Free Sometimes Never by Cheryl McIntyre Page B

she agrees. “Then you give me one more.”
                  “Promise.”
                  “Ugh. I can’t believe I’m going to actually tell you this. You can never, ever repeat this. Ever. Not even to me. As long as you live.”
                  I try not to laugh. “Okay, scout’s honor,” I agree.
                  “Back when my mom was still alive, I used to buy her tampons too.” She says it so seriously, I can’t help the bark of laughter that leaves my mouth. “Okay seriously, not much shames me. But at our first show the band ever played, I started puking not even halfway through the first song. I dropped my drum sticks, put my hand over my mouth and took off. Guy was pissed they had to play the whole set without a drummer.”
                  “Public puking, that’s not bad,” I say.
                  “Just as long as it’s not my name in your phone.”
                  I chuckle darkly. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
                  “Your turn. One more humiliation,” she says excitedly.
                  I hesitate, inhaling deeply until my lungs feel as if they’re about to burst. I silently give myself a quick pep talk. Man up, Mace. She’s just a girl . But there’s the real issue and I’m well aware of it. Hope is not just a girl . She’s the first girl I have ever really liked. I want her. And for more than a pump. And that can’t happen until I lay it all out for her. “This is embarrassing because I’m admitting it to you and I have no idea how you’re going to react.” I hesitate again, debating whether I should actually say it or not. Screw it. Balls to the wall .
                  “Go on...”
                  “The first time I saw you, I wanted to kiss you. And I don’t mean when I pulled you away from Christian. I actually saw you before that. In the parking lot. You were laying in your car listening to music. And I thought you were overwhelmingly beautiful. I still think you’re beautiful and I still want to kiss you.”

10
    Hope
     
    I struggle for some kind of reply. Anything. But the silence is hitting that incredibly awkward point. I clear my throat quietly and tell the truth. “I absolutely do not know how to respond to that.”
                  Mason laughs into the phone. “Well, you didn’t hang up on me or cackle with laughter. Though the agonizing minute when you didn’t say anything might make this more humiliating than being pants’d.” He laughs again and I can hear the discomfort in it.
                  “I’m not disgusted by the idea,” I offer.
                  Now he’s quiet as he interprets my words. “But not open to it either?”
                  “I’m a pretty easy going person. I don’t close doors.”
                  “Hmm.” I can almost picture the grin on his face, the dimple in his cheek. “I’m starting to figure you out.”
                  “Oh?” Why is he trying to figure me out? I like it. I like it so much. Yet, it scares the shit out of me at the same time.
                  “Mm-hmm.”
                  “Like what?” I ask. I notice I’m squeezing the phone and my hands are sweating.
                  “It scares you to tell people what you want.”
                  He’s right. He’s so incredibly right. My hands are shaking and I close my eyes. How does he keep doing this? “And you are insinuating that what I want is you?”
                  “I’m starting to think it’s possible,” he utters.
                  “Mason, you terrify me.”
                  His voice lowers in a deep murmur. “I’m also starting to think that’s possibly a good thing because you scare the shit out of me too.”