More Than a Game | Mason Mount

Forty One

The Frank Straus Foundation's annual gala: a big occasion in the calendar of Chelsea Football Club. Since the gaffer's arrival, he made sure to include the players in his event along with the other big names on the guest list. He insisted that the event allowed us a time to do some good away from football while getting in some extra team bonding. I'd attended as a newbie in his first season and even in the state I attended last year, this was the first time I felt real nerves for the event. 

Despite my run-around day, Mason played at my mind from the second I woke up. How was I meant to act when I saw him? Pretend last night hadn't happened? Keep my distance? Sure, he hadn't explicitly said he broke up with his girlfriend because of me, but he definitely implied it, right? I had no idea what to do with that information – how to respond to it. 

I was no closer to knowing later that day when our taxi stopped outside his house. The day's activities made this seem so far away, yet here I was. With shaking hands, I pulled down the sun visor in front of me and flipped open the mirror. 

I had to admit that I looked pretty good, mostly thanks to Fran. Seeing the Belgian tear it up on the football pitch just about every day made it strange to imagine her as particularly feminine, but she loved all things beauty and fashion related almost as much as she loved the sport. The previous year, her somewhat secret deals with makeup brands and fashions labels came out, showing me a different but wonderful version of Fran. This year, she flexed her connections again by supplying me with the best makeup artist and hairstylist she could attract. 

Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I couldn't stop from wondering what Mason would think. Self consciousness about the cast on my wrist made me go for the more conservative of the dresses Burberry had offered me: green, long sleeves, plunging V-neck. Still, though, compared to the previous night, it seemed like a ball gown. But would Mason have preferred the sequined option? Or something tighter? Grey eyes stared back at me, suddenly so unsure. 

"Becks, let's go." Fran's voice sounded from outside the car, followed by her knuckles rapping on the widow next to me. "Come on, you look great." 

Swallowing, I nodded to my reflection. Who cares what Mason thinks? 

Stepping outside, the late October chill hit me. Shivers appeared on my bare legs as I turned to face Mason's house. Fran and Guilio were halfway up the stairs already when I reached the front gate. My heart hammered in my chest and my legs, already unsteady in my heels, trembled as they carried me forwards. I'd never been this nervous to see Mason before: not last night, not in Bulgaria, not before he arrived at my flat in the early hours of the morning. 

The door opened at the top of the stairs and I looked down, not ready to set my eyes on Mason. I felt sick. 

"Fran, jeez, you look great!" 

When Kyle's voice sounded, I risked glancing up. He stood at the door, still considerably taller than Fran even with her heels. Guilio was busy shaking his hand while the pair laughed. Fran disappeared past him and when her boyfriend followed after her, I faced Kyle. I broke into a chuckle at his animated gape. 

"Who are you and what did you do with Beck?" he joked. 

He laughed as I rolled my eyes, sidestepping his hug. "That was uncalled for." 

A long arm hooked me and pulled me into his side anyway. "You look awesome, Beck." 

"You too," I groaned, pushing his arm off me. I didn't want my dress creasing. "I like the dreads. It's very vintage Kyle." 

Kyle, a broad grin on his face, reached up to touch his new hairdo. "It'll never be as iconic as my 2017 dreads, but I'm trying." 

A call from further inside the house caught his attention, and in a flash he was gone. Left alone, I shut Mason's front door and straightened out the skirt of my dress. Kyle offered a brief distraction, but now my head spun once more. Unable to help myself, I stepped in front of Mason's hallway mirror and gave myself a once-over.