Chapter Fourteen Daphne （In Mason’s Body）
“ Y ou’re so good with them,” I praise Mason, just like Melissa did to me, as I skate onto the ice with him after he wraps up class with the Mini Mammoths.
His smile is taking over his face, his pride clear as day. “They make it easy.” He waves goodbye to Chelsea, who’s skating away toward her parents. “Honestly, I’m going to miss not being with them when we switch back.”
I groan, “Well, maybe we never will, and this will become your new normal.”
“Don’t say that. You’ve got to stay positive,” he urges me, and I sulk, finding little hope with how things have gone so far.
“I’ll do my best,” I whine.
His stare burns into me, and I suddenly feel like I’m on fire—a sensation that reminds me of last night.
Last night was … amazing? Confusing? Horrifying? All of the above? Hearing him finally own up to being a dick in high school gave me a sense of peace I hadn’t expected.
But it also changed the dynamic between us. Like a tide now stirs beneath the surface, threatening to pull us under if we let go.
“Do you need to do anything before we head home?” he asks me as we skate off the ice and start unlacing our skates.
I shake my head. “Not unless you do.”
“No, I’m good.”
The forced conversation feels awkward now, like there’s more to say than we’re letting on. But I’m not ready for us to have another one of those conversations. It’ll make everything so much more confusing and complicated. Something neither of us needs right now.
“All right, then straight home,” he murmurs, standing up and throwing his duffel over his shoulder.
I follow him out of the rink, making a mental to-do list in my mind for the rest of the day as we get into his truck.
Shower. Pick a movie for tonight with Maeve, which, of course, Mason will also be present for. And I still need to make a list of school supplies I need to grab before classes start.
He turns the radio up, and “Everywhere” by Michelle Branch begins playing, and I immediately start singing along.
“I love this song,” I murmur happily between verses.
“I know.” Mason smiles. “You were singing it all day yesterday.”
Oh. I guess I didn’t realize that. I’m kind of a human noise machine, constantly singing a verse of the same song on repeat or saying quotes from my favorite movies.
Looking out of the open window during the short car ride, I continue to belt out the lyrics, my hand swimming through the rushing air.
As we pull into the driveway of my house, I notice Maeve’s car is here. She planned on going over to Jackson’s place earlier today. I just didn’t know what time she’d be back.
I’m glad I don’t have to yell at her for missing movie night tonight.
“Maeve’s going to ask what movie we’re watching tonight. You need to tell her A Cinderella Story ,” I inform Mason as he kills the engine.
“Got it.”
The front door flies open, and Maeve bursts out of the house and rushes toward Mason’s door. “Daphne! No way! You got to drive it?”
Crap. I kind of forgot that Mason doesn’t usually let anyone drive his pickup. Not because he’s some uptight truck guy, but because she can be a bit touchy with certain things, and Mason knows her best. Her being the truck, obviously.
Mason beams with pride, selling the part perfectly. “Oh, you know, Mason can’t say no to me. Besides, I can handle her just fine.”
Maeve’s gaze whips my way. “I can’t believe you, you jerk! I’m driving next!”
Mason hops out of the truck, and Maeve wraps her arm around his shoulders as they walk inside. I lock the truck up, grabbing both of our duffel bags before heading inside after them.
“I’m going to hop in the shower real quick,” I announce to the two of them, who are now in the kitchen, pouring out a couple of glasses of lemonade.
Mason’s eyes find mine instantly. “You know where everything is?”
I know he’s really asking a question within a question here. I can tell from the rise of his eyebrows, which quickly returns to normal so Maeve doesn’t notice.
“Don’t worry. I know how to handle everything. It’ll be fine.”
He holds his stare for a moment before nodding and agreeing with me showering alone. “Okay, sounds good.”
We briefly talked about how showering together is not going to be an option unless we’re willing to always play it by ear, and that’s annoying to have to wait for an empty house.
I make my way to the bathroom and start the water so it can get super hot, just the way I like it. With my back to the mirror, I get undressed and set a towel out for after.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
When I step into the shower, hot water hits me, and a smile lifts my lips. I happily spin around in the stream of water like a little rotisserie chicken.
Moving through my usual shower routine, I shampoo and wash my hair before lathering up with conditioner. Now for the big part … literally and figuratively.
Grabbing the loofah, I soap it up and start at my neck, scrubbing and washing my body, working lower and lower. Chest, shoulders, back, abs, sides.
