First Position (15 page)

Wesley sobbed into her shirt.  “I couldn’t do it, Em.  I just couldn’t bring myself to call her.  And Tomás just didn’t get it.  He said he couldn’t be with someone who couldn’t face his own family being proud of who he was.”

Emory patted his head and ran her fingers through his hair.  “I can’t believe Tomás said that.”

Wesley looked up from her shirt, tears flowing.  “He thinks I’m embarrassed by him.  He said to call him when I decided to really come out.”  He buried his head again.

“I’m so sorry.  This is all my fault.  I shouldn’t have called your mother.  I shouldn’t have put you under that pressure.”

“I know you were just trying to help.  But I’m just not ready,” Wesley said, trying to gather himself.  “Why can’t Tomás just understand that?”

“He will.  He loves you.”  Wesley shrugged his shoulders, not so sure anymore.  His boyfriend left when Wesley needed him most.  “What can I do to help?”

“Can you teach for me later today?  I decided to go visit my sister.”

“Of course, I’ll cover it.”

“Thanks.  I’m leaving now.”  He pointed to his suitcase on the floor by her bed.  “Should be in Asheville before lunch.  I’ll be back for classes tomorrow afternoon.”

* * *

A young teenager looked at the clock in the viewing area, bored waiting for his little sister to finish Emory’s class.  He stole an occasional glance at Mason, then whispered something to his mother.  He did this several times, his mother offering encouragement, but he was nervous.  Mason noticed the boy, hoping he would find the courage to come over.

Mason, too, looked at the clock, exhausted from the long flight and time change.  The time dragged.  He’d waited all day to hold Emory -- to feel her soft skin, touch her flowing hair, and kiss her sweet lips.  He’d missed everything about her, and now all that remained between him and her were a dozen little ballerinas.  Mason watched her work with them.  She had their full attention, demonstrating certain steps and twirling them around.  It seemed she’d surrounded herself, surprisingly enough, with children and babies.
 
Had she always been so good with them
?
  Emory caught his gaze through the window and gave him a shy smile.  He smiled back, then looked again at the clock on the wall.

The boy whispered again to his mother, seemingly more determined this time.  The mother pulled a pen and scrap of paper from her purse and handed them to her son.  The boy swallowed hard and took a few careful steps towards Mason.  “Excuse me, sir?”

Mason offered a huge smile.  “Hey.”

“Are you Daniel Mason?”

“Sure am.”

“Could I get your autograph, please?”

“Of course.”  The boy handed Mason the pen and paper and looked back to his mother, his face beaming.  Mason bent down on one knee to scribble his name.  “Do you play football?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“What position?”  Mason rose, handing the boy the paper and pen.

“Running back.  Broke my arm last season, though.  Kinda like you.”  He lifted his sleeve to show Mason.

“Whoa, that’s a pretty big scar.  Must have been an epic tackle.”  The boy nodded proudly.  “You watching your little sister?”

“Yeah.  Every week.  It’s so boring.”  His mother motioned to her son to hush.  “Why are you here, Mr. Mason?”

Mason winked at the boy.  “I like ballerinas.”

“I know.  Ms. Emory is hot!”

Mason chuckled, admiring Emory bent over.  “Yes, she certainly is.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” 

His mother shook her head in embarrassment and mouthed “I’m sorry” to Mason.

Mason patted the boy on the shoulder.  “I’m working on it, kid.”

Emory ended the class and hugged her little ballerinas before they filed out of the studio to their parents.  The boy’s sister hugged her mother, and the family turned to leave.  “Good luck with Ms. Emory,” the boy said, “and the Panthers.”

