Page 29 of The Masks We Burn
I whip around, my heart in my throat, his sudden fucking Houdini appearance nearly giving me a stroke. William stands a foot away, a loose pair of jeans hanging from his hips and a white shirt stretching across his chest. I swallow around the violent pulsing and attempt a look of indifference, narrowing my eyes.
“Don’t misconstrue a truce for complacency.” I turn on my heels toward the elevators and press the down arrow. “I’ll take you home, but you owe me.”
He grunts behind me. “Yeah, I know. Tit for tat.”
We enter the elevator and ride down in thick silence. Even with my focus on the shiny doors, I’m acutely aware of his leveled breathing, and his index finger tapping rhythmically on the strap of his duffel bag. His clean scent mixed with the light musk of the sweat he worked up fills the small cabin, and soon enough, it’s harder to think about why I dislike him so much.
I chew on the corner of my lip as I try my best not to remember the tingle that sent a fire through my body when he touched me in the room earlier. But it felt so good. Why did that small thing feel so fucking good?
It isn’t until the elevator dings and the metallic doors slide open that I taste the copper in my mouth.
“You got to stop biting on that.”
I roll my eyes and enter the parking garage, striding far in front to clear my nose of him, but then I remember we are about to be in a car.
For twenty minutes.
With the windows rolled up because it’s a freaking freezer outside.
Fuck me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’ve been in very few awkward conversations in my life. As I grew older and came into money, my confidence soared. It was expected, after all. There were some high ass stilettos I needed to learn how to walk in if I was going to prove to anyone that my feet belonged in them. So naturally, this meant learning to converse with people in all types of situations while showcasing a “don’t fuck with me” personality.
Having been bullied for the first half of my childhood, I picked up on how to display this energy easily, and when I moved to Washington with a clean slate, I took up that demeanor like it’d been mine all along. No one could have guessed I was secretly terrified the whole thing was a dream or inside the confident shell I displayed to the world was nothing more than a shriveled up little girl who was scared any passing storm would cave her in.
But as time passed, that little girl expanded, filling the protective mask until it truly fit. I’d almost forgotten it was a front at all. But my mother’s time bomb reminded me that no matter how snug it is, it’s still a mask, andI’mstill just a weak girl underneath.
Maybe it explains why William has stirred up so many mixed emotions and why I can’t decide if I hate him or just want to fuck him.
Honestly, it’s probably both. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a sex partner, that much is obvious, but the day he dredged up my insecurities, he made me feel completely naked—vulnerable. And I refuse to ever feel that way again.
I can’t.
So while I may come off petty, childish, or like someone with repressed anger, I have to guard what I’ve worked so hard to protect.
Decision made, I grab my phone from the middle console and text a guy I met at the bar a few weeks ago. Once the sexual side of me is satiated, maybe ignoring the temptation will be easier.
“Ma’am. Can you please not text and drive?” William places two fingers on my wrist, tingling the skin underneath, and lowering it gently.
I snatch my hand away, a scowl in place. “We are coming up to a red light, it’s not like we’re on the highway.”
He slowly moves his hand, an annoying grin curving up his mouth. “So wait till we get to the light.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Maybe I should have called that Uber.”
“Maybe you should have,” I snap, pressing send and tossing my phone back down. The space between us was awkward at first, but now I’m starting to miss the strained silence.
William’s voice remains calm as he readjusts his large frame in his seat. “Okay, so the truce is obviously not gonna happen.”
“Guess not.”
Ugh. I should have texted my therapist rather than a possible fling. I’m too much in my head and even I’m annoyed with the shit I’m saying.
I catch my lip between my teeth and chew, trying my fucking hardest to ignore the fire searing into the side of my face from his stare. He’s reading me. I can feel it, and it makes my insides boil. If he tries to read me again, so help me—
