Page 6 of Masks and Mishaps

“An oncologist—thank you, babe.” Dalton pets my arm before he looks back at Alec. “I’m assuming you’re not an oncologist, so if you ever hurt her—if you so much as ponder the idea—I will scatter your parts across every quadrant in the District of Columbia.”

My stomach immediately flips and tingles. I should be nauseated—or even irritated. I should put a stop to this. I’m better than this. IknowI’m better than this.

I’m lying. I’m not better than this. Watching Dalton get riled up is distressingly hot.

Ding!The elevator doors open in the lobby to reveal the Halcyon’s sleek marble floors and warm white lights, but nobody moves. Alec’s jaw dropped sometime after Dalton threatened to make an Easter egg hunt out of him, and stays open until he manages to say, “Are you insane?”

Dalton smirks. “Probably,” he says, prompting Alec to abandon the elevator.

I roll my eyes. “You’re a massive dick, Dalton,” I say before following Alec.

“I thought you loved big dicks,” is his loud, unabashed response as I go.

When I catch Alec at the entrance to the Halcyon, his phone is inches from his nose. He glances up when he notices me in his periphery and hisses, “Your brother is unhinged.”

“Stepbrother,” I correct. “And he’s just…”Unpredictable. Overprotective. Not my boyfriend.“…Dalton. Don’t let him get to you. He’s seriously the nicest guy.”

Alec blinks silently before he says, “He licked his own blood while he stared at me, Essie.”

Valid.

“I bet you’d like him under different circumstances. He can talk to anyone, and not just small talk. He asks genuine, insightful questions—and he listens. I bet he’d find you so interesting.” I force a flirty smile. “I know I do.”

Alec doesn’t buy my shit. He swallows forcefully enough for me to hear it and glances at his phone where he’s tracking an Uber.

Shit. He might not come back.

“Alec, I advertised this stream,” I remind him, dropping all pretense. “If I don’t deliver, I’m going to have hundreds of furious subscribers.” I take another step forward—and right then, a cough echoes across the lobby. By the familiar sound of it, I suspect I know who just miraculously contracted consumption.

“Screw it. I’ll walk,” Alec decides, giving me one lastno-pussy-is-worth-deathlook. “See you.”

“See you tomorrow,” I reply brightly, trying to drill the plan—and his commitment—into his brain. Alec doesn’t even wave goodbye though.

When I return to the elevator, Dalton is leaning against the marble wall next to the doors. In honor of Halloween tomorrow, someone taped construction paper cutouts of bats sporting coiled, frayed wings with steep points scalloping the edges. They surround Dalton as he waits with his hands in his pockets and his legs crossed at the ankles.

It’s disgusting how handsome he is—truly abhorrent—becausemy god, this guy could get away with murder.

Even surrounded by bats, there’s an angelic quality to Dalton Cavendish. His short, light brown hair has a gentle curl, which he tames every morning as part of his daily routine of waking up and reminding the world that he’s dripping with money. Typically, his immaculate styling falls into an easy disarray over the course of the day, but his daily unraveling does nothing to diminish his timeless good looks.

The Halcyon’s overhead lights work wonders on him, but I suspect he could stand beneath a flickering highway motel sign and still look hot enough to start a cult. He peruses me, equal parts unhurried and fascinated, tracing the lines of my face with his light brown eyes. Flecks of amber lie scattered across his irises, subtle usually, but practically radiant tonight. I watch him watch me.

He readjusts his arms, letting his muscles enjoy the good lighting for a moment, and my eyes fall to his shirt’s undone top button. I get the barest glimpse of his rock-hard chest, a mere teaser of the most godlike body I’ve ever seen. I stare and he lets me. He knows people stare; he likes it.

But when we met two years ago, and I took in the entire six-foot-five package—including the chiseled features and the huge personality—his smile did me in. Dalton has, without peer, the most captivating smile I’ve ever seen. Equal parts wry and amused, his smug, shit-eating grin never really leaves his face, even when he’s being atypically controlling. Right now, it’s in full force.

Damn it. I’m so weak sometimes.

“I’m not talking to you,” I declare before I tap the button to call the elevator.

“Why not?” he replies, tilting his head. “What’d I do?”

I roll my eyes. “You can play dumb with everyone else, but it won’t work on me. What’s your problem?”

The elevator opens and he follows me in. “I don’t have a problem,” he lies as he takes the spot next to the button panel and hits the number ten to take us to our friends’ condos.

“Stop bullshitting,” I snap from the other side of the elevator. I’m intentionally standing as far away as I can, which is difficult due to the sheer amount of space his big body takes up. “Stalking me all night was bad enough.”

His expression falls. “You don’t want me around anymore?”

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