17. Mason
Mason
It’s late September in Texas—not middle-of-summer hot, but the kind of sticky heat that still makes your shirt cling to your back the second you move.
I’m out here sweating my ass off already, helping Chase get the giant dunk tank off the rental truck. This shit is huge, bigger than the ones we used to use on field days in high school. It feels like I’m carrying three of our linebackers on the football team all at once.
I already know it’s going to be freezing when they get it filled up, and somehow I drew the short stick with getting stuck with this damn booth today.
“Geez, this is more of a workout than a weekend with your mom, Tank,” I grunt out, getting a better grip on the side of the tank and walking down the ramp with it. Tank is off to the side, playing project manager—aka not doing shit to help, just yapping.
He slaps the top of it, and I grit my teeth as it slips a little. I kick my leg out, connecting with his shin, and he doubles over, grabbing at his leg and cursing under his breath.
I laugh at him being a big ass baby.
That’s what he gets for being lazy.
“Who told you to sign up for this damn dunk tank?” Chase asks.
“I didn’t,” I grunt. “Lost a damn coin flip.”
Chase chuckles. “Well, better plaster a smile on and be the face of charity in that seat, water boy.”
“I’m gonna be the damn face of hypothermia.”
“Maybe all of your little groupie girls who have never thrown a ball a day in their lives will be your only customers.”
“One can only pray,” I say as we set the thing down on the grass next to the booth that’s still empty because whoever I’m paired up with today hasn’t gotten here yet. It’s early, but still, you always show up earlier than you’re supposed to for these things. They take forever to set up.
“What hottie did you get teamed up with from Gamma?” Tank asks, sitting on a cooler, still rubbing his shin.
I shrug. “No idea. Didn’t even open my envelope once I knew I was stuck with the dunk tank. You think whoever she is will trade out with me and get in this thing instead?”
“No Gamma girl is doing dirty work unless it’s in the bedroom,” Tank says. “And still…they normally just lie there and make you do everything.”
Both Chase and I look over at Tank. “Your sex life sounds sad,” I laugh out.
“Please, show me your ways then, Greek sex god,” he says, pretending to bow.
“Can’t give out my secrets,” I tell him…as if I had any. It’s a desert over here, and I’m perfectly fine with keeping it that way.
The water truck shows up to fill the tank, and I start hooking up the hose.
I’m crouched down, tightening the valve, when a voice behind me says, “Where do you want me to put all this?”
I stand, turning toward the sound…and stop.
Simone stands in front of me with her curls in a messy bun, sunglasses on the top of her head, pink athletic shorts, and a white top on, holding a box of supplies for the booth and a wagon behind her full of banners and more supplies.
The sun isn’t fully in the sky yet, but it makes her glow all the same. She’s stunning, even as she’s scowling at me.
Chase pulls Tank away to work on something else, and it’s just me and her.
I clear my throat. “Um…you can…” I look around. “You can just put them down on this table for now. We’ll go through it together.” I pause for a second and then ask, “You’re working this booth?”
She places the box down and looks over her shoulder at me. “Yeah? Did they not tell you who you were paired up with?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I didn’t really look at the envelope. They just told me I’d be at the dunk tank and that was enough info for me.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
I raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” she says, pulling some of the banners out, “that you’re exactly the kind of guy who would throw out instructions, saying you don’t need them, you’ll figure it out, and then act surprised when the crap falls apart.”
I smirk at her. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Am I wrong?” she asks.
“I don’t really know. I’ve actually never built anything before.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do the assholes always come from money? Is it the entitlement?”
“Why do you assume I come from money?”
She tilts her head and glares at me. “I can smell it from a mile away. All assholes do.”
I place my hand over my heart, pretending to be hurt. “I’m not actually an asshole, you know?”
She scoffs. “You could have fooled me on the night of the mixer.”
“Fair.”
“That’s it? No apology? No excuses?”
I shrug, enjoying messing with her. “Come on, we’re running out of time to set up.”
She just rolls her eyes and lets it go, falling into step beside me and doing whatever I ask her to do. She starts unpacking the box, pulling out hand-painted signs, towels, and a cash box.
I point toward the corner of the booth. “Those can go there. The donation jar, too. We’ll have people line up from this side, and toss the balls from that chalk line.”
She just nods, not pushing back on me bossing her around.
I think I like her feisty side more.
I nudge her arm. “You know, you don’t have to take all of this so seriously. You can smile a little and have some fun.”
“One of us needs to take it seriously,” she shoots back, not even looking up at me, and I don’t know why it makes me smile.
“Hey,” I say, “I’m about to spend the next six hours getting dunked into an ice bath. That’s enough dedication on my part.”
She glances up at me. “Dedication or deserved punishment?”
“Maybe both.”
She shakes her head, but there’s a small smile she’s trying to hide.
