It Had to be Mason: A Sweet YA Romance (Beachbreak High Book 1) Read online

  It Had to be Mason

  Beachbreak High #1

  Emily Lowry

  Cover Photography by

  Anya Berkut via Canva Pro

  Eleventh Avenue Publishing

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  Contents

  1. Zoe

  2. Mason

  3. Zoe

  4. Mason

  5. Zoe

  6. Mason

  7. Zoe

  8. Mason

  9. Zoe

  10. Mason

  11. Zoe

  12. Mason

  13. Zoe

  14. Zoe

  15. Mason

  16. Zoe

  17. Mason

  18. Zoe

  19. Zoe

  20. Mason

  21. Zoe

  22. Mason

  23. Zoe

  24. Zoe

  25. Zoe

  26. Mason

  27. Zoe

  28. Zoe

  29. Zoe

  30. Mason

  31. Zoe

  32. Mason

  33. Zoe

  34. Mason

  35. Zoe

  36. Zoe

  37. Zoe

  38. Mason

  39. Zoe

  40. Mason

  41. Zoe

  42. Mason

  43. Zoe

  44. Zoe

  45. Mason

  46. Zoe

  47. Zoe

  48. Mason

  49. Zoe

  50. Zoe

  51. Zoe

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  Chase Jones is my Fake Boyfriend: Chapter One

  Also by Emily Lowry

  1

  Zoe

  If a boy was hot, I admired him from afar.

  Under no circumstances would I ever, EVER, walk over and strike up a conversation. What would I even say? Hi, I’m that totally-not-creepy girl who’s been accidentally following you through the grocery aisles, and sure, we’ve never met, but I know every social media account you have? And I follow them all?

  No.

  You did not do that with hot boys.

  You especially did not do that on days where you were sweaty and gross — which was a frequent occurrence for me this summer.

  Late August, the heat wave hit California. It was so hot that if you stood still for too long, the soles of your shoes melted. It was humid, too, so as soon as you stepped outside, you started to sweat, and your clothes stuck to you. That wasn’t a huge problem for most of the girls in my dance class. They all wore skin tight yoga gear anyway, and sweat just made them look even more athletic and toned.

  It was a problem for girls like me, who favored shapeless t-shirts over crop tops and whose already unruly hair became an out of control frizzy mess when exposed to damp heat.

  The t-shirt that I was wearing — a baggy old Cal Tech hand-me-down — was plastered unflatteringly to my body. Worse, it smelled… probably because I forgot to put on deodorant before dance class. I dug through my gym bag, hoping a little white stick of floral powers was hiding beneath my sweat pants or buried in my towel. No such luck.

  I looked around the locker room. The rest of the girls had left before me, probably headed to the beach. I poked through a few of the open lockers, hoping someone had forgotten a can of spray deodorant. I didn’t like the smell, but it was better than smelling like, well, me.

  Foiled again.

  Oh well, I’d just have to make sure I didn’t run into anybody I knew.

  Outside, blistering heat replaced the air-conditioning of the dance studio.

  My shoulders sagged, my body melting into the pavement. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the studio to my house, but I suspected I’d be a human puddle before I made it halfway. A smelly human puddle. Gross.

  I thought about walking straight home, not taking my usual detour. I really did.

  But even as the thought was crossing my mind, my legs were guiding me towards High Street. Towards Him. And yes, he gets a capital H.

  On Saturday mornings, High Street was the place to go in Beachbreak if you wanted fancy coffee and a toasted bagel with smeared avocado and sun-dried tomato. It was also the place to go if you wanted to do some shopping. Vibrant, colorful stores practically popped up from between palm trees and park benches. There were bakeries and antique shops, cafés and music venues, restaurants and old school lounges. The stores were on one side of the street. On the other side?

  Highline Beach. A long expanse of golden sand, crashing surf, and more people than I could count. Families built sand castles, seniors roasted like Thanksgiving turkeys, and surfers rode waves.

  As awesome as High Street was, there was only one shop I was interested in this morning. Sand and Sun Board Games was nestled between a pair of palm trees. It had a blue awning that showed two chess pieces — a knight and the castle thing — having a sword fight. The expansive bay windows were open today, letting the fresh ocean air flow inside.

  I slowed my pace. A nervous energy swam in my stomach, the same kind of nervous you feel when you’re going up the first hill on a rollercoaster. I stopped by a park bench. I didn’t want to be too close — I wanted to see Him, but I didn’t want to risk Him seeing me. Today, I would admire from afar.

  As I mentioned: girls like me didn’t talk to guys who were hot.

