I admired a sleeping Mason from the doorway of his bathroom. He was still in the same position I'd left him in ten minutes ago when I'd gone to shower: on his side, duvet discarded down at his waist, mouth parted slightly. Leaning against the doorframe, the familiar fuzzy feeling that had warmed my body on Monday morning spread through my chest.
Mason shifted. His eyebrows flickered down over his still shut eyes before he let out a long exhale. I rolled my lips into my mouth to suppress a grin as one crept across Mason's lips.
"Hart, quit staring at me," he mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.
"I'm not."
His eyes fluttered open. They looked around, glazed over, for a second before he lifted them to where I stood. My heart swelled as he took me in the same way I did him. Bare chest, unkempt hair, goofy, sluggish smile on his face. Despite seeing my reflection moments ago, I tried to picture myself through his eyes: flushed cheeks, hair wrapped up in a towel on my head, probably the same giddy grin he wore.
"Morning, creep," he murmured. "You going to stand there all day?"
"Maybe," I giggled. "It's not a bad view."
Mason chuckled and rolled onto his back. With a sleepy sigh, he stretched his arms above his head. Meeting my gaze, he motioned to his side.
"Get over here," he said.
I eyed the empty left side of his bed, but chose to skip over to his right instead. He lifted the duvet and I slipped under it. Instantly, heat radiated off Mason's body and spread across mine. Despite that, shivers still ran down my spine as Mason wrapped his arms around me and burrowed into my side. I slipped my arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer.
"You okay?"
I nodded and lifted my hand. "Yeah, I'm good," I replied. His skin was warm under my fingers as I ran them up and down the side of his arm. "Are you?"
"So good."
Mason's hands stretched across my back. His body in my arms heaved as he exhaled again. I shut my eyes and leant my head against his, feeling every bit of tension in my body melt away as I did. My mind replayed the events of last night. Part of me expected some of the same panic from Monday morning to grip my thoughts, but nothing but bliss flashed through my mind.
"I love late training," Mason sighed. "Imagine being at Cobham already."
"No chance you'd be there already," I teased. "It's only half nine."
"Half nine?" Mason repeated, a hint of alarm in his tone. "Ah, shit. I probably need to get up soon."
"Do you have to?" I looked down at Mason and pouted.
"Yeah, Pip and I are going for brunch at eleven." He shifted in my arms. Tilting his head, he met my eyes. My cheeks warmed again.
"Brunch? Sounds fancy."
"It is fancy." Jokingly, he shook his head. "We're going to one of the top ten most Instagrammable brunch spots in London, according to Pippa."
"No ways." I laughed. "That's incredible."
"Yeah, well, you aren't the one that's going to have to take a million photos of her," Mason said, laughing too. Something in his expression changed and vulnerability flashed across his eyes. "Well, unless you want to join us."
I blinked down at him. Now, anxiety did spike in my chest, familiar and sour. Swallowing, I tried to push it aside but found it tougher to do than I'd hoped. Clearly it showed on my face, because Mason's expression fell and he lowered his eyes away from mine.
Is it really that big of a deal? I wondered. It's just brunch, right?
"Um," I started, searching for an answer in my mind. My gut told me it was a bad idea, but my heart longed to say yes. "Iâ"
Before I needed to offer a reply, a rapid series of knocks sounded on the door. Tearing my gaze from Mason's downcast face, I stared at it expectantly. The embarrassment at being caught red-handed by Pippa last night reappeared in my stomach. Mason shuffled his body further up the bed and lifted a hand to swipe the hair from his forehead.
"Mason?" Pippa called from the other side. "Are you awake?"
"We're awake," he replied, shooting me a grin.
"Are you decent?" came his sister's reply.
"God," I muttered, hiding my head in Mason's shoulder. It shook as he laughed.
"We're decent."
Pippa paused. "Are you sure?"
"Just come in!"
I straightened up in time to see Pippa inch the door open. She narrowed her eyes at the two of us, but her eyebrows relaxed as she examined us. Dressed and hair tied back in a pony, she seemed ready to leave for brunch already. She held her phone in her hand, which she placed on a cocked hip.
"Morning," Mason laughed when she said nothing. "What do you want?"
"Haven't you checked your phone?" she replied. "Dad said he's been trying to phone you all morning."
I frowned. Glancing to my side, Mason wore the same expression as me. He unfurled an arm from my side and pushed himself into a sitting position.
"Dad? Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine."
"Okay, then what does he want this early?"
Pippa shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know, probably wants to ask you about that article."
Brain on high alert, I sat up straighter, too. Article?
