Two days later, I dress for work with special care, and take extra time doing my hair.
Today is the first day of our official contract.
It’s also the day the news breaks of Mason getting signed to the Springville Rockets.
So, all in all, kind of a big deal. And yeah, I’m nervous.
My early-morning slot goes off without a hitch, and in pretty much every respect it feels just like any other normal day. Until around eleven in the morning, when an absolutely enormous bouquet of roses shows up for me.
The arrangement is so large, it completely dwarfs the upper body of the skinny kid who delivers them to my desk. I sign for them and reach in my purse for a tip, but the kid shakes his head.
“It’s all taken care of, miss,” he says with a sheepish smile. I thank him, and he gives me a brief nod and goes on his way.
I turn back to my desk and try to figure out where I’m going to put the flowers so they don’t take up all the available surface area. There must be at least three dozen long-stemmed red roses here. Roses have never been my favorite flowers, but the arrangement is incredibly extravagant, and absolutely gorgeous. The scent is already wafting through the office. If Mason wanted to attract attention and make an impression, he could hardly have chosen a better way to do it.
I almost don’t even notice the small card that’s tied to a ribbon around the vase. I detach the envelope and open it.
“Happy anniversary doll!” it reads. “Love, Mason.”
In spite of how embarrassed I am, I actually snort with laughter.
“Holy buckets! Who are those from?”
I turn to see Mackenzie standing wide-eyed behind me.
Well, I think. I guess it’s go time.
“Um, my boyfriend?” I squeak. Yeah, that was convincing, Anna.
“What boyfriend?” Mackenzie shoots back, giving me a look of confusion. “Did you meet someone?”
I didn’t exactly practice my responses to these questions ahead of time. I’m realizing now that I really should have. It’s just my luck that the first person I’d have to tell is Mackenzie, whom I consider a friend and whom I definitely would have told if I’d been dating someone. And she knows it.
“Well,” I stammer. “The truth is, it’s someone I’ve been dating for a while.”
“Seriously?” She checks out the bouquet again, clearly impressed. “Well, whoever it is, he’s definitely not afraid to spend a little money. Do I know him?”
“Uh, sort of.” I murmur. “It’s ah, Mason Robichaud.”
“Mason Robichaud?” she repeats incredulously. “Like, Mason Robichaud the football player?”
I have to laugh. “Yep. Exactly like the football player.”
“Are you kidding me? Anna, how long has this been going on?” She’s flabbergasted. I can’t blame her.
“A while,” I say vaguely. Shit, we haven’t really covered any of this yet. I curse myself for not going over to Mason’s last night like he’d asked me to.
Mackenzie grabs the little card out of my hand and reads it. She frowns, and then looks back up at me. “How come you never told anyone you were dating him?” she asks accusingly.
“We wanted to keep the spotlight off of us,” I stammer. “You know how the media —”
“How long have you two been together?” she repeats, interrupting me. “How long have you been keeping all this a secret?”
“I met him, uh, just after he got out of rehab,” I say on the fly. That’s a good response, I congratulate myself. New start, new relationship, right?
“But, that wasn’t a year ago,” she argues, pointing to the card. “This says, ‘happy anniversary.’”
“It’s our, uh… monthiversary!” I blurt. Quickly, I calculate in my head. “Ten months. And…” I hesitate, but figure the news is probably already out, so I decide to just go for it. “Also, he just got signed to the Rockets for this season. So it’s kind of a big day.”
Thankfully, somehow that response seems to satisfy Mackenzie’s thirst for information a little.
“Wow. That’s fantastic,” she marvels, flashing me a look I’ve never really seen her give me before. “Well, that’s… Wow, Anna.” She laughs softly and shakes her head. “I’m really happy for you. And here I was, trying to think of some of Nathan’s friends to introduce you to.”
“Oh. Yeah. No need to do that,” I assure her. “I’m good. Mason and I, we’re… solid. It’s really serious, and stuff.”
God, I sound lame. But thankfully, Mackenzie doesn’t really seem to notice.
“Hey,” she says then, in a bright voice. “Maybe you and Mason could get together for a double date with Nathan and me!” She gives me a wide, excited smile. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
I’ve had two boyfriends in the time I’ve known Mackenzie, but she has never once suggested a double date before.
“Sure,” I reply uncertainly. “That, uh, sounds good. But maybe we could wait a few weeks? Mason’s going to be pretty busy until he’s gotten everything squared away with the team.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Mackenzie waves her hand. “That totally makes sense. We’re really busy right now, too. Well, gosh, congratulations again!” She gives me a little hug and then hurries off. Probably to call Nathan and tell him everything she just learned.
After Mackenzie’s gone, I have a couple of seconds of anxiety that I told her the news about Mason’s contract before it was public. But a quick online search shows me that I have nothing to worry about. The team has already issued the press release this morning.
I let out a little sigh of relief and grab my phone to text my fiancé about the flowers.
Anna: Way to thrust me into the spotlight, jackass
Mason: You spelled ‘thank you’ wrong
Anna: Thank you. Jackass.
Mason: Seriously, do you like them?
