Page 24 of The Masks We Wear

My muscles relax as I straighten my spine, smoothing the lapels on my glittery purple jacket. I turn on my heels and leave without a second glance.

Amora follows me out of the bathroom, and we emerge from the stairs to Blaze resting against the kitchen island. His school jersey hugs him in all the right places, and I see Amora stiffen in my peripherals.

I can convince Blaze to do lots of things, but committing to a Halloween costume isn’t one of them—a football player is as good as it gets. He tips his chin slightly, raking a hand through his dark locks, before returning his steel gaze to the TV.

Behind him, everything is set up. Kegs, red Solo cups, at least five varieties of liquor and juice, some nachos for those that dare to eat—all lined up and ready to start the night. Amora even had some girls on the squad hang up Halloween lights on the back patio.

The doorbell rings before I get a chance to ask him if our cocktail for our special guest is finished. My eyes trail behind Amora as she prances to the door, her pigtails and tiny skirt bouncing in tune to her step.

It’s the football team in attire like Blaze’s, followed closely behind by my cheerleaders donning Sailor Moon outfits. Soon after that, bodies fill the entire downstairs and trickle into the backyard.

Music hums through the house, and for a moment, I find myself enjoying it. This afternoon’s incident, long forgotten, and the words of my mother drowning in its melody. My pulse hums in my veins, and I grab on to Amora’s hand, leading her to an open spot in the living room. Our bodies melt together as we move, hips rolling in tempo.

Warmth spreads across my chest, and the growing crowd of onlookers fills me with deep-seated satisfaction. My eyes flutter closed, lost to the beat thrumming through my veins, but when they open, everything stops. Everyone in the room seems to blur as one person comes into focus.

My breath catches in my throat.

He’s here.

I knew he would be, but to see him, tofeelhim sets my once calm pulse into a frenzy. Even with the muddled conflict that surrounds him and I, every part of my body trembles, aching to go toward him. The fine hairs on my arm stand as I take him in.

An emerald green shirt pulls across his broad chest, and a pair of dark khakis hang from his hips. The tee has short sleeves, leaving his corded arms exposed and my stomach clenching. If it wasn’t for Remy, I almost wouldn’t know what his costume is.

Next to him is the literal real-life version of Velma. Her knee-length skirt is pleated to perfection, matching the hideous Mary Jane shoes. Surprisingly, her orange turtle neck hugs curves I wasn’t aware she had, making her a tad sexier than the cartoon character. Still, she’s bumped her short black hair and attached a red ribbon for good measure, sending her sex-odometer to a solid two.

My eyes flit to Blaze, standing in the kitchen. His eyes are trained on the poor girl, and I don’t miss the way his chest heaves a little deeper. I vaguely wonder if he feels bad about our plan but quickly dismiss it.

Blaze has no conscience. Well, maybe he’s not entirely void of one, but it sure isn’t as prevalent as the average person.

As if he can feel me, his gaze finds mine, and he nods, sending a tingle through my hands.

Tonight, I find out what the girl knows, while also freeing myself from the outlandish tie my body still seems to have to Spencer.

Tonight, I set the course to once and for all forget the boy that’s been the root of my torment.

Of all my deepest fantasies.

Of my existence.

It’s time to finally dig up the weeds in my garden and see if there’s anything left behind.

ELEVEN

The air is thick and moist, which is fucking disgusting. Even taking a breath requires effort with the hoard of bodies stuffed in Lily’s house.

Lily.

Agreeing to come was hard enough, but if I’d known it was at her house, I would have said no. Yet here I am, wearing the last-minute outfit Remy was able to put together, squeezing in between a half-naked siren and her victim of choice. It may not be too bad, and hopefully, I make it through without running intotrouble.

The sounds coming from the speakers reverberate around the house, coursing through my body, changing up the rhythm of my heart. Smiles, drunk laughter, and low eyes appear on every face in view.

We make it three feet before I see her.

Everything freezes on impact—the music, the people moving around, and her body. It’s as if time slows to a complete stop, giving me time toseeher. She’s dressed—and I use that word loosely—as the joker. An insanely reflective purple jacket hangs off one of her tan shoulders while she moves to the beat. Her stomach is fully exposed as she only has on a lacey yellow bra that pushes up her breasts so high, they nearly kiss her collarbone.

And her shorts. Her fucking torn shorts stop right below her pussy, and my mind replays the moment I first saw it. Pink, swollen, and dripping in between her fingers.

She’s twisting around as if she’s the only one in the room.

---