"What article?" Mason asked, scepticism thick in his voice.
Widening her eyes, Pippa brought her phone up and focused her attention on it.
"You haven't seen it yet? I think they posted it early this morning." She frowned in concentration, fingers scrolling rapidly across her screen. "They used one of my pictures, too. I've had, like, twenty follow requests already."
"Pippa, what article?" Mason repeated tersely.
"Hold on; I'm finding it."
Pippa walked over and laid a knee on the base of Mason's mattress. I turned to the side and met his eyes, wondering if the panic that surged through my body reflected in my expression. Mason's hand found my knee and squeezed it.
Possibilities of the article's content flickered through my head. One thought kept on reappearing, no matter how hard I tried to shove it out of my mind. Someone knows about me and Mason.
Could Kyle have said something? Or Abby? No, they wouldn't have. Maybe someone saw me arriving at his house late into the night. I tried to picture the street a few hours before. Were there people hidden in the shadows flashing pictures? Was there a neighbour who'd looked out their window at the wrong time?
My heart hammered in my chest.
"Pippa, Jesus," Mason grumbled. "Just tell us what it's about."
"Give me a second," she snapped back. Mason clasped my knee again, but the gesture gave me no comfort. "Here; got it!"
She reached across the bed and, moving speedily, Mason grabbed the phone from his sister's hands. My arm fell away from his shoulders and I leaned forwards to view the screen. I scarcely noticed how close my head was to Mason's, or that my shoulder pressed against his. All my attention fell to The Athletic's article.
It opened with a brief match report, but after a couple of paragraphs, the topic shifted to Mason and me. My stomach twisted as I wordlessly read on. Mason scrolled down the page, also in silence, but his arm stiffened against mine.
"Chelsea managed the victory without some of their key players in the squad. Among those missing was Mason Mitchell, who served the first of a two game ban after picking up a red card in the Blues' three-all draw against Spurs. Rebecca Hart remained sidelined, too, following her wrist injury in the same match. Apart from being at the centre of all the action on Saturday, the pair found themselves in the headlines again on Sunday night.
"Frank Straus hosted his annual charity event on the weekend, which, according to the Chelsea boss, was 'hugely successful'. The guest list boasted plenty of big names, containing many of his own players, including Mitchell and Hart. The two players were seen arriving and leaving together, as well as sharing a dance towards the end of the night. Speculation emerged online when pictures of them were released to the public, with many fans presuming they were in a secret relationship.
"These same fans lit up social media for the second time on Tuesday evening. Both players were in the crowd at Stamford Bridge for the Carabao Cup game. With stories already flying around on socials, fans were eager to keep an eye on the pair. Images of them posing on the pitch and looking cosy in the stands surfaced during the game, which has only galvanised dating rumours.
"As can be expected with this type of buzz, opinions are divided. Some supporters appear to love the idea of two teammates dating, but the majority seem strongly opposed to the relationship. The situation is certainly a unique one, leading many to fear the consequences it may have on the rest of the team and their performances. Despite the uproar on social media, there has been no comment from the players or the club.
"Chelsea play the home leg of their Champions League group match against Ajax on the 5thof November. The pressure will be mounting for all of the players, especially for Mitchell and Hart, who could return to the team next week. Attention will be surely be aimed at the young English players and whether they can put speculations to bed and perform."
I finished reading the last words. Tears stung the back of my throat, but it was nothing compared to the red-hot rage that burned in my chest. How dare they? A reputable news outlet posting rubbish about me and Mason boiled my blood. How dare they?
"What the fuck?" Mason mumbled. "Since when is The Athletic a fucking gossip column?"
He threw Pippa's phone against his duvet. Pippa, stood still as a statue at the base of the bed, just bit down on her lip. I didn't know what to say â how to react â so I just leant back against Mason's headboard. How many people had read that? Had the team seen it? Had Frankseen it? My head spun.
"It's bullshit," Mason carried on. "I mean, seriously, who is going to believe any of that?"
He attempted a chuckle. I felt his gaze on the side of my head, but I ignored it and continued to stare at the white sheets in front of me.
"If it makes you feel better, I've only seen people supporting you guys on Twitter," Pippa said softly.
Oh, God. I shut my eyes and raised a shaking hand to rub the space between my eyebrows. Mason's body shifted beside me and he cleared his throat.
"Pip, can you give us a minute?"
"Yes, yeah, of course."
I lowered my hand and opened my eyes as Pippa shut Mason's door. Tension hung between us, tainting the air that had just been so idyllic. I knew walking down that carpet was a bad idea. I knew those pictures would come back to bite me. I knew what everyone was going to think.
