8. Mason
Chapter 8
Mason
An hour earlier
“ I ’ll take whatever your easiest course is,” I tell the confused child working in the bursar office. “Introductory Astronomy, Music Appreciation, or Intro to Russian. I’m not picky.”
After some back and forth, I find myself enrolled in “Introduction to Physical Education”—a course that I could probably teach much better than the professor. The reason for my sudden interest in adult education is simple: the security at the university is pretty tight, so this is the easiest way to get a valid student ID and access to all the buildings.
Once inside the campus, I head over to the cafeteria, and as I go, I can’t help but wonder how Max found out what time Sophia and her friend have lunch every day. Sophia doesn’t seem to be on social media, so unless he learned it from the friend’s feed, he must’ve accessed the school’s cameras or something like that.
As I approach Ladybug, I see that she’s in the middle of a conversation with a blonde friend of hers.
Fuck me. Said friend is wearing something that might as well be a gross Halloween costume: a shirt with giant pink buttons.
I take a soothing breath. I’m here. I might as well get this over with.
Feeling a modicum less grossed out, I open my mouth to clear my throat, but before I get the chance, Ladybug says, “Then I’m taking a Royal Ruskovian cruise.”
What the fuck? Why? Theodore owned a yacht, which is now hers.
“You can afford to rent a private ship,” the blonde replies.
Or use a better cruise line, or?—
“No, I want that whole experience,” Ladybug says. “I want them to seat me at a dinner table with some random people from Iowa. I want a huge crowd at the nightly magic show. I want?—”
“Norovirus?” the blonde counters. “The flu? Covid?”
Not to mention filthy idiots hitting on her non-stop, an idea I passionately dislike.
I have no time to clear my throat before Sophia replies, “I’ll just wash my hands. I take it you don’t want to join?”
The blonde shakes her head. “I already have plans for the break.”
Before Ladybug can continue this inane conversation, I finally clear my fucking throat.
Wait. Was that rude? Ladybug turns, frowning at me the way the principal would back in school whenever I’d put a puck through a gymnasium window.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she exclaims.
I take a deep breath. “Hi. I’m sorry I interrupted you.” There, I can be cordial… if I really try.
“Hold up.” The blonde’s eyes, glinting impishly, dart from me to Ladybug and back. “You’re Mason, right?”
“Don’t talk to him,” Ladybug hisses at her friend before turning to glare at me. “He was just leaving.”
“Yes, I am Mason,” I reply to the blonde. “And you are?”
“Abigail,” the blonde says. “I’m Sophia’s best friend, so she’s told me all about you.”
“She has?” And was it an angry rant?
“If you don’t leave, then I will.” Ladybug leaps to her feet.
Seems like the time for niceties is over. “You said you’d consider selling me the team.”
She purses her lips. “And I have.” Standing straighter, she announces, “I am not selling.”
“Don’t you want to know how much I’m offering?” My hands ball into fists before I can stop them, and Sophia notices. In fact, she stares at each one with a strange—likely terrified—expression.
I unclench my fists. The last thing I want any woman to fear from me is violence. I consider men who hurt women the lowest lifeforms on the planet. In fact, they are lucky that I’m not in charge of running this world because they would cease to exist in that scenario.
“I don’t care about the price,” Sophia says. “I’m not selling.” She doesn’t add, “to you,” but I’m pretty sure that’s what she means.
“That’s stupid,” I snap before I can think better of it.
“Ah, yes,” she says, words dripping with venom. “Calling me stupid makes me so eager to do business with you.”
“I didn’t call you stupid.” If anyone is stupid, it’s me for saying that word in front of a woman. “I was calling the strategy of not-selling-the-team-without-knowing-how-much-you-could-get stupid. What if my price was twenty times what the team is worth? Thirty? Fifty?”
“Maybe you both should take a calming breath,” Abigail suggests. “You might want to discuss all this… over dinner.”
A dinner where Ladybug poisons my food?
“You stay out of this,” Ladybug says curtly to her friend.
Abigail raises her hands. “Fine.”
I take a calming breath as per her earlier suggestion. “Look, Sophia, if you’re not selling, what do you plan to do with the team?”
“That’s none of your business,” Ladybug growls. Unlike me, she seems to have done whatever the opposite of taking a calming breath is.
My teeth clench of their own accord. “I’m on the fucking team. That makes it very much my business.”
She sits back down. “I will think about what to do. You’re not going to be consulted. Bye.”
“You don't know anything about sports, or running a team,” I grit out. “Or business in general.”
Her nostrils flare. “I’ll learn. I’m sure if a caveman like you thinks he can do it, I’ll have no trouble at all.”
“That’s a good burn… a rarity for you,” Abigail whispers to Sophia approvingly. She gives me a challenging look. “I can help her with the business side of things, in any case. So no need for you to worry your handsome big head over it.”
And on that note, the two of them return to their conversation, which for some reason now involves cramps and tampons. In case they decide to discuss buttons next, I take this as my cue to leave.
They may have won this period—and I mean in the hockey sense—but I will win the match.