Bad Connection✔️

Dr. Pepper Will Never Be The Same

Things didn't go as planned. Burger King is officially the most traumatic place in my life.

After all that beauty happened, Mason got the balls to stand back up and take a minute to balance himself before I felt him tug on my shirt to pull me off the floor. Why should I? So I can stand here, drenched in soda, probably some ketchup in my hair, looking completely humiliated while standing next to such a beautiful face? I think not. The floor is my home now.

As if he knew I was mentally fighting him off and physically putting all the weight I had in my body to hold me to the floor, he took a fist full of my shirt and jerked upwards. Please, no.

Mason wasn't satisfied enough with just picking me up and then letting me stand by myself. He just had to be the extra little hero and hold his arm around my waist (my feet still not touching the ground), and carrying me to a safer spot where Dr. Pepper wasn't everywhere.

"You do understand my legs work, correct?" I half-whispered, pointing my toes towards the ground so I could maybe reach the floor.

He looked down at me and locked eyes with no warning. He had me completely pressed against him, a serious expression painting his features. Despite the constant staring I've been doing for the last couple of days, I'd never really noticed his eye color. I thought it was blue but it was actually more of this odd green. Like the sea type of green, but a little darker.

I realize more about him too, like the freckles on the back of his neck littered a little on his neck where his Adam's apple is, and there's a tiny, pale group of them right above his left eyebrow. His lips are a pale pink.

Suddenly all I can focus on are his lips. They're hypnotic. Every time I try and look back up at his eyes, my attention falls back down to his lips. I've never noticed how soft they looked, how full they are.

When I finally brought my gaze back to his light eyes, they were a little darker. His focus kept going down to my own lips, too. I wonder if he thinks they'd be soft. I wonder if his brain is as fuzzy for no reason, completely engulfed in the smallest details that I never would have thought would make sense to someone.

Was he this close earlier?

Finally, Mason looked back into my eyes again before he cleared his throat and tore his gaze from mine. I stared at the floor while he apologized to the lady. I'm not hungry anymore, I doubt he is either.

His hand moved over and touched my side, it felt intimate for some reason. I don't like it.

"Let's go back to my place," Mason mumbled, taking my hand in his and leading us out of the Burger King to which I will never return. Dr. Pepper just might be ruined for me.

We got back into Leah completely silent. It's awkward again. We just got over the awkward thing and somehow we've managed to fall right back into it.

"We should go back to your place, get changed, and go for a walk or something. Fresh air sounds amazing," I blurted out finally.

The awkwardness lightened up a little, and Mason smiled at his steering wheel and nodded before switching the key forward to turn the Jeep on.

The ride had music so it wasn't disturbingly quiet as we pulled out of the parking lot and got on our merry way.

Somehow, riding for a good 15 minutes wasn't as painful as expected to be and we were pulling into Mason's driveway soon enough. His house is beautiful, exactly what I would've expected from Mr. Perfect over here. His parents probably have the best jobs. They're probably still together. I'd bet his dad didn't abandon him and his mom in an empty house with no purpose and only having hours and hours to blame themselves.

Probably.

"Welcome to the house," he said while we were getting out of the car. His eyes were soft when he looked towards the house, he really had an okayish home life.

He shifted through some mystery keys as we made our way up the little path to his front porch, a beautiful light brown wooden door with red stained glass windowing was already so welcoming. It just makes me think of all the good memories.

When he found the key, he unlocked the door and opened it for me to go in first. I accepted the offer and made my way in. Most of the carpets were the same red as the glass, some yellow and blue things here and there. It's such a quaint, peaceful place. He makes it feel homier. It's probably just because I'm comfortable around him.

"I really love your home."

He smiled.

"Thank you, me too. My Mom really loves these colors together. There are chicken-themed things all in the kitchen with these colors," he mentioned fondly. His whole body was relaxed, his face (despite the obvious bruising and damages) looked content and at peace.

"She has good taste."

"She just might. Come on, you should get out of those clothes. I'll get you something to wear."

I followed him up a staircase with the same colored wood as the front door. He walked down a wider hallway before making a sudden turn into a room. I obviously walked in after him to see what I assume is his room.

Out of all the things, I didn't exactly expect the way it was decorated. The walls are a blue-white color, and he has a whole wall dedicated to pictures of him and his friends growing up together. There's a shelf with trophies and a couple of academic awards I remember him getting. I got the same ones.

"Here," he threw a pair of black sweatpants, a green Champion sweatshirt, and a pair of boxer briefs. I picked them up, opening my mouth to ask where I could change at when he suddenly took his shirt and pants off, facing the opposite direction of me. I decided to just turn the other way and strip quickly.

It worked. I kicked my shoes off, slipped my pants and underwear off quickly, pulled the boxers up fast, and slipped on the sweats before abandoning my shirt and bra (all of me managed to get drenched) and pulled the sweatshirt on along with it. I was finished before him, he was still shirtless, going through his closet to find something.

When he finally made a selection, Mason slipped on a red tee and turned around to face me, shocked to see I had already changed and was in the process of throwing my hair up in a bun. It didn't actually get in the soda. I'm not positive how, but it could've been worse I guess.

"Sweet. Let's go downstairs and watch T.V. How do you feel about The Office?"

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