By the time we’ve got the tank filled and the banners hung, the field is buzzing with people. Booths are open, music’s playing, and everyone’s out in their Greek shirts pretending to care about philanthropy while really just trying to out-socialize each other.
Simone is standing beside me, and I can smell her perfume every time she moves. It’s sweet and floral and light…like her.
I keep joking around with her just to keep her talking to me. I don’t really know why. She’s just fun to mess with…and to be around. I’m kind of mad at myself for being such a dick the other week to her. She’s nice.
She looks over at me after I joke with her about them just wanting to see me in a wet T-shirt and get a look at all the goods. “What happened to the guy from the mixer?” she asks suspiciously. “You know, the one who thought he was too good to talk to the fresh meat?”
I laugh. “I can bring him back out if you’d like.”
“No, thank you,” she says, grabbing a towel and tossing it onto the table.
She walks around to hang a smaller sign near the front: $5 to Dunk a Sig!
I can’t help noticing how natural she looks out here, smiling, upbeat, pretty, legs for days, sunlight catching her perfect face.
I force my attention back to the line of people starting to gather.
“Alright, folks!” I shout, climbing up onto the platform. “All proceeds go to charity, so don’t feel bad about humiliating me in public. It’ll be for a good cause!”
A few people cheer, and someone yells, “We’ll make it worth it, Sinclair!”
The first few throws miss. They make the tank wobble a little, but it holds solid, making the crowd groan dramatically every time.
Simone’s beside the booth, encouraging the people. “Come on! You can do better than that! Aim for the red button like it’s his head!”
She’s laughing now, really into it, and it looks good on her.
One throw finally hits, and I drop into the cold water with a splash that soaks the people standing close by. I whip my head out of the tank and shake my hair, then I see Simone laugh and jump away to avoid the water being thrown in her direction.
“How’s the water?” she calls out.
“Freezing,” I shout back.
“Good!”
By the second hour, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been dunked.
The sun’s warm, but the water feels colder every time I climb back up. My shirt clings to me, dripping, so I tug it off, and a couple of the girls standing in line whistle and cheer.
Simone’s still full of energy, handing out balls and collecting money.
“Step right up!” she says. “Every throw helps a cause…and makes his ego smaller!”
I glare at her playfully. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Can’t imagine why,” she says innocently.
“Oh, I can.”
“What can I say?” she admits. “Watching you get dunked is oddly therapeutic.”
We’ve been going back and forth all day with these playful jabs. I’m enjoying the banter, but I really don’t want her thinking I’m the guy she got a first impression of. I want to apologize, but I can’t give it to her that easily.
“Tell you what,” I call over to her, “if you can dunk me yourself, I’ll apologize for being an ass the other night.”
Her eyes light up. “You’d apologize?”
I nod.
“You promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Fine,” she says, stepping up to the line and taking the ball.
She squints at the target, focusing hard, and the first ball she throws hits the button dead center. I barely have time to react before I drop, water crashing around me again.
When I come up, everyone’s cheering, and she’s just standing there, smirking, proud of herself.
“You’re a better shot than I expected,” I say, climbing out.
“Don’t underestimate this girl arm, Mase. I could probably throw that football better than you.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I tell her, going to grab a towel and then having a better idea.
I walk over to her, dripping wet, and she backs up instantly. “What are you doing?”
I smirk at her. “Nothing.”
“Mason,” she warns.
“I mean, what’s an apology without a hug?”
Her eyes go wide. “No! Mason, don’t you—”
She starts running, and people around us laugh as I start chasing her. She rounds the booth, and we’re both on the opposite end now. We lock eyes in our standoff, grabbing the edges of the table.
“Mason—Don’t. You. Dare.”
My smile grows more devilish. “Don’t you want my apology?”
I jerk to one side, trying to fake her out, and she screams. “I’ll take just the verbal apology, please!”
I shake my head. “Those terms weren’t negotiated in the contract.”
She bolts from the table, and I grab her before she can get away, lifting her easily off the ground as she squeals.
“Mason! No! Put me down!”
I laugh, spinning her once before setting her down. Her shirt and shorts are now soaked from my dripping chest, and she swats at me, still laughing, trying to catch her breath.
“You are such a jerk!”
“Hey, I’m just trying to make amends here!”
She glares at me, but she’s smiling too. “This doesn’t help your case of not being a jackass.”
I laugh, running a hand through my wet hair. “Alright, alright—I’m sorry, okay? I was an ass that night. It was just a really bad day for me, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”
She crosses her arms, still dripping. “You’re forgiven. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Depends on if you’re done being an ass for good or not.”
“I promise,” I say, smiling, raising my hands. “I swear I’m normally a lot nicer than that.”
“Mmm, yeah. I’ve heard a lot about how nice you are.”
Ahh, someone’s already gotten in her ear, huh?
“Don’t always believe everything you hear,” I tell her as I grab two towels from beside where she’s standing and hand one to her.