Not long.
Not deep.
Just enough for a message.
And Kristen’s face goes blank.
Completely blank.
“Wow,” she finally says. “Well. You look… different.”
Mason gives her a polite, icy smile I didn’t know he was capable of. “Yeah. Turns out I grew up.”
She swallows, trying to regain her footing. “Well… I mean… you’re over me, right? You seem over me.”
“Oh, he’sveryover you,” I say, sweet as poison.
Kristen blinks.
Her friends stare.
The moment drags deliciously.
“Okay,” Mason says brightly. “Good running into you! See ya.”
He takes my hand and sweeps me toward a corner booth like we’re escaping paparazzi.
The second we sit, he blows out a massive breath.
“Holy shit,” he mutters. “Thank you.”
I shrug, tugging my jacket straight. “Hey. I know what revenge acting feels like.”
He grins. “You’re scary good at it.”
“Yeah,” I say, sippingMason and I sit in the corner booth, our coffees steaming between us. For a while neither of us speaks. The adrenaline from Kristengate is still buzzing under my skin.
He finally breaks the silence.
“Thanks again,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did not expect to see her here.”
I stir my latte, watching the foam swirl. “Did you guys date long?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Long enough that I thought it meant something.”
He gives a humorless laugh.
“She dumped me a month into my freshman year. Met some guy at Northeastern’s welcome week. Tall, shredded, lacrosse jawline, all that crap. Told me she needed someone who matched her ‘trajectory.’”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “And the cheating part hurt but… honestly? The way she talked to me for years? That messed me up more.”
I look up.
He’s staring out the window now, jaw working like he’s chewing on regrets.
“I worked my ass off in high school,” he says. “I lost weight. Got confident. Made a good group. But she still treated me like I was the fat kid from middle school. Like all this—” he gestures to himself “—was pretend.”
