The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot
THIRTY ONE
“Where are you guys going?”
A few of the guys from class suggested taking our pizza to-go and hanging out in one of their rooms to celebrate. By some fucking miracle, the universe decided I was due a win, and I actually pulled it off.
First fucking place.
It was close as shit, and I had to answer more questions than I was mentally prepared to, but I killed it.
I called Dad to give him the news and instantly regretted it. Mom was having an episode, I’m sure linked to the stress of her arrival, and didn’t know what fair I was talking about. Hearing her say that twisted the organ in my chest, squeezing it empty of all the pride I felt moments before.
She was the inspiration behind the whole thing, after all, and I hate not being able to tell her we did it.
My father, a cardiologist, always thought I would follow behind him, but everything changed after my mother’s diagnosis. I needed to dive into the circuit board that is the brain. Inspect the wiring and find out how it can be fixed, so no one would have to suffer the living loss of a loved one.
Which brought me to my science project. Colors have been used in studies before with Alzheimer patients to spark memories, but seeing as the individual episodes are linked to other things, I decided to perform it on the average brain. Make notes, comparisons, connections, and a conclusion.
And it was worth drowning in research that took weeks to shift through. Not only did I land mine and Lily’s (even though she doesn’t want it) first year of Solace paid for, the department chair of biology intends to meet with me next fucking week. About what? No clue, but I’m borderline having an aneurysm thinking about it.
Remy’s eyes narrow as she waits.
“To celebrate Spencer!” my classmate, Collen, yelps, snapping me from my daze and grabbing another box of pepperoni.
I try my best to give Remy a reassuring smile, but she purses her lips and eyes each guy beside me in a warning. Ever the pure soul.
Collen tugs on my arm and leads the way down the winding hall. When we make it to his room, I can smell the liquor before he even opens the door.
I STARE at the impossibly small screen, trying to read the text from Lily. She told me our room number is nine-fifteen.
Our.
I have no fucking idea how Mr. Jones made that mistake, but I’m feeling pretty thankful as I trail the halls looking for the door.
Something was different about Lily today. Aside from the missing contacts and the vintage anime tee she wore, her general vibe toward me lacked the usual accompanied loathing. And when I had stooped down to say thanks, a fraction of an inch away from her ear... her eyes lingered on my mouth, and a blush coated her nose. In that moment, she wanted me, and not in the normal angry-hate sex-type way.
I groan, remembering how I had to hide the bulge in my jeans only reignites it, and now I’m hard as a fucking rock.
Finally, I stumble upon our room and rap on the door as soft as my heavy hands allow. A muffle sounds behind it before the locks click, opening to a towel-clad Lily.
If eyes could physically dislocate from their sockets like the cartoon, I’m pretty sure mine would be a foot out of my skull. Her olive skin contrasts with the bright white cotton of the towel, and I thank my lucky stars she’s not fresh out of the shower because I’m pretty sure seeing her skin dripping wet would be my undoing.
I don’t miss her smirk as she backs up, allowing me inside, and shuts the door behind her. I pass by a cloud of steam flowing from the bathroom and into the open living room. Shucking off my jacket, I twist, leaning my ass against an upholstered chair.
“You’re drunk?” She tilts her gorgeous fucking head to the side, amusement dancing in her eyes.
I nod, holding up my thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Maybe a little.”
She scoffs playfully and turns back toward the shower. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I was on my way t—”
“Come here,” I spout the command before I can stop it, and it comes out much more hoarse and forceful than intended.
Her eyes widen for a second before she regains her composure and pops a hand on her hip. “I’m getting in the shower.”
“That can wait,” I clip.
Lily huffs, her wet mouth parting, and I think I may have shocked her. My tongue darts out, sliding along my bottom lip as I consider the few times I’ve gotten to taste hers. Their sweetness holds a rent-free space in my head, and the desire to lick her becomes overwhelming.
As if she can feel the hunger rolling in my gut, she shuffles on her feet, a telltale blush creeping up the side of her delicious-looking neck. “How are you feeling over there?”
“I’m hungry.”
Her breath falters, giving away the fake calmness that’s currently slipping between her fingers. “I’m sure there are leftovers downstairs. Or if not, there’s a room service menu on the nightstand.”
My thumb comes up, wiping the corners of my mouth as my eyes hone in on hers.
“I don’t want what’s on that menu.” I eat up the distance between us, stopping when her breasts are rubbing against my chest with her inhale. The air between us mingles, an intoxicating mixture of mint and liquor, pushing me into another level of high.
Her staggering breaths get worse. My dick presses painfully into my jeans, but I ignore it, taking a step toward her.
When she finally speaks, I have to strain to hear her whisper. “What do you want, Spencer?”
I thought she’d never fucking ask.
“You.”
