Page 37 of The Masks We Break

“Well, tell me more about yourself. Honestly, besides you being a teaching assistant for that lit professor and incredibly gorgeous, I don’t know much about you.”

A full smile takes over my face, a light blush warming my cheeks. “Hmm, okay. I will be an orthopedic doctor someday. My favorite hobbies...” I stop, noticing Ricky is shaking his head slightly. “What?”

“Not that. That’s stuff anyone can ask. Tell me things no one ever knows about. The strange stuff you think is silly. That’s how you get to really know someone.”

He pops one of the grapes from my plate in his mouth, and my brows furrow in a playful warning, but I decide to entertain the request.

“Alright. How about this? I love ketchup but hate tomatoes.”

Ricky laughs, pointing a finger gun at me, and clicks. “That’s the stuff.”

Just then, something thaws in my chest. Little tight muscles I wasn’t aware of loosen, warming to this new person who wants to get to know me. Therealme. A genuine smile blooms on my face as I continue. “I think roses are the most disgusting smell in the world. There are too many varieties of apples, and I always forget which ones are my favorite. Oh, and I can’t look at the fish in the grocery store that still have eyes.”

Ricky breaks into a full-blown laugh, his perfect teeth glistening under the high sun. “Oh, Remy, please. I have to know more.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my smile from taking over and nod, deciding to tell him every odd fact about myself. And I do.

Over my limited dating experiences, I’d have to say this is a top-tier fun one. The simplicity of the picnic, the flow of the conversation, and the way Ricky looks at me as if every word that comes out of my mouth matters makes my heart swoon.

And when he takes me home later, for the first time since finding out Blaze lives across from me, I don’t look at his door as I walk into my apartment.

EIGHTEEN

Just a few more misses, and he’ll call it a night.

Sweat drips from my temples, my muscles stretching past anything remotely close to comfortable as I spar with my father. Coach had us pull double practice because of our big homecoming game tomorrow, so my body was already at its limits before I came here.

But I’m not a liar.

I can begrudgingly admit that not seeing Remy for two weeks has put a damper on my sleep schedule, further weakening my ability to defend against him. The night she came over on her birthday after I’d put her to sleep, she’d gripped my arm, murmuring for me to stay, so I crawled in next to her. Hummed for almost an hour, stroking her hair every time she stirred and wiped the tears she wept in her sleep. I can’t possibly understand why she blames herself for her mother’s death, but I think that’s why she chooses to conceal it from her friends. Or maybe it’s because she hasn’t told anyone that she continues to shoulder the guilt—she hasn’t given anyone the chance to make her see reason.

Whatever the rationale, I refused to leave her to fight those demons in her sleep alone, staying next to her until her snores became steady. Then I made the biggest mistake of my life by curling into her, wrapping my arm around her waist, and falling asleep with her head tucked under my chin. It was the first time I’d slept with a woman in that way and it was the most restful night I’d had in my life. I thought her lips were made for me when we kissed, but it had nothing on the way her body fit into mine. The way every curve she has slotted into place like a missing key to a lock.

Now, every time I get into bed, I toss and turn, and a few times, I’ve caught myself reaching for her. So I had to confine myself to the couch, which doesn’t yield the best sleep.

“I need water. I’ll be back in six.” My father straightens abruptly and stalks off, something like annoyance flickering in his gaze. It’s clear there’s something bothering him, and not being able to land a hit and take his frustration out on me is probably worsening his mood.

Still, I take the opportunity to grab my own water and glance at my phone.

Shit.

There’s a missed call from Clean Source Security. They do background checks on all my father’s clients. It’s the reason I knew Remy’s birthday and about her mother’s death—all the information was in the file my father had created when he did business with Solace University. I’d called the security team the morning after seeing a text to Remy from a Ricky Plardous on her phone. The name rang a bell, one I remember to be vile, and I wanted to see if it was the same one I’d heard about.

Checking the time and seeing over four minutes left, I click the notification and call him back.

“Bardot, sir, I have that background check for you.”

I take a swig of water, enjoying the moment of relief it gives my dry throat. “Why did it take so long? Something happen?”

“Yes, sir. His records were protected, and any report run would have flagged his attorneys. Looks like the kid’s got friends in high places.”

My jaw clenches, realization setting in that this is one hundred percent the same sleazebag I’m remembering. He was on the football team’s shit list for a while after we’d heard some harassment complaints with a few of the player’s girls, but nothing was ever confirmed because all of the women retracted their statements. And since the charges turned into underage drinking, the rumors died fairly quickly.

“Well?” I snap, looking at the clock and seeing my time has dwindled to two minutes already.

“After some intense digging and some hospital records, we found his accusations. None were pursued after the victims were given lump sums of money and changed their stories. All untraced, of course, but every medical record points to sexual assault.”

The air around me thins instantly, and even the deep, level breaths do nothing to fill my lungs as I slam the phone back on the bench. Out of all the guys she could have picked to waste her time with, she chooses the fucking predator.

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