I start talking myself through the next part. “Okay, just going to clean you off real quick, buddy.” I run the sponge over my groin, cleaning from all angles before continuing on to my legs and butt. “Whew, we did it.”
It wasn’t that bad, honestly.
The dick twitches, and I nearly jump out of the shower. I know that I’m somehow triggering that, but I didn’t read the manual for this fucking thing.
Rinsing my conditioner out and body wash off, I wrap myself in a towel and step out of the shower.
After drying myself off and lotioning up, I reach back to set the bottle on the counter and notice something weird in the reflection.
What the heck is that?
Wiping the mirror with a towel, I clear the condensation and turn back around to try to see whatever that was again. A tattoo maybe?
Backing up closer to the mirror, I try to make out the ink and …
I suck in a sharp breath, and my heart jumps into my throat.
Is that a … no way. It can’t be, right?
Tattooed on Mason’s back, centered between his shoulder blades, is a sunset—reds and oranges coloring the five-inch patch of skin.
Time seems to slow as I stand still, staring at the tattoo, as if in a trance.
He got a tattoo of a sunset?
I mean, surely, it must just be a generic sunset and doesn’t hold any meaning to the nickname he gave me when we were kids … right?
Because if it’s not and he got it because of me, then what the hell does that mean? What can it mean?
My heart starts racing, my mind spinning with endless thoughts of possibilities. I want to ask him, make him tell me the truth.
That thought alone makes me feel like I have a frog in my throat. Because I have no idea what the hell I would do with the answer or if I even really want to know it.
“Mason! Hurry the hell up!” Maeve shouts at me as she walks past the bathroom. “We will start this movie without you.”
“Be out in a second!” I yell back, attempting to get out of my head and focus on the task at hand—getting dressed and trying to forget that I ever saw the tattoo in the first place.
If he wanted me to know about it, he would’ve told me.
After slipping on some comfortable clothes, I head downstairs, finding Mason and Maeve already on the sofa with bowls of popcorn in their laps. It’s a bit eerie to see Mason so comfortable in my body, sitting crisscross with a cozy blanket draped around his shoulders.
That’s my spot, not his. But Maeve would never let me take that seat, thinking I’m her brother.
Maybe we should tell her and freak her out. It would surely make this ordeal more entertaining to have someone else in the loop.
But it also sounds more complicated, and knowing her, I bet she wouldn’t leave it alone until she got to the bottom of how to switch us back, and I don’t want her dedicating her life to it if, in the end, there isn’t a solution.
I’m feeling rather hopeless myself. It’s been a week, and the real challenges haven’t even begun. What happens when I’m stuck in his senior-level classes with no idea of what’s going on?
I’m going to ruin his academic career, and while I had fun playing hockey for him in that scrimmage, there’s no way I can go off and pretend to be him in the pro league.
My mind continues spiraling as I settle into the recliner and A Cinderella Story starts playing on the TV. Maeve hands me a bowl of popcorn from the coffee table in front of her, and I nod in thanks.
Oh God, and then there are going to be the puck bunnies throwing themselves at me, and I’ll have no interest in pursuing any of them. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I just don’t swing that way. Although that thought alone opens up a thousand new questions and concerns.
My eyes begin to burn, and I force the sensation away, staring intently at the movie until my mind starts to empty out and only Sam and Austin remain.
My rom-coms are my comfort movies, a blanket for my soul. But right now, watching Sam and Austin fall in love makes my chest ache in an entirely different way than it usually does.
Because I want that love so desperately, and seeing the tattoo on Mason’s back is making me think that a love that I want could exist with him. And that maybe a second chance wouldn’t be so bad.
What if it worked this time? What if this was always our love story? To part and find our way back to one another.
No, Daphne, stop. You already tried with him. You saw how that went last time.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I tear my gaze from the TV to check it. A text from Mason.
Mason: You okay over there? What’s on your mind?
Glancing up over my phone, I find his eyes locked on me, and Maeve’s locked on the movie.
Me: I’m good. Just tired, I think.
Mason: Hmm, I don’t know if I believe you.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I try to figure out what to say, but I’m at a loss for words.
I am tired, truly. Tired of the emotional weight of the last week. Tired of fighting over whether to trust my heart or my brain. Tired of everything .
Me: I am super tired, thank you very much.
Mason: Better head to bed then.