywhere, all the time. Maybe I date a few of them. Most are dumber than a box of rocks. A few are outstanding. But it doesn’t matter because it’s not me they’re after.”

  “Who is it then?”

  “They want the fame. They want to go back to their friends and say, ‘I hooked up with Mason Hannigan.’ They want… well, I know it sounds harsh, but Jasper calls them road beef.”

  Cassidy leaned over and picked up a handful of leaves. She arranged them into the shape of a fan. It looked like a kind of meditation. Funny how attuned he was to her thoughts and moods. How he could read her.

  “But you don’t give a damn about that,” he continued. “You didn’t go to the Double Aces tonight to show everyone that you were there with the Dallas Lone Stars quarterback. You were there with me. At least, I think you were.”

  “Of course I was,” she replied with a sincerity he found impossible not to believe. “You’re the only reason I would…”

  Mentally, he urged her—no, begged her—to finish that sentence. Whatever it was she almost said might have told him in plain English what the problem was so he could fix it. He was good at fixing things. Then he could convince her that once you got used to living inside the fishbowl, you found ways to deal with it. But her voice trailed off and the thought was left unsaid and he knew he’d have to wait for it come around again.

  That sucked. He hated waiting.

  “Don’t let them scare you off,” he said. “They’ll try, but you’re the only one who can let them get to you.”

  “Okay, Oprah.”

  “I’m serious.”

  She tossed the leaves up in the air and watched them scatter while a gust of wind rustled the pine branches above their heads. A dog barked in the distance and was answered by a chorus of shrill yaps. He breathed in the tantalizing supper smells from backyard barbecue smokers and the talcum powdery scent of fabric softeners tumbling in dryers. He gazed up at the big Cuervo water tower. And that feeling of the rightness of things came over him again. Mason wanted to stretch his arms out on the back of the bench. He wanted to inch closer until his lips and her lips were inches apart. And then he wanted to show her there was nothing to be afraid of, that he would protect her with everything he had. All she needed to give him was a chance.

  Okay, another chance.

  “I have a daughter,” she said. “When you have a kid, it changes… well, everything, actually. So if you’re looking for a girlfriend to go clubbing with or whatever, that’s not me. Even if Lexie weren’t in the picture, that’s not me.”

  Mason smiled. “Guess how many clubs I’ve been to in the last ten years.”

  “How many?”

  “Except for a birthday or a bachelor party? None.”

  She glanced up at him in obvious surprise.

  “I hate that shit,” he told her. “I really do. Rather go fishing. Besides, me dancing is like watching a drunk get tasered.”

  Her laughter rang out and it gave him such a rush. Cassidy needed to laugh more. She needed someone to help her carry all that responsibility. He knew she loved her daughter. And if being a mom was what made her all the things he admired about her—smart, steady, loyal, un-materialistic—then he was fine with that.

  “I like it here, right here, on this bench, looking at everything,” she said. “Nothing changes in Cuervo. Some people find it boring, I suppose, but I don’t. To me, it’s comfort food.”

  Mason reached across the bench. He captured her soft fingers in his and felt the warmth of contact spread all the way through his chest. Touching her reminded him why he’d always had to police himself around her, because a little made him hungry for so much more. There was something about her, something that had been there from the very beginning, he could never seem to get enough of. It had scared the shit out of him before. Now he wanted to drown in it. And when she didn’t pull her hand away, craving boiled through his veins.

  Shari would have told him to be patient, that good things were worth waiting for, but it was getting harder to talk his hormones down off the
ledge. He felt like a hostage negotiator—one part of him itching to go for it, the other counseling him to wait. But there was a third side to him that worried Cassidy might not have ever really forgiven him for dumping her, and then he would never know if what they had was the real deal or not.

  “Isn’t rodeo about ready to gear up?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow is opening night. I know because Lexie reminds me every five minutes.”

  “Then let me take you. Both of you. I’ve got one more night in Cuervo before heading back to Dallas. Will you go with me?”

  Chapter Six

  Cassidy tied the strings of her half-apron and then slipped two pens inside the front pocket. “Thanks for working my shift tonight,” she told Darlene. She could already hear Artie yelling at her from the back to “stop jawin’ and start working,” although they’d just walked in.

  Darlene didn’t even stop to roll her eyes at him. “I don’t mind working a double,” she told Cassidy.

  “Why on earth not?”

  “Because I’ve got a million freakin’ questions, that’s why. How else am I going to get any info out of you?”

  Cassidy added a few extra straws and condiment packets to her apron pocket. “You’re going to hate me then. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Nothing to tell?” Darlene gave her a thunk on the head. “Are you insane? Mason Hannigan came to your house to have dinner and then asked you to the rodeo. How’s that for nothing to tell?”

  “Yeah, but…” She cut her eyes at Artie, who was scowling while he assembled cheeseburgers. “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

  Cassidy skated outside, away from Artie’s accusing glare. Taking the hint, Darlene swiped a couple of just-filled Cokes off the counter and scurried after her. Sun glinted off the chrome bumpers of the cars lined up at the curb. The early lunch crowd seemed especially early today. Cassidy wondered if they were there to grab a meal or cop a stare. Boy, are you being paranoid, she told herself. One night with Mason and you’re already imagining things.