“You’re telling me you don’t remember a few weeks ago, when we hooked up in my trailer? What was that about, Mason?”
“Oh, that?” he asked, trying to play dumb. “That was just fun. What, you didn’t want to have fun? That’s what this lifestyle is about—”
“Don’t pull that shit here,” I said, coming at him with my finger pointing at his chest accusingly. “We had a connection. And then you ran away because you were scared of it.”
Mason’s jaw went a little tighter, and there was a nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. “It was just a hookup,” he denied.
“It was more than that and you know it,” I accused.
I didn’t know what had gotten into me. This was a different, stronger, more warrior-like version of me. For once, I was standing up for myself, and I couldn’t stop now that I’d gotten started. It was like there was this dam of fury and fight bottled up within me, and it was all pouring out at Mason. Plus, my discussion with Alina last night — the one about it being harder than I thought to fire me — was adding fuel to the flames.
To my surprise, Mason took a step back. Even though his Cheshire Cat smirk didn’t falter, I knew that I’d sussed out a weak spot.
He was running that night; running from the connection we had.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, taking a step towards the set of sinks.
“You’re doing it again,” I pointed out. “We were having a discussion.”
Mason stopped in his tracks, then abruptly turned to face me again. “Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?” He pushed my shoulders.
I braced myself, standing my ground.
“You come onto this set— our set, as this completely random hairstylist or whatever, and you manage to worm your way into a fucking lead role in the hottest Netflix series on T.V. Right now. You have Reese Riley wrapped around your fucking finger!”
His nostrils were flaring now, and his face was inches from mine. I knew he was trying to debase me; he was angry that I called him out on his shit. He was doing anything to get back a scrap of power — even if it was through bullying like this.
But Mason didn’t scare me anymore. Now I knew how he worked.
“What is your problem, anyway?” He asked, running his hands through his hair. “Who the fuck are you?”
My knees were shaking, but I held my ground. Even though I was nearly naked in my black and red speedo, I felt like I was wearing armor when I confronted Mason.
“You know who I am. You’ve had plenty of time to get to know me,” I said. “I’m just a guy that loves acting.”
“You’re a nobody,” Mason snapped, coming at me again.
It stung, but I didn’t let it show. “Maybe so, but you’re threatened by this nobody. Why, Mason?”
He was quiet at that, baring his teeth.
“Oh, you finally don’t have anything to say?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s because you can’t face the truth: You’re threatened by me.”
“That’s bullshit! Why would I be threatened by a nothing like you?” He snarled.
“Because!” I said, leaning into the fight, “because you’re losing it, Mason. I saw the reviews from your performance in your last show. People think you’re propped up by nepotism. People think you’re a fake. Your reputation is on the line. That’s why you keep coming after me and Alina, trying to uncover our secrets — you’re trying to find sneaky, underhanded ways to get rid of us!”
Mason laughed, the sound echoing throughout the empty locker room.
“Well done,” he hissed, the mischievous glimmer returning to his eyes.
I could have been mistaken, but I thought I saw an inkling of respect in those eyes for me.
“You’re not as much of a pushover as I thought,” he said, holding out his hand for me to shake again. “Truce for now?” he asked.
I felt… strangely empowered as the fires of rage died down within me. I didn’t know what to think of this weird behavior coming from him. Usually after an argument like that, people got into fistfights or one person would walk away.
But Mason was treating it like… he was treating it like it was a gentleman’s duel or something. Did that mean that… that everything I was saying was right?
As I shook his hand, bewildered, one thing was for certain: I’d won some kind of respect from Mason.
Speechless and still trying to figure all of this out, I followed him wordlessly as he led me to the baths.
We walked through a big, arching tunnel that reminded me of a scene in the first season. Everything around was looking very familiar…
Then we came to a large, rectangular pool that was glimmering a tempting aqua color.
In the pool were two figures.
“There are already people here?” I asked. I thought Mason got us a private pool when he asked me if I wanted to go swimming in the baths. Part of me was disappointed that I didn’t get more alone time with Mason, and part of me was relieved.
Mason shrugged, then said, “They’re part of our party.”
I was cranky for a moment, feeling shy in the presence of strangers. But as we approached, I saw the swath of bright red hair and realized they weren’t strangers at all.
Oliver and Crim were leaning up against the side of the pool, staring at us like we were intruding on them.
“…are we interrupting something?” Mason asked with his Cheshire Cat smirk.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Every time you enter a room you’re interrupting something, Pretty Boy,” Crim said smoothly.
I wondered if it was an insult or flirting — I couldn’t tell anymore.
Mason smiled, then fired back, “I’m surprised you can swim at all. Aren’t gingers supposed to be allergic to water or something?”
“Weak,” Oliver quipped with a smirk.
I suddenly felt out of place here — all of this arguing that wasn’t really arguing wasn’t my style at all. It was some kind of complex form of socialization that was foreign to me.
For an instant, I craved my simple