Anna: They’re beautiful. But they must have cost a fortune.
Mason: Lucky for you, I just got signed for a fortune. Besides, nothing’s too good for you, doll. See you later tonight. :)
Dammit.
I really should have had it put into that damn contract that Mason isn’t allowed to call me ‘doll.’
15
Anna
I arrive at Mason’s place at six that night, and pull up to park my car in his large semicircular driveway. My little subcompact looks comically out of place in front of his mansion. I lock the doors, even though I’m pretty sure no one is going to break into it here. Then I go up to the front door and ring the bell. A few seconds later, he answers.
“Hey, doll,” he grins, opening the door wide to let me through. He’s dressed casually, in a tight Under Armor shirt, jeans, and bare feet. He smells like soap, and something else I can’t figure out that makes me want to jump his bones.
“Come on into the kitchen,” Mason says, grabbing my hand and leading me back. The unexpected contact feels even more intimate than it was two days ago in the lawyers’ office, because now we’re alone. And fake-engaged. I should pull away, but I don’t.
I’ve been to Mason’s place once before, but I’m still surprised by how big it is. The kitchen feels almost as big as my entire apartment. There’s a large island right in the middle, and a dining room off to the side. Mason offers me a drink, and then moves to the other side of the island in front of the stove, where a variety of pots are boiling and simmering.
“Huh. So it looks like you really can cook,” I say, leaning against the island.
Mason glances back at me with a quick smile. “I live alone, so I kinda had to learn,” he says with a shrug. Then he winks at me. “I’m making us a romantic dinner for our anniversary.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You didn’t do me any favors, sending those flowers.”
He frowns. “I thought you said you liked them.”
“I liked the flowers. I didn’t love all the attention I got from them.”
“Get used to attention,” he tells me, turnin
g toward the pots. “It comes with the territory.”
Mason tells me he’s making steak with mushrooms and roasted potatoes with blue cheese sauce. “But I can put the mushrooms and the blue cheese sauce on the side if you aren’t a fan.”
“No, it all sounds really good,” I murmur, taking a sip of the red wine he’s poured me. “Can I help you with anything?” I offer. “I could set the table as you work, or something.”
He gives an approving nod, and directs me to where I can find the plates and the silverware. I carry everything over to the table and set it.
“Do you need help with anything else?” I ask when I’m back in the kitchen.
He waves a hand without turning around. “Nah, sit down and enjoy your wine. I’m almost done, just give me a few minutes.”
I sit down at the island and watch him work for a bit. Since he’s concentrating on something else, I have a chance to check him out without him knowing it. God, he is objectively smoking hot. I’m guessing that almost any woman he encounters flirts with him mercilessly. A pang of jealousy spikes through me, surprising me. I suppress a laugh at how ridiculous that is. I have no claim on Mason at all. Other than our business relationship, that is.
But what if he decides to hook up with someone while we’re supposed to be together?
The contract didn’t cover that. It never occurred to me until just now that that might be a problem. But Mason has basically just signed up for a year of pretending to be in a relationship with me. Which means a year of not having sex with any other girls, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s hard to believe that Mason would risk the damage to his reputation if he were caught “cheating” on me.
But it’s also pretty damn hard to imagine Mason Robichaud being celibate for an entire year.
“Food’s done!”
I jump a little as Mason’s voice startles me. He’s already transferring some trays to the dining room, and I’m too stunned to offer help again.
I realize I have no idea how long I’ve been daydreaming.
Mason flashes me a knowing smirk. “Checking out my ass?”
“You wish,” I toss back automatically, but it sounds forced, even to me. “It smells good,” I add, hoping to change the subject.
“Thanks. Grab your glass and come eat.”
I do what he says, sliding into the chair that he holds out for me. The perfect gentleman. “Thanks,” I murmur, and wait as he sits down across from me.
“You’re welcome. Dig in.”
I do. It’s delicious. The meat is really tender, and the potatoes are perfectly seasoned. It’s amazing to think that Mason made this. I kind of want to gush about it, but I don’t really want to give him the satisfaction. Mason is cocky enough as it is.
After a few bites, I take a sip of my wine, savoring it. “This wine is really good,” I tell him, holding up my glass. “It goes really well with the steak.”
“Yeah? Glad to hear it. I usually use a delivery service instead of going grocery shopping myself, so I asked he guy at the store to pick something out. I’m not much of a specialist. May I?”
Before I can say anything, he picks up the glass and takes a sip himself. “Yeah, that is good!” he grins.
“Wait, aren’t you supposed to…” I trail off, a little shocked and embarrassed. “I mean, I didn’t think you were supposed to drink.”
He laughs, but there’s a slight edge to it. “Yeah. I avoid it in public,” he tells me. “And for the most part, I just don’t drink at all anymore. But I’m not an alcoholic, Anna. Far from it.”
“But… then why were you in rehab?” My face flushes hot. I don’t want to make him feel bad, but the question came out before I could stop it.
“It’s okay,” he nods, as though he’s reading my mind. “You can ask. The fact is, I was never in rehab.”
“I don’t get it.” I shake my head, frowning at him. “But you were in rehab. It was all over the news.”