When her last student left, Emory locked the door and turned to face Mason, his pulse quickening.  Throughout his flight, he longed to kiss and hold her again.  He walked slowly towards her, then pulled down her ponytail, running his fingers through her hair.  Emory felt her breath catch in anticipation of his kiss, but he didn’t.  Instead, his hand drifted down her face outlining her cheek, then down her neck, sending tingles down her spine.  He touched her body as if he never had before.  Her breath became more rapid, his fingertips grazing the contour of her breast.  Mason’s eyes grew dark blue, watching her nipples harden from his slightest touch.  Emory locked her fingers in the belt loop of his jeans and pulled his hips towards her.   Mason smiled and kissed her neck, letting his tongue linger.  Emory let out a soft moan, as he placed little kisses up her neck and jaw.  Her breath growing more rapid and her legs weakening in anticipation of his kiss, but he moved to the other side of her neck.

“Mason,” she whispered through ragged breath.  Emory needed his kiss, but Mason was in total control, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.  He gently kissed her bottom lip, as her hands went to his hair, pulling herself tightly against him.  He smiled as she nibbled his bottom lip, then he turned to her mouth, exploring it with his tongue, while she moaned in pleasure.  They kissed passionately for several minutes, then slowly pulled apart.  Mason ran his thumb across her lips, red from the intensity of his kiss.  He placed a chaste kiss on her lips for comfort and smiled with a naughty glisten in his eye.  “Tease,”  she said, gently slapping his arm.  “Come upstairs.  I need to change.”  She took his hand.  “And I have something for you.”

They went into the apartment, and in less than a minute, Emory emerged from her room, dressed in a cotton camisole and boxer shorts, holding a small box topped with a bow.

“What is this?”  Mason’s eyes brightened, so heavy from the time change and long flight.

“A surprise.”  Mason studied it and shook it a little.  “It’s nothing big.  You can open it now.”

He removed the bow from the box, placing it on Emory’s hair, then gleefully tore it open.
 
What is this
?
He removed a key from the box.  “Wow!”  Mason beamed.  “Is this for the apartment?”

Emory rolled her eyes.  “No, I can give you that if you want.”

“Then what is it for?” he asked, confused, Emory nudging him to take a closer look.  He turned over the key in his hand and saw the numbers 302.  “Is this really it?”  Mason couldn’t believe what he was holding; it might as well have been the Lombardi Trophy.

“Yep.”  She bit her lip.  “Special weekend.”

“I can’t believe you kept our key!”  Emory told him she hadn’t kept it.  She’d read online a few years ago that the historic hotel had been sold, and the new owner was upgrading the floors and rooms.  She didn’t want the hotel tossin
g
thei
r
key, so she called the hotel and asked if they would send her the key to Room 302, explaining it was important to her.  The hotel was cordial, but must have thought she was crazy.  Still, a few days later, the key arrived in her mailbox.

“I’m shocked you did that, Em.” 

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

Mason hugged her tightly
.
I don’t deserve this girl
.
  “I’ll take that key to your apartment, too.”

Emory giggled and pulled away, opening the drawer of a side table.  She reached inside and dangled a key in front of him, Mason grabbing it and Emory, too.  With one arm, he pulled her on top of him.
 
My favorite position
!
  He ran his fingers across her cheek, with his blue eyes piercing into hers, the intensity in his eyes throwing her off balance.  She tried to sit up, but Mason pulled her back, slowly kissing her neck, gently sliding his hand under her shirt onto her waist, but she pushed his hand aside.

“Hey, I was following your rules,” he said, smiling.  “I was going slow.”  Emory kissed him, then kissed him again, for several hours, keeping their hands above their clothes.  Shortly before midnight, a loud growl from her stomach interrupted them, Emory  covering her face in embarrassment.  “I’ll go make you a little snack.  Be right back.”

Mason kissed the tip of her nose and forehead and walked into the kitchen.  Emory nestled herself into the pillows of the sofa.

Mason grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and some blueberries, then made his way back, a slow smile coming across his face seeing Emory was fast asleep.  If he had full use of both arms, he’d have carried her to bed.  Instead, he draped a blanket over her and settled in a nearby chair to watch her sleep.

