Mason Harrison is the captain of the hockey team, undeniably good-looking, and always knows just what to say. But he doesn't come without his flaws... After a traumatic relationship leaves him unsure and fearful, Mason doesn't know when he will be r...
Around six o'clock, when another episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians was coming on, there was a knock on the door in my bedroom that led outside.
Immediately, I froze in my bed. I've seen just about every single one of the documentaries where a young woman gets brutally murdered by someone trying to break in, and as much as I hate my life right now, I do not want to die.
Trying to calm myself down, I tried to think about who could possibly be knocking on my door.
Connor, Layla, Hope, and AJ were all out of town, so there's no way that it is any of them. Plus, they have no reason to be banging on my door, we live in the same house for fuck's sake. None of my other friends would just show up without texting or calling, and I can confidently say that it is not Liam.
Now would be the ideal time to have a peephole on this stupid door.
As I lay in bed on the verge of a heart attack, there was another knock. This time it was much louder, and I heard the person on the other side of the door shift something they were holding.
Oh God, I thought. They're going to kill me and hide my body.
Frantically, I searched around my room for some sort of object I could use as a weapon just in case this person decided to break down the rickety wooden door separating us. The only two things I could scrounge up were a heavy-duty flashlight and my curling wand.
I'm definitely going to die.
"Riley! Open the door!"
My heartbeat even faster as I realized that the person knocking on my door wasn't a murderer after all.
"Mason?" My voice shook as I opened the door. "What're you doing here?"
"Well, for starters," Mason pushed past me and walked into my bedroom like he had been here a million times before. "I brought dinner."
Mason set down the large brown paper bag and drink carrier he was carrying on my dresser and then turned to look at me. His gaze was almost quizzical as he stared at me like he was trying to understand everything going on in my head.
I was suddenly extremely self-conscious of my tear-stained face, unbrushed hair, and overall disgruntled appearance. I also blushed at the fact that Mason's sweatshirt was currently draped over my body. I had barely taken it off since I took it from his apartment a couple of weeks ago. Even on the nights, I felt like I was drawing in my sorrows, the smell of Mason's cologne and the softness of his sweatshirt made me feel at least a little at peace.
Based on the way Mason bit his lip and softly smiled, I knew that he had noticed the familiar piece of clothing. Again, I tried my hardest to not turn as red as a tomato and brush my embarrassment to the side.
