Or does he want you because you’re convenient? You’re always here and it’s easy. That was why he and Blaire were fuck buddies, after all.
I’d love to silence the voice in my head, but it continues whispering doubts at the back of my mind, even when I tell it to hush.
When the guys come in laughing and talking, Mason’s eyes scan the room and immediately snag on me. I offer him a weak smile, and his brows crease as he breaks away from the group to sit on the couch with me.
“Hey.” He leans in for a brief kiss. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“Do I?” I sit up straighter, shaking my head and consciously trying to smooth the frown from my face. From Mason’s expression, I don’t think I succeed. So I shrug, open the email again, and hand him the tablet.
He gives me a quizzical look before reading the email, his eyes widening as he takes it in. “Well, fuck that. You’re my date.”
For just a second, my heart soars at his summary rejection of the list from the PR company. He could literally have any of those beautiful, famous women, and he wants me, which finally shuts up that toxic voice in the back of my head whispering that I don’t really matter to him.
But then reality crashes in. If I’m on the red carpet with him, I’ll have my picture taken. I’ve seen what the media does to the women who appear on the arms of famous men. Hell, I’ve seen what they do to famous women with strong, thriving careers. I’ve scanned past the headlines about my cousin on social media, dismissing the gossip while my stomach roiled. They made her out to be some kind of gold digger, especially when she got together with Beckett.
What will they do to me?
I draw in a shaky breath, looking at the tablet as I retrieve it from Mason’s hands. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. It might be better if you go with one of the women on that list.”
Mason doesn’t respond, and when I look up, I find him studying me with that furrow between his brows. He looks away and rubs his jaw the way he does when he’s considering something.
I feel like I’m choking as I realize he must be considering which of those women he’d pick as a date.
His fingers close around my wrist and he stands, tugging me to my feet behind him. I let him lead me out of the greenroom and down the hall to his dressing room, more than okay with having privacy. I feel like I might cry. Between the emotional high of the last few weeks, chronic sleep deprivation, and the gut punch from that email, I’m all twisted up. None of my reactions right now will be pretty.
Once we’re in his dressing room, he closes the door gently behind us, takes the tablet out of my hand and sets it on the counter running the length of one wall, then sits on the loveseat in the opposite corner, pulling me into his lap.
He rubs his jaw again, the silence growing heavy between us. I want to say something, but I don’t know what exactly. And it seems like he has something to say as well, and nerves make my heart race. I have no idea how this encounter will end up, but it seems like it will be important.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, barely louder than a whisper, but firm. “Let me make one thing clear—I have zero interest in attending an event with a date who isn’t you.” He meets my eyes, holding me captive with his unflinching stare like he’s willing me to understand how serious he is. “If you don’t want to be my date, that’s fine. I’ll go alone. But I’m not taking someone for some kind of PR stunt.”
“But the email said you need a date since the other guys all have significant others.”
He lets out a long sigh, and his arms cinch tighter around me. “They always say that. I even fell for it a few times. But really it’s just a way for them to up the clout of the women on that list. I’ve done it enough to know that I won’t do it again. I’m tired of being used. And I definitely don’t want to date some random woman who only wants to be seen with me to make herself look better when I’ve got you.”
My heart swells in my chest. “You won’t feel weird being the only single guy there?”
A crooked smile tips up half his mouth. “I’m used to being the odd man out. I grew up feeling like I didn’t quite fit and trying desperately to sand off or disguise the parts of myself that didn’t meet with my parents’ approval.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have to do that here. Not with Marcus and Aaron and Danny. Not with you. And I don’t give a shit what some gossip sites have to say about me. They don’t matter.”
“Right.” I look down at my hands, wishing I could harness some of his give-no-fucks attitude. But I also know that attitude was hard won for him. He told me a couple weeks ago about his fundamentalist parents and their hard-line attitudes, about how he tried so hard to please them for so long, but by the time he was in high school he realized that it was impossible, that living up to their standards, to their religion’s standards, was impossible. At least for him. He loved music too much. Liked girls too much. Wanted to experience the wider world.
So he worked his ass
