Page 29 of The Masks We Wear

He’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss my boot. And maybe with a little luck, the strong-ass alcohol, plus the sprinkle of something extra Blaze added, will coax him to do more than just put his lips on it.

He tugs at the hem of his shirt, his caramel eyes never leaving mine. He’s still thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, but never once does he look at the people around him. It’s like he doesn’t know anyone else is here.

A strange combination of guilt and satisfaction swirl in my stomach. It’s like baking the sweetest cake in the world and then devouring it in one sitting.

Two small drops of sweat roll down his temples, and no matter the number of times he wipes them away, they reappear. Finally, he yanks his shirt off, and my core clenches.

His entire chest is glistening like he ran two miles. All eight of his abs are on full display, and even a few passing girls stop and admire what I’m sure is an equally impressive back. I have to stop my eyes from rolling.

Spencer may look good, but inside he’s just as ugly as me.

I lift my foot, leveling it with his chest, and he grabs it accordingly, wrapping his fingers around my calf. My skin burns under his touch, searing it like a hot poker. It feels foreboding. Like if I let this happen, there’s no coming back. I’ll be left with a scar.

But I think I crossed that line a long time ago.

Ignoring the searing pain, I tip my toe out, watching as his eyes darken and flit to my boot. His chest rises higher and falls deeper, and I imagine him standing at the edge of a cliff, weighing what the fall might do. He edges closer, and if I move an inch, it will happen.

Amora clears her throat, and when I snap my gaze to hers, those big blue eyes widen—waiting for the cue. I simply nod and cast my attention back to Spencer.

Out of my peripherals, Amora signals the cheer squad. Within seconds, the football team and others crowd around, watching. Hoots and hollers break through the crowd—some egging him on, others saying how disgusting he is. But still, he doesn’t seem to notice them. Spencer looks at me one last time sending a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

I shouldn’t do this.

“Will, just shut up. She’s nothing—no one to me. Just a summer friend that makes my summer suck a little less. Now lay off.”

I blink the memory away and smile at Spencer, the same smile I use to get whatever I want, and it works. His lips touch my boot, and the herd behind him goes wild.

Different slurs ring through the air, but he doesn’t regard them. Instead, his grip around my calf tightens, like the smooth patent leather is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. His tongue sweeps out, licking the sides in a way that burns my cheeks. It’s not like he’s licking a spoon. No, this is different.

It’s carnivorous, and for a second, I wonder what he’s seeing. What hethinkshe is actually doing.

His tongue swirls around, and he even sucks up the loose string, pulling it through his teeth with a growl. As sick as it is, my pussy quivers at the sight, lighting my nerves up in the region.

I clench my thighs together and snatch my foot away. “That’s enough, you revolting dog, I think you cleaned all the shit off. Now get out of my house.”

I press the tip of my boot right above his collarbone and shove him back, laughing when he hits his ass on the wood floor and his glasses clatter beside him.

The surrounding people jump back, screaming with laughter that finally wakes him up. His eyes flash to me, brows knit together, and then… he smiles.

A wide grin, that makes his dimples deepen profoundly.

It sets off a chain reaction in my stomach and if it weren’t for the dozens of spectators, would have caused me to blush, maybe even smile back.

Spencer grabs his glasses, placing them on his face as though nothing out of the ordinary happened, and stands. His muscles flex with the movement, and even with the disgusting comments thrown his way, every girl I can see stops and ogles his frame.

I fist my necklace, pulling it so hard, I know it will leave marks if it doesn’t cut through the delicate skin first, and watch him.

He slips his thumb across his bottom lip before turning, leaving through the door without saying a word.

I suck in air and realize I’ve been holding my breath. Everyone is still standing near me, crowding my space as though, waiting for me to say something—announce something.

But I don’t. That’s not the MO I’m known for. Instead, I hop off the counter and find Blaze’s steel eyes in the crowd. I tug on his jersey, and he follows.

We take the stairs at my pace, which is slow—the weight of everything finally pushing down on my shoulders, making it taxing even to move. My plan was to make him keep childhood secrets.

But truthfully, it was something else.

Something I can’t admit. Not even to myself in the privacy of my own thoughts.

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