  Kevin Gibbons walked between the aisles of board games, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He was tall and skinny, his hair a mess of wild curls. His general body shape reminded me of a palm tree. But like, a hot palm tree. He bent over, plucked a board game off a shelf, then held it up to examine the back.

  My heart skipped like it was doing jump rope. I’d had a crush on Kevin since forever. Nina, my best friend, had never understood it. She thought Kevin was — and I quote — boring and pretentious. I disagreed. Kevin was smart. Not that I’d ever talked to him.

  Kevin put the board game back on the shelf.

  While he was doing his job, I was imagining what would happen if he noticed me. We’d make eye contact from across the street. His eyes would do that cartoon thing where they literally transform into hearts and his jaw would drop. Then he’d wave me over. I’d look behind myself, thinking he must be waving at someone else. But no. He’d be waving to me. So I’d go over. And he’d be the perfect gentleman. And he’d—

  Wait, what was that smell?

  I scrunched my nose and looked around for the source. Hmm… no garbage cans nearby. It couldn’t be… it wasn’t me, was it? As casually as I could, I took a slight whiff of myself.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  I was the smell. The morning heat had done me no favors. It was good that Kevin hadn’t spotted me.

  He hadn’t, right?

  I checked.

  A girl approached Sand and Sun Board Games. She was taller than me — but then again, wasn’t everyone? — and her hair was so perfect I assumed she was immune to heat. She opened the door. Kevin greeted her, smiling. The sound of their words didn’t carry across the street, but the tone of their voices did. Hap
py. Light-hearted. Joyful.

  My eye twitched. She was just a customer. It wasn’t a big deal, he was just helping a customer. That was all.

  The girl said something. Kevin laughed, then guided her towards one shelf. He pointed to several board games. She nodded excitedly, said something else, and Kevin laughed again.

  But she probably wasn’t actually funny, I decided. Kevin was just being a good salesman and laughing at her lame jokes so he could up his commission. Because he was smart. I nodded to myself. That was definitely all that was happening.

  Ms. Not Actually Funny carried her board game to the cashier's desk and Kevin rang it through. He put the receipt in a bag, then grabbed one of the business cards and scribbled something on the back.

  My jaw dropped. Was he giving her his number? “What the—”

  Kevin and Ms. Not Actually Funny both turned in my direction.

  Oh no. My voice was at it again, speaking out loud when I didn’t mean to. Deft ninja that I was, I quickly stumble-dove behind the park bench, hoping that they didn’t see me. I crossed my fingers. They would have to be idiots to have not seen me. Especially considering you could see under the park bench. So now I was probably the crazy girl who spoke out loud to herself then hid behind park benches.

  Please, please don’t have seen me. I leaned over to peak around the bench.

  “Mommy, why is that lady weird?”

  I whipped my head around.

  The high-pitched voice belonged to a boy who was maybe four. His face was scrunched up like he was struggling his way through a puzzle. The boy’s mom, who was carrying a Starbucks cup, glared at me.

  I shrugged and laughed awkwardly, like it was a totally normal thing to hide behind park benches while spying at the store across the street.

  The boy’s lip quivered.

  He wasn’t seriously about to cry, was he?

  “I don’t like her,” he said, clutching his mother’s hand tightly.

  His mom shot me another look of disgust and pulled him along.

  The boy craned his head to stare at me as he walked away.

  I opted to do the mature thing and stick my tongue out.

  The boy’s eyes went wide.

  I scurried out from behind the park bench before I could get in more trouble. I risked a glance across the street.

  The girl was walking away from the shop, her bag comfortably in her hand. She waved at Kevin. He waved back, then retreated inside the store. It was a completely natural, completely normal, interaction.

  The exact opposite of sweating to death while you cowered across the street. I wanted to chase the girl down and ask her how she made everything look so natural?

  Why was talking to Kevin so easy for everyone who wasn’t me?

  2

  Mason

  Late summer football? You couldn’t beat it. It was the time of year where everyone was optimistic about the upcoming season. Walk into any high school, ask any player, and they would tell you that this was the year they were going to state.

  For Beachbreak High, things were shaping up nicely. I was confident in my skills as quarterback. We had a great defensive line. No one was injured yet, either. Plus, practicing under the California sun gave you a great tan. Girls loved dudes with a great tan.

  And I loved girls. Which is why I had one waiting for me in the stands.

  Meredith sat in the bleachers. Her hair was long, blonde, and wavy — like the ripples in beach sand. She wore a polka dot sundress, and currently, one of her hands was holding her hair, scrunching it up, and the other was holding her cell, taking a selfie. She pursed her lips and winked at the camera, then studied the picture before sending it off. I’d dated my fair share of Beachbreak girls, but Meredith had only ever shown an interest in college boys.

  I was determined to change that.

