16. Mason
Chapter 16
Mason
“ C ome on, Suit, one more rep,” Jason urges.
Landon grunts as he benches twice his body weight.
It won’t be good for his already-overgrown ego for me to tell him so, but that is pretty impressive. Doubly so when you remember that unlike my teammates, Landon isn’t a professional athlete and doesn’t need to be in top shape for his white-collar job.
“Does he play?” Parker whispers into my ear as Landon does yet another rep, veins popping on his neck.
I shake my head. Another thing I won’t be telling Landon is that Parker’s question is a huge compliment: it’s the equivalent of saying “this dude looks hockey-player tough.”
“So, Mason,” Landon says when he’s off the bench. “Do you own the team yet?”
I ignore the question because he knows perfectly well that I don’t. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me, which makes me want to hit him upside his fucking head with a dumbbell. “Are you at least working on it?” Jason asks worriedly.
Does sleeping with Sophia count as “working on it?” What about all of my pathetic attempts to communicate with her, the ones that I’m not even sure were about team acquisition?
“I have a plan.” I give Landon a glare that says, “I could choke you with that barbell, and everyone would think that I merely failed to spot you in time.”
My sinister glare clearly fails because Landon says, “If by ‘plan,’ you mean ‘the most stalkerish stunt I’ve ever heard.’”
The ears of all my nearby teammates perk up, and Jason speaks for them all when he asks, “What’s the plan?”
I glower at them.
Landon says, “I was sworn to secrecy.”
“Secrecy means not even hinting at whatever the secret is,” I grit out to Landon before turning to Jason. “It’s need to know, and you don’t need to know.”
My teammates are big gossips, and I don’t want Sophia to somehow catch wind of my plans since that would ruin everything.
“Fine, next topic,” Jason says as he grabs some dumbbells and lies on the bench to do flies. “What’s everyone doing for the holidays?”
They all take turns sharing, but I stay out of the conversation. Every year, I pretend to spend time with my family because I can’t bring myself to tell Landon or my teammates the truth: my parents do not want to see me or even hear from me, especially during the holidays, and even more so if the holidays are religious in nature.
It's fine, though. Spike is like family to me, and we can have a nice Christmas by ourselves.
Muscles pleasantly sore from the workout, I walk on my desk treadmill and review my investments. As is my new usual, thoughts of Sophia distract me, but somehow, I refocus and buy a few stocks that Landon suggested earlier. Since it was Landon’s suggestion that led me to buy Octothorpe at the right time, I treat his investment tips with a lot of respect.
After I’m done with stocks, I attempt to contact Sophia again.
Nope.
At this point, I don’t expect a reply, but I guess I’m still hopeful, though that hope is fading fast. It’s looking more and more likely that I’ll have to resort to what Landon has dubbed my most stalkerish stunt.
In fact, yes, I’ve decided.
If Sophia doesn’t miraculously reply to my last message by the time I finish walking Spike, I’ll pull the trigger on my plan.
There is a big problem with walking your cat, and it’s called dogs. In Spike’s case, this is extra tricky because he’s more of a danger to many of the dogs we meet than vice versa. He could badly hurt even the fiercest breeds if they forced his claws—though such dogs would have to go over my dead body first. Interestingly enough, Spike likes dogs and has a few friends among them—ones who didn’t behave like jerks upon meeting him when he was a kitten.
This is why he looks excited when he spots one such friend—a papillon named Sir Francis.
“Hello,” says Jack, one of the people who usually walks Sir Francis.
“Hey,” I reply.
This is the downside of friendly dogs; you have to socialize with their handlers. But hey, listening to Jack drone on and on is worth it because Spike seems to be having a grand time—and even takes it in stride when Sir Francis sniffs his butt and tries to hump him.
I guess that’s the ultimate dog compliment? If so, then Spike returns it when he licks Sir Francis’s giant fluffy ears.
I don’t know why, but watching this idyllic play makes me think about starting a family one day, a human one, but also maybe with a friendly-to-Spike dog. The weirdest part is, Sophia’s face—and boobs—come to mind at this exact moment. But that’s insane.
Speaking of insane, when Spike and I get home, there is no reply from Sophia.
Am I doing this then?
To make sure the decision isn’t driven purely by my dick, I jerk off—thinking of Sophia as I do.
Once my mind is clear again, I reanalyze my options. Nope, still don’t see any alternatives. With an outward sigh—and more than a little inner excitement—I get onto my computer again and put my plans in motion.
Okay, it’s done—and I feel the same way I do when I execute a daring play on the ice.
Sophia doesn’t realize this yet, but like many goalies, she’s about to find me pretty difficult to ignore.