I had no idea why Mason thought I would make the best partner in the entire class. Ever since he showed up late and sat next to me to try to avoid the professor’s dire glare, he’d been nonstop. Trying to talk to me, trying to joke with me, trying to…hell, I didn’t even know. I had no idea what Mason thought he was doing, why he wouldn’t just forget me and move on like everyone else in my life.
Like, come on. Just because he had to sit beside me one day did not automatically mean he had to sit next to me forevermore, you know? But, unfortunately, it seemed he did not get the memo. Mason continued to sit by me, and the bastard became my partner for the psychology project.
Great, I know. I was going to have so much fun with him.
Sarcasm. Because I wasn’t. I never had fun anymore, but I knew for a fact that I would not have any fun whatsoever with him or his flippant, glib, annoyingly persistent attitude.
I was so annoyed with him that I could not stop thinking about the smile he wore when he told the professor that he and I were partners. When the professor had looked to me for assurance, I’d been unable to do anything, still so shocked that he’d want to be my partner.
No one ever wanted to be my anything. That was not an exaggeration, that was fact, learned in the last few years.
Frankly, I didn’t know what Mason thought. Was he the kind of guy who tried his hardest to get in a girl’s pants, doing whatever he thought necessary to get there? Or, maybe, was he genuinely just trying to be my partner? I didn’t know which one would be worse.
I could not stop thinking about his smile, nor his confidence, all day. All freaking day, all throughout the rest of my classes. It was silly, and also annoying to no end.
What was worse? Mason was kind of cute. He had short, light brown hair that I bet got lighter in the sun, warm brown eyes that matched the color on top of his head. Dimples on his cheeks when he smiled, and teeth that were perfectly straight and white. Square chin, with a small cleft in its center. Clean-shaven.
And, what was the absolute worst part of all of that? When he was telling the professor that he and I were partnering together, I got a whiff of him. I smelled him. And, by God, the boy didn’t smell awful.
He smelled good, actually. Had to be his deodorant or something, or maybe I just never got close enough to another person to realize what they smelled like. I didn’t know.
What I did know, however, was that these next few weeks were going to be terrible. The packet the professor gave everyone before letting class go was thick. We had to figure out an experiment to test a hypothesis, collect data, analyze that data, and then present the results to the class, in addition to whether or not we had to adjust our hypothesis. Beyond that, whatever we chose to work on only had to pertain to some sort of psychology.
I honestly had no idea what we were going to do. I felt like everything had already been done ten times over. Hardly anything was new these days; everything had been beaten with a dead horse for a long, long time. Nothing Mason and I could do would win us any awards.
It was thirty percent of our final grade in the class though, so we did have to try, which meant—the horror—I had to see Mason outside of class. Probably on weekends. Which sucked. Weekends were my time to recuperate from the difficulties of the week and try to bolster myself up in preparation for the next week. It was a constant struggle, you know. I was not looking forward to having Mason mess my routine up.
He’d tried to get my number out of me before I hurried away, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t. Mason didn’t stop, though, for after I shook my head and told him no, he had a comeback ready.
“Then let me give you mine,” he said, grinning that unstoppable smile. Such a strong expression, I had to look away.
I didn’t want his number, but I guess he and I did have a project to do. God, this sucked majorly. “Fine,” I muttered, biting my bottom lip, wanting this whole day to be over. At least when I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing I was asleep, I was alone and didn’t have to deal with…with other people.
It was funny. Sometimes I hated being alone, but other times being alone was just what I wanted. Maybe because I was so used to it. Being alone was natural to me. Anything else just made me feel uncomfortable, which Mason clearly did not deduce from the way I acted around him.
Mason then did something I wasn’t expecting: he stepped around me, grabbed my backpack, and pulled out one of my pens. He popped the cap, his warm amber eyes meeting mine as his hand found mine.
My breathing stopped. He was warm, his skin soft. Or maybe that was just me being weird. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched me, let alone an attractive guy.
I shouldn’t let his attractiveness affect me. I knew I shouldn’t. Mason would get tired of me like everyone else, and once this project was over, he and I would never talk again. He’d turn that cute, dimpled smile to another girl and go on with his life, totally forgetting about me.
That was probably for the best, anyways.
Still, I could not fight the way my heart sped up in my chest as I felt his fingers hold onto my hand, as I watched him bring the pen to the top of my hand and scribble down his number. He stood inches away, far too close, practically blocking the entire world out, utterly intent on writing his number down on my skin.
This was weird, wasn’t it? I should’ve just given him my number; this wouldn’t be happening otherwise. Stupid, stupid.
When he was finished writing down his number, he withdrew the pen…but he did not release his hold on me right away. His smile lingered as he said, “Text me. I can come over, or I can come pick you up. We could meet at the library…whatever. Anywhere, okay?” He finally took a step back, his hand sliding off mine, leaving a vacant coldness where he’d been touching me.
My hand felt tingly afterward, but I refused to let it show as I studied the number written on the back of it. All I did was nod before turning away and walking off. I didn’t get very far, however, because I remembered he had my pen—so I spun on my heel, marched back to him, and plucked the pen from his grasp.
“You don’t get to keep my pen,” I muttered, reaching behind me to stuff it back into the side compartment of my bag.
“Don’t worry,” he told me, practically radiating energy, “by the time this project is done, I’ll steal more than your pen.”
I was about to ask him just what the hell he meant by that, but Mason winked—he actually winked—before walking away, leaving me speechless. I watched him go, my mouth falling open. A wink? Really? I thought winking was reserved for books or movies, not real life.
And why would he wink at me?
That thought, along with his smile, lingered in my head all throughout the day. My attention span was hardly great on a usual day, but today it was absolutely shattered. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t listen to any of the professors drone on and on about their topics. All I could do was stare at my pen, at the number on the back of my hand, and wonder why I felt so…conflicted.
It’d been so long since I’d had a crush, so long since I cared enough to think about anyone else like that. They were all pointless feelings, anyway, because as soon as someone knew the real me—not the boring mask I wore around in public—they wouldn’t want to spend any time with me, anyway.