Only You

2 | Bonus Scene: Mason's POV

Bonus Scene #2: Mason's POV
   The Day of Prom

   Another fucking sleepless night.

   Which wasn't a surprise at this point. Angel and I had been sleeping in the same bed, and I got used to it. I got used to it.

   I was stupid. So fucking stupid.

    Mumbling a line of curses under my breath, and I finally got out of bed an hour later, eager to head to her house. Since I woke up at six, I tried watching YouTube videos to get my mind off of today, but all my thoughts went back to her.

   Last I saw Charlotte, it was Thursday, right after I sang to her for the second time. Two times more than I had ever sung to anyone before.

   But since then, she'd been swamped with family and homework, so I tried making myself busy too. But when you're stuck in an empty house with absent parents and dark thoughts of your past, being alone doesn't seem too fun.

   So I stayed out. Got drunk with Newell, Dixon and the rest of the guys. The guys who didn't give a fuck about my money.

   But I couldn't fucking stop thinking about her.

   It was Monday now, so the second the clock hit seven, I nearly broke my damn legs getting of bed so I could go shower. Thirty minutes later I had a piece of toast hanging from between my teeth as I closed the front door to my house. I was supposed to pick Angel up today, so when I got into my car, I didn't hesitate to floor the gas petal the second the ignition turned on.

   I was unregretfully listening to the Backstreet Boys on my way to her house, and I couldn't help but smile, thinking back to when Charlotte found out I liked their music a few months back.

   "Come on! I just wanna see if our playlists match!" she said through her laughter as she tried to reach for my phone, only for her to end up pressing her chest against mine.

   It was a second, just a second, that I didn't move. But that was all she needed.

   She snatched my phone, grinning with victory as she plugged in my password, sitting next to me with a content smile. I'd told her my password around a week ago, when I first came to her house with her favourite ice cream and chips.

   While she looked at my phone, I watched at her. My eyes followed how her lip quirked when she saw an artist she liked. And I watched as her little smile transformed into the most wide, beautiful grin I'd ever seen before she peered over to me.

   "I didn't know you were a Backstreet Boys fanboy!"

   The thought of that day made me shiver, remembering her constant teasing.

   It was less than twenty minutes later when I pulled up in front of her house, parking on the side of the street. The second I shifted the gears, I reached over the console and grabbed my phone, which laid on the passenger seat.

   I dialed Angel, leaning my head against the headrest while studying her house. The phone rang about three times until I heard her voice. "Hello," she grumbled, and I had to stifle my laugh.

   "Hey, Angel," my voice lowered, already knowing she overslept.

   She let out a loud yawn, and I grinned, shuffling in my seat. "Hey, you."

   Deciding to set her up, I regarded the second-floor windows, knowing that around the corner, facing Hathaway's house, was her room. "I'm outside your house, Angel. Come on out."

   For a moment, I was greeted with silence. But it wasn't long until I had to hold back a laugh when she started cursing. I couldn't help but imagine her jumping out of bed frantically.