Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance Read Online Free Page B

saying is
that the two of you started something, but you were busy a lot so you never
made it out of the bedroom?” I ask. “That’s not really sex acquaintances as
much as it is being unavailable for anything more.”
    “He did that with other
people, too,” Jana says. “I mellowed out a ton, but from what Carli told me,
he’s still quite a little man-whore.”
    I don’t ask if that means
Mason and Carli are a thing. Carli’s the biggest gossip I’ve ever met and, more
likely than not, she’s never actually met Mason. I’m not much for gossip or the
people who do it, but Carli does have an outstanding track record for spreading
rumors that end up being true. I’ll give her that much.
    Maybe I should call Mason back and cancel. I’m
really not looking to go out with someone who’s just going to look at me like a
piece of meat, even if it is just to
get out of seeing Jana’s mom a couple extra hours.
    “Look,” Jana says, “mom’s
going to be here in like three minutes. Why don’t you—where are you going?”
    I don’t answer.
    I know that
Rhododendron—or whatever flower Jana’s mom has repurposed as her new moniker
for the moment—is going to be here when I get home, but if I stay out a while,
there’s always a chance that she’ll be taking a weed nap by the time I’m back.
    Maybe Mason’s a dirt bag,
maybe he’s not. Either way, I’m getting out of here before Jana’s mom tries to
pin me down and slather me with hemp oil. Again.

 
 
    *                      *                      *

 
    “Well, that’s a shame,”
Mason says, sipping his soda in a weak attempt to hide his smile.
    “It’s not that I have a
problem with hippies or anything,” I tell him. “I just subscribe to the idea of
personal space.”
    “Yeah, that seems totally
reasonable,” he says.
    “So, my roommate says
you’re some kind of man-whore or something,” I say and take a bite of my salad.
    “I wouldn’t say that,”
Mason answers calmly.
    “What would you say?” I
ask.
    “I’d say that I’ve had my
fair share of relationships that didn’t work out, but you know. I’m still
optimistic. These things take time,” he says.
    “Well, I think I may have
given you the wrong impression regarding my motives,” I tell him.
    “What?” he asks with a
smirk. “We met, we hit it off. I’m incredibly attractive, although I do think
it’s pretty weird you thought so, too, given my appearance at the time, but—”
    “Does that work?” I ask,
sipping my coffee.
    “What’s that?” he asks.
    “The whole overconfident
thing,” I tell him. “I was flirting with you before because I saw how much it
bothered Jana when she saw you again, and sometimes that particular friend of
mine just needs to be taken down a peg or two, but I’m not looking for some
desperate slap and tickle with a juvenile walking phallus.”
    “You’re kind of mean, you
know that?” he asks, but he’s still smiling.
    “You’re used to
rejection, aren’t you?” I return.
    “Very,” he says. “If I’m
not being rejected in a public and humiliating way at least once a day, I feel
like I’m not trying hard enough.”
    “So it’s all about the
sex for you then, huh?” I ask. I don’t know if he’s figured out that I’m not
interested, but either way, toying with him is just too delicious.
    “Not really,” he says. “I
mean, I do enjoy me some—what’d you call it?—slap and tickle, as much as
anyone, but that’s not what it’s all about for me.”
    “Oh, and what’s it all
about?” I ask. This should be entertaining.
    “I don’t know,” he says.
“A lot of people are worried about who they’re going to get to spend the night
with them. I always thought mornings were more romantic.”
    “Oh really?” I ask, not
hiding my amusement.
    “Really,” he says. “I
think it’s much more a statement when someone wakes up and wants to spend their
day with you than when