More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Twenty Nine

For once I was excited for the busy day I had planned on Sunday.  If I were sat at home with nothing else to do but mull over how shitty my week had been, I would have ended up inconsolable.  But by the time lunchtime rolled around, I'd barely had a second to think about the disasters of the previous day.

I had an hour for lunch before I had to meet my agent again.  As I stepped out onto the street, I pulled my phone out and checked it for the first time that day.  The first thing I saw was three missed calls from Kyle.  With a sigh, I called him back.

"Jeez, nice of you to remember I exist."

Rolling my eyes, I dodged past a particularly big puddle.  "It's been a busy day.  What's up?"

A car hooted next to me, forcing me to wince and switch the phone to my other ear.  "Where are you?"

"Uh, like, Mayfair area.  Why?"

Joan, my agent, had scored me a new endorsement deal, so I'd been with the brand most of the morning sorting out paper work and taking pictures.  I heard Kyle gasp on the other end.

"No ways; I'm on Oxford Street!"

"Why?"  I laughed as a frustrated sigh sounded clear in my ear.

"Long story.  Anyway, have you eaten?"

"About to, but I only have an hour."

"Good thing I'm really close."

I resisted the urge to groan.  Based off the shifty looks Kyle gave me on the trip home yesterday, I had a feeling he wanted to try chat again.  But after successfully putting everything out of my mind all morning, I didn't want it to come up now and stick with me the rest of the day.

"I literally have a meeting in an hour," I said, glancing across the street to the restaurant I'd been recommended.

"Well, send me your location and I can be there in ten."  I sighed again, but Kyle spoke over me before I could argue any further.  "You can even order and leave if I'm still eating." When I didn't say anything, he added: "On me?"

True to his word, ten minutes after I'd sat down and five after I'd ordered, I spotted the lanky figure of Kyle enter the Mediterranean restaurant.  I waved at him, earning a nod in reply as he shook his jacket off and hung it up beside the door.  Smoothly manoeuvring through the expanse of tables and chairs, he came up beside mine. With a shake of my shoulder, he fell into the seat opposite me.

"God, I hate shopping."

I chuckled.  "Then why come to Oxford Street?"

He shot me a look and shook his head. "Well, I had a suit fitting for the gaffer's charity thing and Nat came, but then she decided she hated her dress and wanted a new one and next thing we've been there three hours."  I just laughed as he crossed his arms.  His pout made way for a surprised frown.  "You look nice, what have you been doing?"

"I'm the face of Burberry's new collection," I said with faux pompousness.

Kyle's mouth hung open.  "No ways, you? How did Joan pull that off?"

We made small talk while he studied the menu, eventually hailing a waiter to place his order.  When my food arrived and I took to shovelling forkfuls into my mouth, he lapsed into silence, too.  I knew what was coming, as did the knot in my stomach.

"So," he said, drawing the word out.  I kept my eyes on my plate.  "Spoken to Mase at all today?"

I swallowed forcibly, my unexpectedly dry mouth making it tough.  "Uh, nope." Reaching for my glass of water, I met Kyle's eyes.  He raised an eyebrow.  "Why?"