Chapter 3

Riley's POV

Three days after transferring back to University of Texas from New York, I landed an internship as a sports reporter for The Daily Texan.

Even worse, my first assignment was a feature shoot with the football team.

Despite Chase's repeated warnings in the kitchen yesterday to stay away from Mason, fate seemed determined to throw us together again. And this time, I had a legitimate excuse—work.

Riley, this is professional work, not time to go fangirling.

I stood on the sidelines of the practice field, camera hanging around my neck, trying to look like a professional reporter. The afternoon Texas sun was blazing as players ran passing drills.

Mason wore a tight training jersey, sweat dripping down his solid arms. His blonde hair was soaked and plastered to his forehead. Every time he raised his arm to throw, his chest and abs tensed into perfect lines.

The moment the ball left his hand, his back muscles rippled and his thigh muscles tensed with power. DAMN, this guy was absolutely scorching.

I raised my camera and started shooting, trying to maintain professional distance.

"Well, look who's here!" teammate Tyler yelled out. "Captain Matthews' baby sister!"

Other players turned to look at me, wolf-whistling obnoxiously.

"Little sister's gorgeous!"

"Is Chase's sister single?"

"Can I ask her out?"

My face instantly flamed red. Just as I wondered how to respond, I heard Chase's furious voice:

"SHUT UP! All of you listen to me!" Chase charged over, pointing at the players. "Anyone who touches a HAIR on my sister's head is OFF the team!"

The players burst into laughter but wisely shut their mouths.

"She's here to WORK!" Chase continued raging. "Focus on practice!"

I rolled my eyes internally. Chase, the overprotective brother, always made simple things complicated.

Practice continued, and I focused on taking photos. But I noticed Mason's performance seemed more... spectacular than usual. Every throw was especially powerful, every sprint looked particularly energetic.

Was he showing off for someone?

After practice, I needed to conduct some post-training interviews. By convention, reporters could interview players in the locker room.

Pushing open the locker room door, steam hit my face along with the mixed scent of body wash and testosterone. Most players had already changed and left.

Just then, the sound of water stopped from the showers.

"Hey there, little reporter."

I turned to see Mason walking out of the shower area with just a towel around his waist, hair dripping wet, water droplets still clinging to his chest.

My breathing nearly stopped.

Professional, Riley. You're a professional reporter.

"Um... how did practice feel?" I raised my voice recorder, trying not to look at his body.

"Good." He walked to his locker. "Though I was a little distracted today."

"Distracted?"

"There was this beautiful reporter on the sidelines taking photos all day." He started getting dressed, deliberately slowing his movements. "Hard to concentrate."

My face reddened again: "I... I was just working."

"I know." He pulled on a T-shirt. "Want to see the equipment room? There's some interesting stuff there that might help with your story."

I hesitated, but curiosity won: "Okay."

The equipment room was packed with football gear, relatively dim lighting. Mason casually closed the door and pointed to photos on the wall.

"These are the team's historical photos." he said. "Starting from the 1950s, every generation's star players."

I studied the photos seriously—this was indeed good news material.

"Over there is the evolution of training equipment." He continued the tour. "Look how primitive the early protective gear was."

We stood side by side, the atmosphere relaxed and natural, like old friends chatting.

"Mason," I suddenly asked, "why did you stop coming to our house? After high school graduation, you and Chase rarely came over anymore."

His expression became somewhat complicated: "Life changed, Riley."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned against the equipment cabinet, his tone becoming serious: "After graduation, my dad wanted me to study business, inherit the family company. When I told him I wanted to keep playing football, wanted to study sports management... we had a huge fight."

I looked at him, feeling sympathy rise in my chest.

"He cut off all my financial support." Mason continued. "I could only survive on scholarships and part-time jobs. No time or money for socializing anymore."

"God, I had no idea..."

"It's okay." He smiled, but the smile was somewhat bitter. "I think it was for the best. At least I know what I'm fighting for."

"Handling all that alone must have been really hard." I couldn't help saying.

"It was hard." He looked at me. "But worth it. And... looking back now, persevering was the right choice."

"Why?"

"Because it led me to meet you." His voice was soft. "The you of now."

My heart raced, the air suddenly thick with subtle tension.

Just then, Mason suddenly said: "By the way, there's an art exhibition this weekend, at the downtown gallery. Would you like to check it out?"

"Art exhibition?" I was somewhat surprised. "You like art?"

"Of course." He raised an eyebrow. "You think football players only know how to tackle?"

I laughed: "No, just... didn't expect it."

"It's a show by my favorite contemporary artist." His eyes sparkled with light. "Definitely worth seeing."

"Sounds... interesting." My voice trembled slightly.

"So will you come?" He looked directly into my eyes.

My face instantly burned: "I... I don't know..."

"Think about it." He opened the door to leave. "If you want to, Saturday afternoon at two, meet me at the gallery entrance."

He reached the door, then looked back at me: "Oh, Riley?"

"Yeah?"

"You looked beautiful today."

With that he left, leaving me standing alone in the equipment room, heart ready to burst from my chest.

Was this a date invitation?