  Coach blew his whistle, signaling the end of the practice. While the rest of the boys headed to the locker room, I took off my helmet, sprayed my face with the water bottle, then casually messed my hair and strolled over.

  I winked. “Is it hot out here, or is it just you?”

  Meredith rolled her eyes. “How many girls have you used that line on?”

  “You mean today?” I held out my fingers, pretending to count. “I think just you. Feel special?”

  Meredith rolled her eyes again.

  I had a habit of making girls roll their eyes.

  “I got your text,” she said. “So, I’m here. I assume this is important?”

  Important? The reason I asked Meredith to meet me here couldn’t be more important. I looked away and curled my fingers on the neck of my shoulder pads, letting water drip down the side of my face. I felt nervous.

  “Homecoming,” I said. “You and me. What do you say?”

  Meredith blinked. “Are you… you’re asking me?”

  Was I missing something? She was single, I was single. She was the captain of the dance team, I was the captain of the football team. We’d been texting lately. And because of that, I’d thought she’d changed her stance on dating high school guys. I thought I was in.

  “Are you not going?”

  Meredith cleared her throat. She eyed me up and down.

  I smirked. “Want me to give you a twirl?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you think,” Meredith said. She wasn’t checking me out so much as she was studying me. Like she was looking for weaknesses.

  I suddenly felt self-conscious.

  “Homecoming is a big deal,” Meredith said. “Especially for me. I’m the captain of the dance team. The Homecoming dance competition is important to me. I need to win. The captain of the dance team always does.”

  Where was she going with this?

  She raised her eyebrows. “So? Can you?”

  “Can I what?”

  “Dance.”

  I scoffed. “I can dance.”

  Meredith crossed her arms. “Prove it. Dance right here.”

  Right here, right now? Most of the guys had gone into the locker room, but a few of the sophomore receivers were still throwing balls with the backup quarterback. “There’s no music,” I said.

  “Just show me the steps,” Meredith said. “Do a two-step.”

  I would’ve rather gotten sacked by a three-hundred-pound defensive tackle than danced in the middle of a field, by myself, to no music. Especially because I didn’t know how to dance. But how hard could it be to do a two-step? If you believed the name, there were only two steps involved. I could fake my way through two steps.

  I stuck my hands out, pretending they were on my invisible partner’s hips. Then I stepped forward with my right foot twice, then my left foot twice.

  Meredith covered her mouth to hide a laugh. “Not even close.”

  I laughed nervously. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “To you,” Meredith said. “But to anyone on the dance team, it is. I wanted to say yes, Mason. But I can’t sacrifice winning the competition. I won’t go to Homecoming with someone that can’t dance.”

  I was getting rejected. My cheeks burned, my eyes stung. This was a completely new experience. But, if dance was important to her, then it had to be important to me. “I can learn.”

  Meredith checked her phone, then stood. “Good. And when you learn, and you can prove it, let me know. Then maybe I’ll say yes. If you’re worth my time.”

  Baffled, I watched her walk away. Rejection did not happen much in my life, especially not from girls. But this was fine — Meredith was worth it. I could learn to dance.

  I mean, how hard could it be?

  3

  Zoe

  My inflatable unicorn rose and fell with the waves of the Pacific. Sparkles — named for his freckles which shimmered in the sunlight — had a long, golden horn, and two rainbow-colored wings. His eyes were blue, and he had a smile on his face that made him look a bit dumb, but I loved him anyway. When he was fully inflated, there was room for two: me and Nina.

  I sprawled across
Sparkles, dipping my toes in the water to keep my feet cool. Beside me, Nina adjusted her bathing suit, then squirted another handful of sunscreen on her darkly tanned stomach and rubbed it in. It smelled like coconut and summer.

  This was the best part of summer vacation, as far as I was concerned. Floating on the waves, getting a tan — or a burn, in my case — and hanging out with your best friend. We were living our best lives. Aside from my whole “not being able to talk to the boy I liked” problem.

  As we bobbed, I eyed the beach.

  Highline Hideaway was tucked away from everything. The nearest parking lot was over a mile away, so if you wanted to visit, you had to park at the main lot for Highline Beach and carry your stuff along a hiking trail that wound through a forest of trees. The path wasn’t smooth, either. Gnarled roots crawled across, and tripping and twisting an ankle was a common occurrence.

  But Hideaway itself was so beautiful that it made the tough hike worth it. The little, crescent-shaped private beach was all blue ocean, golden sand, and green palm trees. The smell of onion and sausage roasting over fire pits. When the sun set, most of the campfires were snuffed in favor of one giant bonfire. A local craft soda company supplied the wood and paid extra to keep an off-duty police officer on site. They let us party, but they let nothing get out of control.