At the same time, I had barely thought about it all last night. I'd willingly wrapped myself up in Mason, willingly let Pippa post pictures of us, willingly spent most of the night flirting with him. What else had I been expecting?
"Beck?"
For the first time since Pippa handed us her phone, I looked at Mason. A deep line wedged between his eyebrows. His eyes, so at ease minutes ago, cried out with desperation. He raised a hand and began lifting it towards my face, but instead of leaning into it, or craving it, or initiating it, I winced away from it. Mason's frown deepened and he veered his hand towards his hair.
"Um, do you want to say something?" he asked, his voice quiet.
I swallowed, aware of how dry my mouth had turned. For a second, the urge to just ignore Mason and run away overwhelmed me. Instead, I stood up. The warmth from Mason's body disappeared beside me as I stood next to his bed.
"Not really," I mumbled back. "What is there to say?" I threw my head forwards to release the towel from my hair.
"Come on, don't be like that, Hart."
When I straightened up, I met Mason's eyes incredulously. He threw his hands into the air as I raised my eyebrows. My cheeks grew hotter.
"Don't be like what?"
"It's a stupid, speculative gossip report. You really think anyone is going to take it seriously?"
"Yeah, I do." My voice came out sharper than anticipated, and Mason's shoulders slumped. I was too riled up to back down, though. "You know that's not just some bullshit article. That's The Athletic, Mason. They don't just make stuff like this up!"
"They literally said that it's just fans making it all up," Mason fired back. "They don't actually know anything, so what's the big deal?"
His face flushed pink, probably with the same frustration I felt. Before I could shout anything back at him, I spun on my toes and stalked into the bathroom. Hands still shaking, I hung up my towel. My toothbrush and face wash and hairbrush littered Mason's counter. I gathered them in my hands, but took a moment to compose myself before I re-entered Mason's room.
Calm down. I inhaled deeply. Don't let this get to you so much.
Mason had thrown his legs over the side of his bed. I avoided looking at him and cross the room to my open, messy bag instead.
"What areâare you leaving?"
I let my toiletries fall into the bag and risked glancing over my shoulder. Eyes wide, Mason looked astonished.
"Yeah, I need to go home." I turned away as Mason's face fell.
"What? Why?" Leaning down, I shoved everything into my bag, blinking away the tears that prickled my eyes. When I didn't replied, he carried on speaking. "I don't know why you're so upset about this, Beck. You knew people were going to jump to some conclusions at some stage."
"At some stage, maybe," I replied shakily. With my bag zipped, I finally stood up and faced Mason. He'd risen from the bed, but remained across the room from me. "Not right now. And definitely not a proper journalist for a proper paper." Mason rolled his eyes. Anger surged in my chest again and before I could stop myself, words flew from my mouth. "Look, I know you can just ignore all this kind of stuff but it bothers me, okay? Peoplewill take this seriously, even if you think they won't. And that freaks me out."
"Why?" Mason demanded. Surprised at his reply, I just blinked at him. "Why does it freak you out so much if people think there's something going on with us?"
"It's not about that and you know it," I mumbled.
We stared at each other in silence. My brain couldn't string together a logical cause of the panic coursing through my body. I knew the hurt and confusion on Mason's face would disappear if I just had some kind of explanation for it, though. For some reason, knowing that made my previous anger fizzle away into a strange hopelessness. My throat tightened.
Maybe this was all a mistake.
"Okay, so now what?" he asked, voice still raised. His anger hadn't vanished, apparently. "You just freak out and go home to think about things again without saying anything to me? Like Monday all over again, huh?"
Hurt opened up in my chest. Mason seemed surprised at his outburst, too.
"You said you understood on Monday." My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"I did; I do." Mason shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. The exasperation remained in his eyes. "It would just be nice if you wanted to stay for breakfast after sleeping with me, is all."
A thousand things replies passed through my mind. I knew that saying any of them could only make things worse, so instead I stayed silent. I stared at Mason for a second longer, watched as everything else in his eyes ebbed away into guilt, before I leaned down to pick up my bag.
"See you later, Mason," I mumbled.
I had made it past the landing and down a few steps before the first tears leaked from my eyes. By the time I reached the bottom, my vision blurred. It was then that I heard Mason at the top of the stairs.
"Hart wait," he said. "Please just stay a bit longer."
Not wanting him to see my pitiful crying, I just pulled open his front door and stepped into a morning as miserable as I felt, leaving Mason and every bit of delight from last night behind me.