Page 61 of David's Love

I pulled my dress down, ran my fingers through my hair, and draped my coat over my shoulders before reapplying my lipstick in the vanity mirror under his eyes.

He beamed with curiosity and admiration, and I felt like I was walking on clouds.

Even though I’m trying not to be obvious about studying his face, I know he knows I’m looking at him.

It’s how he flexes his arm and clutches the steering wheel, hiding a secret smile in the tiny silky folds of his blue irises.

I wish I could tell him he looks like a dream come true.

Like a memory that I will forever keep in my heart.

I wish he could tell me what made his first love story go rogue and him get carried away by the idea of little old me.

I wish I could tell him we could probably be more than this. More than a handsome man and a sexy woman experiencing mind blowing sex.

But saying it will not make it happen, so I keep this sweet, self–indulging secret to myself.

We’re driving for about an hour before entering one of the quaintest towns of Long Island. Before long, we leave the stores, the cafes, and the restaurants behind and follow a snaking road to a secluded property.

I glance at him with questions in my eyes.

“It’s not my place. It’s only a party we’ve been invited to,” he says in response to my puzzled look.

What a life I’m living.

Yesterday, I spent my evening at Sexton's residence in Colorado.

Today, I took a charter plane to New York.

And now I’m about to have a lavish experience on Long Island.

My life isthe book.

Dangling lanterns and Halloween decorations guide us to a round driveway.

Several cars are parked to the side while holographic projections of ghosts and skulls line the dark windows.

This is serious business, the bluish silhouettes gleaming against the black background.

“This is for you,” he says, reaching inside the glove box and pulling out a soft, silky, black mask.

He hands it to me while I look at him.

“I have one, too,” he adds, sliding his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and scooping out his.

“Ready,” he says, smiling softly.

“Yeah… Yes, I am,” I say, pulled out of my reverie.

We step out before putting the masquerade masks on.

His hand rests on my lower back as he shows me to the entrance.

No one greets us when we walk into the house.

Apparently, the windows are only a preview of the house.

A blue light glows around the rooms, highlighting more holograms.

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