Page 30 of The Masks We Break

Her eyes crinkle in the corner, her nose drawing up and wiggling in a cute scrunch. “Girl, I don’t know. He’s sweet and proper, which is the total opposite of what I like, ya know. But…” She pauses and sighs. “He was so catering to my lady bits, and after the second time I came, he wanted tocuddle. Andtalk. He was actually interesting.”

My eyes widen as I listen, shock gluing me in place. Amora is many things—quirky, fierce, dominating, but most of all, indecisive. For her to even consider liking someone, especially the nice guy, it’s surprising, to say the least.

Amora twirls on her heels, leaning into the mirror and smacking her lips with a pop. “But it also could have been the high from his tongue. It was pretty damn talented.”

We laugh in tandem, and the muscles in my neck loosen, some of the earlier anxiety melting away. I pull out the only makeup I have—a nice mascara—and begin pumping the little wand. “So, what’s on the agenda?”

Amora huffs, snatching the tube from my hand. “Stop that! You’re going to get air in here.” She pulls the stick out, twirling it gently before taking it out all the way. “That’s how you dry it out and risk getting bacteria in here,doctor.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be breaking bones, not worrying about the microbiology of cosmetics. Besides, I just wanted you to do it anyway.”

She juts out her tongue but lightly grabs my chin anyway, tilting it toward her. “Fine, but then I can do whatever I want.”

Relief unwinds the rest of my knotted muscles, and now I’m more excited about the evening. Funny thing about me—I loathe having to do everything myself. Rarely am I ever helped in anything I do. Whether it be the world’s most complex trig question, or the simple task of putting on mascara, I do it all. Which is probably what people are supposed to do, but sometimes I want to be lazy. I want to put my feet up and just let someone else take the reins.

If I’m completely honest with myself, though, I think never having a mom to do these things with, or girl friends for that matter, make this moment all the more special.

To Amora, she’s just doing her roommate’s makeup. But to me, she’s giving me memories and taking away the ache radiating in the back of my heart.

She doesn’t know it’s my birthday tomorrow, nor the day I’msupposedto be with family, honoring my mother. But I do say that tonight is special since it’s our first time out, and I want to do something I’ve always been too scared to do.

She nods, her excitement so thick in the air I swallow it down and tamper the butterflies trying to ruin the moment with fear. And for the next half hour, she fiddles with my hair, applies a little too much makeup, and tells me what our plans are for the night.

FIFTEEN

The music winds through my body, carrying my legs to the dance floor where Amora is grinding her hips against a broad man with a similar build to a football player. One thick hand is holding her waist, the other loosely wrapped around her neck. The reggae beat pulses through the air, and the way their legs move in sync is hypnotic. I’m not the only one that seems to notice the vibe, as quite a few bystanders move slower with their partner as they stare.

Amora’s eyes are half-closed, a happy tipsy high as she likes to call it, stitching her body to the man. Every few seconds, his hand slides down, adjusting her dress from riding up. Go figure Amora would find a burly gentleman to dance with.

Unwelcome jealousy zings through my chest at how carefree she is. She has an ability to not only be comfortable in her own skin but also exudes confidence in an environment where dozens of people are looking at her. It seeps from her pores, spreading around her like butterfly wings, making her impossibly prettier.

The guy seems to notice me first, his eyes widening before he smirks, and suddenly I have the urge to cover myself.

But then William’s words echo in my head, acting as anchors on my hands, so I don’t give in.

I am a badass. I cringe internally at the self-pep talk but clench my teeth and think it again anyway.

I am a badass.

He taps a big finger on the base of Amora’s neck, drawing her attention to me. She leans back, saying something in the man’s ear before he nods, releasing her and stepping back.

Confusion whirls through me, but Amora grasps one of my hands, and in one swift move, snaps me between them.

“Dance with us. Danny here is the best!”

My wide eyes bounce from her to him and back again. My nerves pull every muscle tight, refusing to let me move in any direction. I try to mutter the phrase again, but it sticks to my tongue, the sour taste of fear coasting across first.

“You are a fucking badass, Remy Solace.”

Amora’s words shoot through the hesitation, cutting the strings holding me back as I take her outstretched hand. She threads her fingers in mine and whirls me around. I can’t stop the giggle that escapes my mouth, a lightness expanding in my chest as we move.

My hip makes its first clumsy shake, and Amora’s voice rings out above the music. “Yasssss, bitch!”

I laugh again and continue to mirror her movements, each song that passes, drawing more confidence out.

It isn’t until about the tenth song I finally break off and head to the bar for one of many reprieves.

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