* * *

Steven and Olivia rested in bed watching television.  It was late, and they couldn’t sleep, Steven worried about his brother’s career and divorce, and Olivia was just too uncomfortable from the baby kicking her bladder.  They hoped unfunny, late-night reruns would bring some sleep.  Steven heard his fax machine downstairs.  He patted Olivia’s belly and walked down to his office, taking a single sheet of paper from the machine -- one year, $2 million offer from the Seahawks.
 
Damn, still just one year.  At least it’s more than Carolina.

He picked up his phone and dialed the Panthers.  “Hi, it’s Steven Mason. . . . Yeah, I know it’s late. . . . I just heard from Seattle. . . . A million more than you guys. . . . My brother wants to be in Carolina, but you’re going to have to come up, or go to two years. . . .”

Olivia yelled down for a back massage.

“This shouldn’t be so difficult. . . .We can play hardball, too. . . .With the extra million, my brother can buy some fancy raincoats in Seattle. . . . If you’re not going to increase the money or years, we need incentives. . . . Base it on number of starts, snaps, games played. . . . Be creative if you want. . . . Let me know something soon.”

He hung up and walked to the staircase, feeling his hair thinning some more.  Then his phone rang, and he darted back to his office, scribbling furiously on a legal pad.

“Yes. . . . Let me make sure I understand.  One year, $1 million base salary.  Another $250,000 if he starts at least four games, and another $250,000 if he plays in at least eight games . . . . Potential total value of $1.5 million. . . . I need to talk to him.”

Olivia yelled down again, and Steven hollered back for her to be patient, needing a few minutes for business.  He knew it was late, and Mason likely was with Emory.  Rather than disturb them, he shot his brother a text.
 
Need to talk.  Call me ASAP
!
  He made his way upstairs, and the phone rang again.

Olivia rolled across her bed, stretching for the phone on the nightstand.  “How’s my nephew?”  Mason asked, turning the hotel key between his fingers, as Emory slept peacefully.

“Fat, or at least I am.”  Olivia reached back across the bed for the remote and lowered the volume on the television, hearing Steven come up the stairs.

“Oh, come on.  That’s not what Steven says.”

“He’s full of it.  Anyway, he needs to stop eating all my ice cream!”

Mason let out a quiet laugh.  “I’ll tell him to stop.” 

“By the way, are you hooking up with your college girlfriend?” Olivia blurted out.

“Put Steven on the phone!” Steven walked into the bedroom and saw a devilish look on his wife’s face. 

Olivia massaged her belly.  “Don’t take that tone with a pregnant woman, Mason.”

“You can’t play the pregnant card with me!”  Mason fired back.  Olivia brought energy and excitement to any situation, and that’s why Mason knew she was perfect for his brother, loosening him up -- a stressed-out, hard worker who tackled any challenge, including helping raise Mason when their father left.

“Liv, are you tormenting Mason?  Give me the phone.”  Steven pulled it from her grip.  “Sorry about that.  You know, Liv -- as soon as she has a thought, she says it.  It’s part of her charm.”   Olivia rolled her eyes and scooted off the bed, waddling into the bathroom.

“It’s fine,” Mason said.  “What’s up?” 

“I got Seattle’s offer.”  Steven sat down on the bed.  “It’s better.  One year, $2 million.” 

Mason cringed and looked at Emory sleeping.  “I need to be in Charlotte,” he whispered, walking to her bedroom and shutting the door.

“I figured.  I just got off the phone with the Panthers, too.  They are being stubborn.  Added a few incentives, $500,000 worth, if you start four games and play in eight, but that’s it.  They won’t go any further.  All that’s guaranteed is $1 million.”

“Shit.”

Olivia called out from the bathroom for toilet paper, and Steven walked to the hall closet to fetch a roll.  “I’m assuming you want to discuss all this with Emory.”  

“Nope,” Mason said quickly, “and don’t you ever say anything to her either!”

“Geez, calm down.”  Steven tossed the roll to his wife.

“Just make the deal with the Panthers.” 

Steven rubbed his eyes and returned to the bed.  “Mason, I really think you ought to discuss this with her.  If you’re serious about her, you need to tell her what’s going on.”  Olivia sat on the bed next to her husband.