“Yeah,” he snorts. “It sure was. You can thank the media for that bullshit.”
“I’m the media,” I point out, a little defensively.
“Well, then you know how bloodthirsty they can be. And when they smell a juicy story,” he continues bitterly, “that’s all that matters. Whether it’s true or not.”
The challenge in Mason’s eyes makes me drop my gaze from his for a second. But I can still feel him looking at me. He’s angry, though he’s trying to hold it back. It’s hard not to feel like a little of the anger is directed at me.
“You’re saying the story about you being in rehab isn’t true?” I ask, still confused.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
My immediate impulse is not to believe him. It seems pretty far-fetched that the whole story is a complete fabrication.
But it is true what he says about the power of a juicy story sometimes taking on a life of its own. I’ve certainly seen it happen.
I don’t personally know any journalists who would actually lie. But I do know that sometimes there’s a tendency to spin a story, to make a more exciting version. But in those cases, there’s still always a kernel of truth that the story starts from.
“Mason, that doesn’t make any sense,” I say weakly. “If what you say is true, then how would a story like that have gotten out?”
“It was my brother.”
“Your brother?” I repeat.
“Yeah.” Mason sighs, and leans back in his chair, a weary expression on his face. “My older brother Derek. He’s had a problem with alcohol for a while. Years. He can’t really hold down a job. Can’t keep a relationship. My parents are kind of the only people who still stick by him through it all. Even though he screws them over pretty much every chance he gets.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out noisily. “I was spotted at the rehab facility one day while I was visiting. Someone got film of me that makes it look like I was staying there, and ran with it. The rest is history.”
“So, wait.” I shake my head. “You’re telling me the reports about your alcohol problem, the photos that came out… none of it was true?” It’s pretty hard to believe what Mason is saying. I don’t know what the point would be of him lying to me about this, though.
“Yeah. As far as I understand, whoever got the video sold it as an anonymous source to the website that broke the story. The whole thing got out of control and went viral.” His jaw tenses as he looks down angrily at his plate. “The website refused to print a retraction, even when I told them I could prove it wasn’t me. But by that time, the Rockets had backed out of our contract anyway, and I was left twisting in the wind.” Mason’s lip curls. “And the worst thing is? The fucking stint in rehab didn’t even take. Derek was back outside and using again within a month. So it was all for nothing.”
I consider his words, horrified. If what he’s saying is true, I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for him to watch his career slip through his fingers — for something he didn’t even do.
And now, he has to be constantly careful in public to avoid fanning the flames.
I look at him, and his eyes lock onto mine. They don’t flick away. Instinctively, somehow I just know he’s telling me the truth.
“That’s the first alcohol I’ve bought in almost a year,” he says quietly, nodding toward the bottle.
The mood between us has turned solemn. I feel terrible for Mason. At the same time, there’s something between us — an intimacy — that wasn’t there before. Clearly, confiding in me with this story was not part of the terms of the contract. This was something he told me, just because he wanted to. As far as the rest of the world knows, Mason Robichaud is a recovering alcoholic.
“You didn’t have to,” I said. “Buy the wine. Just for me.”
“I know.” He shrugs, then one corner of his mouth turns up. “But it’s our anniversary, after all. I wanted to make it special.”
I laugh softly. “Thanks for telling me, Mason. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
Mason doesn�
�t respond. He just takes another bite of his steak.
“Go grab another glass,” I finally say. “This wine is too good not to share.”
16
Mason
After dinner, we’re sitting on the couch in my living room. About half the bottle of wine is gone by this point, and Anna’s starting to loosen up.
I’m doing my best to impress her with everything I already know about her.
“You’re from Nebraska,” I tell her. “You majored in journalism and communications at Springville State. You like cross country skiing and international travel.”
“Wow. So, you’ve been reading my bio on the station’s website.” She’s amused.
I shrug and give her a sly wink. “Google is a useful tool, what can I say? Are you seriously going to tell me you didn’t look me up online?”
“I did,” she admits. “But mostly, just videos of you on the field and news articles about your career.”
“Videos, huh?” I tease. “Can’t get enough of my ass, can you?”
Anna gives me an eye roll. “Whatever.”
“So. Travel.” I reach for the bottle and pour a little more wine in her glass. “Where’s the coolest place you’ve been?”
“Well…” Anna hesitates. “To be honest, I kind of put the international travel bit in there to make myself sound more interesting. The truth is, the only foreign country I’ve been to is Canada. But I want to travel. That sort of counts, right?”
“Yeah. That totally counts,” I nod soberly. “So, where do you want to go?”
She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Oh, the usual places, I guess. Paris. London. Barcelona. But eventually, I’d love to go all over the world.” Anna’s eyes kind of sparkle when she talks about this. Fuck, her eyes are beautiful.
She waves her glass at me. “How about you? Have you traveled outside the U.S.?”
“No, not much. Mexico, a couple of times.” I don’t elaborate. I’m not sure Anna would consider doing shots off random chicks’ stomachs in Cancún traveling. And I can’t say I’d blame her.
PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3) Page 42
