Page 3 of Masks and Mishaps

With neither of us speaking, the bar feels louder and somehow smaller too. Slowly, Alec turns his hand until his palm faces up and my hand rests naturally against his. I wish I wanted him more. But fucking on-camera isn’t about feelings; it’s a performance—a hustle: something to cross off my camming bucket list and stockpile some extra cash before I graduate from Georgetown and retire in seven months.

I’m completely fine.

He drinks the last of his beer. “Should we go scope out the set? I want to get our beats down.”

By “set,” he means Cora’s condo in the Halcyon, which she’s letting me use because camming is an expulsion-worthy offense at Georgetown. Plus, she now lives with her fiancé, Everett—Dalton’s other lifelong best friend—so the place is free.

I slide off the stool, and Alec helps with a chivalrous hand, which I take—and immediately release when the sound of breaking glass resonates through the bar. I’m not surprised when Dalton steps out of his booth, swearing audibly as he avoids the shards of his broken beer bottle. It’spulverized. But even amidst Cora waving down one of the bar’s staff, and Valeria trying to move Dalton away from the glass, he’s still staring right at me.

Fuck, that’s a beautiful guy. He’s a truly, undeniablybeautifulguy—and not the way a scenic waterfall is beautiful but more like Niagara Falls: huge, overwhelming, but still capable of drawing people in.

That draw has me motioning for Alec to follow.

At the booth, Alec tenses next to me, but he finds his wits somewhere in his six-foot-three body—not enough to come within hitting distance of Dalton, but close enough to meet my friends. Recognition paints his face when I introduce Valeria and Cora, who he knows from being in the business.

“Hey, it’s so great to finally meet in real life,” Alec says, holding out his arms for a hug, but Dalton stops Valeria with a hand on her shoulder.

“Nope,” is all he says, and his voice lands like a record drop as usual. There’s a scratchy quality, a flicker of roughness on the undertones, but it’s loud—and unceasingly confident.

The rare sternness in Dalton’s tone does little to hold back Valeria Fuentes, who has zero patience for overprotective men. She rolls her eyes, weaves under Dalton’s big arm, and hugs Alec. Cora does the same. And—because she’s Cora Flores, and we’re all here to amuse her—she tacks on, “Jesus, you’re bigger in real life,” while squeezing Alec’s muscular arm, which naturally incites a snicker from Dalton.

Smirking, Cora steps back and gestures at Dalton. “And this charging bull wearing an investment banker costume, who just got blood on his Rolex, is Dalton Cavendish.”

“Essie’s brother, right?” Alec supplies, holding out his hand.

Dalton studies Alec while he folds his arms over his wide chest, flexing ridged muscles I didn’t even know existed in the human body. His button-down shirt—with the sleeves rolled to accentuate his forearms—stretches over the vast planes of his pectorals. And just when I assume he can’t get any hotter, Dalton looks right at me and gives me the cockiest wink I’ve ever seen.

The sound I release when I inhale is mortifying but entirely involuntary. I can’t help it—Ireallycan’t help it. I would call Dalton Cavendish a snack, but there’s so much of him. He’s enough snacks to feed a stadium during the Super Bowl, and he so clearly knows it.

Dalton turns his attention back to Alec and tilts his head. “I’m her stepbrother. Who the fuck are you?”

Chills roll down my spine. This is the part where I have to admit I’m going to fuck a guy—something I haven’t done in the two years Dalton and I have known each other. This is also the part where I have to admit the guy I’m going to fuckwon’t be him.

Dalton’s brow furrows more deeply with each passing second, and my oversight feels monstrous. I didn’t expect him to be here tonight.

“This is a date, right?” he presses, taking a small step toward me. His expression hardens even more. “Three weeks ago, when we all went apple picking, you said you weren’t dating anyone, Ess. Do you remember? We were sitting on those grimy hay bales, watching that guy in the track pants pretend he wasn’t cold because his girlfriend wanted to take more pictures, which I respect because I would stand in a blizzard for my girl, track pants be damned. But also, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing track pants. Joggers, sure. But track pants? Are we playing in an NBA game in nineteen ninety-six?”

“Dalton,” I begin, taking a tentative step closer, but I know he’s far from done. Dalton remembers everything—seriously. “Can we—”

“And you didn’t want to laugh even though he was shivering like he was hanging on the door in Titanic,” he continues. “And it’s incredible how you’re too damn nice to laugh when people are miserable. I’m nice too, Ess, but that shit wasso funny. And we were sitting there, and you said you weren’t dating anyone.”

“Hey,” Valeria murmurs, putting her hand on Dalton’s arm. “You’re rambling.”

He flattens his hand on top of hers before he says, “So, what—”Inhale. “—the fuck—” He glances at each of us. “—is going on here?”

Whatever—I’m done. “We have to go,” I announce before facing Cora and giving her a pointed look. “Can I have your…”

Keys.Cora and I are basically telepathic, so she digs into her purse and passes them to me as subtly as possible—but Dalton still sees. His eyes narrow.

Cora waves at Alec. “You’re going to be extremely respectful of my place, aren’t you?” She has a ton of piercings, including one on her eyebrow. When she raises it, the gold catches the light. Paired with her all-black wardrobe and lipstick, she’s clearly not to be ignored—and Alec knows “place” meansme.He nods.

“Because I live next door to her place,” Valeria cuts in, taking a step forward and tossing her waist-length, wavy black hair. “The walls are thin. Sometimes, I practice Muay Thai in my living room. I’ve been told everything is audible next door—and I mean everything: the sound of my elbow jamming into a punching bag, the swish of my foot flying through the air. Everything.”

“What the hell,” Alec mutters, shooting me a look.

I sigh. “I know what you’re thinking, and no—I don’t have a single friend who isn’t constantly teetering on the brink of first-degree murder.”

“Are you including me?” Dalton questions. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. Calling me homicidal is unfair.”

---