Chapter 20

Iwatched in awe while Mason eliminated competitor after competitor. Every twist and turn looked effortless, a mesmerizing dance between him and his board.

It wasn't just the tricks he executed flawlessly but the passion and joy he exuded in every trick. He loved skateboarding.

And he was annihilating the competition.

Was I also admiring his ridiculous abs that glistened with sweat?

No, definitely not. Couldn't have been me.

Finally, the competition was down to its final two. Mason versus his buddy, Vance.

Vance pulled Mason in for a bro hug before Mason attempted his first trick. They went back and forth until it was Vance's ‘SKAT' vs. Mason's ‘SKA.'

Mason landed a trick that looked nearly impossible. Vance shook his head, knowing the trick was out of his reach. He tried it anyway but crashed onto the concrete, much to the onlookers' disappointment. He had one more attempt but couldn't manage to land it.

As the crowd erupted into cheers, Mason's face beamed with triumph. His chest rose and fell as he took a second to catch his breath before patting his buddy on the back.

If Vance had been the winner, I'm sure he would have created a spectacle. Mason exuded an aura of confidence and humility.

The skate shop owner, a man with a beanie pulled low over his forehead, stood before the cheering crowd. He held a microphone in one hand and announced Mason's name as the competition winner. The sound of excited voices and clapping hands surrounded me. With a wide grin, Mason stepped forward to receive his prize.

Once the flock of skateboarders around Mason had dissipated, I finally approached him. I tried to remain calm, but when I saw the pride in his eyes, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him.

"That was amazing!" I squealed. "Thank you for inviting me."

When my fingers made contact with his bare skin, I only then remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt. I quickly removed myself from Mason's hard body and took a step back.

"I'm stoked you came," he said. He turned towards the dusty chair and picked up his wrinkled shirt. With a swift tug, he pulled it over his head.

Vance shuffled over, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Even though I had only met him a couple of hours earlier, it was clear as day that he was putting on an act. His face contorted into a frown, but I could see a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"You were amazing," I told Vance.

He instantly perked up. "What are your plans this evening, Kenna?"

Mason shot Vance a look, and I giggled.

"I should probably head home," I said. "Walk me to my car?" I asked Mason.

Mason stepped towards me and cleared his throat. "We'll catch you later, Vance."

Vance winked at me before he skated away in the opposite direction of the parking lot.

"Does he live nearby?" I asked.

"Yeah," was all he said. "Can I make you dinner?"

"Don't you want to celebrate with your friends?" I asked.

He looked down at his scuffed skate shoes. "Making dinner for you is the least I can do after you sat here for the past two hours," he explained.

"I am starving," I admitted.

"I figured as much," he muttered with a grin.

"What was that?" I elbowed his abdomen and was met with firm muscle against my bony joint.

With the folded chair tucked under one arm and his skateboard under the other, we started to our cars without a clear plan.

"I need to shower," he announced.

I motioned to my dress. "And I need to change clothes."

"Meet me at my place after you change?" he asked.

"I don't know where you live," I reminded him.

"I'll text you the address."

"Should I give you some time?"

"Nah, I won't be long," he said, "but it is a short walk so maybe take your time getting changed."

"I'll see you soon, Mason," I said as I climbed into my car.

"See ya," he replied.

∞∞∞

I ascended the unfamiliar, slim staircase, the polished wooden steps creaking under my feet. Mason's apartment was hidden above a business just like my own. Only his was a sophisticated men's clothing store.

Before I could raise my hand to knock, Mason opened his door. His curly hair was still damp from his shower, and tiny water droplets dripped onto his chest. A towel was draped loosely around his hips, leaving little to the imagination.

"Sorry!" I quickly covered my eyes and turned around. "I should have given you more time."

Mason let out a soft chuckle. "Come in, make yourself comfortable. I'll go put on some clothes."

With one hand still covering my face, I kept my eyes trained on the floor as I entered Mason's apartment. When I heard a door shut, I finally glanced around. His apartment was a mix of modern and industrial design. It had exposed brick walls and high ceilings adorned with rustic wooden beams. Large windows flooded the space with natural light.

It looked like a rather pricey bachelor pad, the opposite I expected from Mason.

