Page 19 of Masks and Mishaps

“Because you don’t want me?”

“Dalton—”

“I warned you this would happen,” he continues, moving closer—bringing those obscenely toned muscles within reach.

“You came over anyway.”

He lets out a slow exhalation, and his stare drags over me. “Fine. I’ll go,” he agrees, and the ache in his voice is real. I want to hold him. I want to tell him I’m sorry for this entire mishap. Before I can do anything, he grabs his mask from the floor. “Well, I loved banging you, babe. I would say we should do this again, but that would make things messy when we battle for Mom and Dad’s inheritance.”

“Dalton, I’m sorry.”

“Same, sweetheart,” he replies before he walks out of the bedroom and exits the condo.

Shit.Shit. That was a fiasco—and I may have just ruined one of the best friendships I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I open my laptop, hoping the post-stream numbers can take my mind off things—or at least numb the sting.

But when I look at my screen, nothing goes numb. In fact, my jaw drops.

…I wasn’t expecting that.

Nine

DALTON

LanderandEverett’seyebrowsare high enough to interrupt satellite paths. They glance at each other and then back at Lander’s laptop before Everett finally faces me. He’s wearing an expression I haven’t seen since we were seventeen and realized I’d asked four different debutantes to prom while I was hammered at a cotillion.

It’s the morning after Halloween, and they’re halfway through a replay of Essie and me. To be specific, they’re at the part where Essie grabbed my hand, shoved four of my thick fingers into her perfect, warm mouth, and sucked every bit she could while she rode me.

“Say something,” I urge. I’ve been pacing in front of Lander’s couch where they’re seated, but I stop in my tracks and so does Pierre, Lander’s golden retriever, who’s been pacing with me. “Say literally anything.”

Everett clears his throat in that measured, elegant way of his—a holdover from when he was a budding congressman from a long line of American politicians. “That,” he begins, selecting and measuring his words with the utmost care as his green eyes drift back to the laptop, “is the most athletic sex I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, collapsing onto the couch next to Lander, who clasps his hand on my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze.

“Is she okay?” he asks.

I shake my head before pausing and admitting, “Well, I don’t know. She texted me and asked to talk, but I didn’t respond.”

Lander squeezes my shoulderveryhard. “Why not?”

“I’d left my phone at the bar and didn’t get it back until this morning. Plus, what am I supposed to say? Hey, super sorry I thought you wanted to fuck me, so I showed up unannounced and did, indeed, fuck you while dressed like a homicidal maniac, thereby undermining the unprecedented willpower I’ve been exercising for the last eleven months and subsequently putting our parents’ wedding in jeopardy, risking my job at Hannington-Hale, and potentially ruining the dynamic of our friend group for eternity?”

“You could say you also want to talk,” Everett replies, unruffled as usual. “You don’t actually have to say everything on your mind. You could—and I know I’m being radical here—filter some of it.”

“We talked,” I remind him. “I made it clear I’d never move past last night, and she made it clear she wanted me to leave. What’s left to say?”

“Plenty,” Lander chimes in again. “Essie is the most sensible person we know.”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to complicate things. She has a ton going on.”

Lander—a persistent motherfucker—shrugs and says, “So? Juggling a thousand responsibilities and still being sensible is her thing. She could be sinking in quicksand and would still have a rational response.”

“Hey. Don’t ever say shit about her being in danger,” I warn, glaring at him. “You’re going to manifest quicksand or something.”

“We live in the District of Columbia,” Everett comments, never one to pass up a chance to talk topography—even when it’s not the time,you deranged forest dryad. “Quicksand is unlikely unless you’re near an estuary—”

“I will estuary both of you—”

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