Page 42 of Playing Dirty

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I think.

Neither of us moved immediately.

That was the problem lately.

Nothing felt fully accidental anymore.

I glanced at him.

He didn’t look away.

“Sorry,” he said, but didn’t move his leg.

“Are you though?”

That made something flicker in his expression.

Small.

Gone fast.

“No,” he said.

Honest.

Too honest.

I swallowed slightly and looked back at my laptop.

Typing suddenly felt too loud.

A few seconds passed.

Then he said, quieter:

“My dad called last night.”

That surprised me.

I looked up again.

Mason was staring out the window now instead of me.

Jaw tight.

“He always call after games?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Supportive?”

A short laugh.

“No.”

That answer sat there heavier than it should’ve.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

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