I sank into the cushions of his sleek black leather couch. The leather's touch was icy cold, so I reached for the knit blanket draped over its arm.

"I didn't mean take a nap," Mason laughed when he reentered the living room.

His defined muscles were still visible through his charcoal gray T-shirt, and his black Levi jeans clung to his thighs.

A pair of black, square-framed glasses accentuated the sharpness of his icy-blue gaze. They made him look like a cross between a bad boy and a scholar. I didn't know exactly how much I liked the combination until that very moment.

"You said get comfortable!" I defended myself.

He headed to his kitchen and started to prepare dinner.

"Can I help you?" I asked while not moving from my cozy spot on his couch.

"Nope," he said, "just relax."

"Okay," I said as I snuggled into a more comfortable position. "Are you sore from skateboarding?"

"Not too bad yet," he replied. "I will be tomorrow."

Mason moved agilely around his kitchen, and the tantalizing aroma of sizzling beef, onions, and charred corn tortillas started to permeate the air.

"Wait, are you making tacos?" I asked as I hopped off the couch and followed my nose to the kitchen.

"I am," he said in his typical nonchalant, ‘I don't give a fuck' tone.

"Oh my goodness," I squealed. "I am so excited!"

"Do you want to set the table?" he asked. "That drawer right there," he pointed to the right of him, "has everything you need."

I rushed to set the table, quickly arranging plates and silverware in their designated places. While my cooking skills were lacking, thanks to my dinners with Danielle and Jeremy, I had become quite skilled at setting a table.

"What would you like to drink?" Mason asked.

"Hmm, water is fine. Or, do you have any soda?"

"I do. Sprite or Coke? Would you like a glass or leave it in the can?"

"Sprite, please! In the can."

He handed me an ice-cold can of Sprite, and I sat in one of the two vacant chairs at the quaint dining table. Mason appeared with our plates held high. My mouth fell open in amazement as he placed the tacos before me. Each taco was expertly topped with homemade salsa, creamy guacamole, and a sprinkle of cilantro.

"Go ahead," Mason encouraged me, "take a bite."

My taste buds tingled in excitement as I eagerly picked up a taco and took a big bite, relishing the explosion of flavors in my mouth. "So," I wiped my mouth, "good!"

As we ate, the only sounds were the crunching of shells and occasional moans of delight escaping from my lips. I was too enthralled with the tacos, and Mason was too famished from skateboarding, to hold a real conversation.

Once our plates were empty, I asked, "What do you usually do at night? Like, if I weren't here right now."

"I'm usually working," he laughed. "But if I'm not working, I'd probably be smoking and chilling—maybe playing a video game or watching a show—you know, whatever I'm in the mood for."

"Smoke, like, smoke weed?" I asked. "Also, you still haven't told me where you work! Sorry, I know I ask a lot of questions."

"I like your questions," he chuckled.

He rose steadily from the wooden table, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the floor.

"Did you want seconds?" Mason offered as he began to clear away our empty dinner plates.

"No, thank you," I said. "I'm so full, I couldn't eat another bite."

He turned on the faucet and let the water run, adding a generous squirt of dish soap. The deep kitchen sink was filled with warm water, and bubbles formed on the top layer. He carefully placed our used dishes into the sudsy water.

"You didn't answer my question," I told him.

"Well, I don't smoke cigarettes," he said.

"Fair point," I laughed.

He scrubbed each plate with a sponge before loading them into the smallest dishwasher I had ever seen. It was so small it could have easily been mistaken for a microwave.

"Can I help you?" I offered.

Without waiting for an answer, I stood and made my way over to him. Of course, he was already almost finished with his task. He was a speedy cleaner.

"The cook shouldn't have to clean," I said.

"You have no idea," he laughed.

I didn't know what he meant, but it made me feel guilty for not offering sooner.

"You're good," he said when he noticed my puzzled expression.

He placed the final plate inside and closed the dishwasher.

"I haven't smoked weed since high school," I confessed, "and even then, I only did it a few times."

"It's not for everyone," he shrugged.

"Can I try it?" I asked.

He shook his head, his dark, damp locks sending water droplets flying onto his T-shirt. His playful expression told me that ‘no' was not his final answer.