The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot
FOUR
Playing with Spencer’s fear—our fear was a low blow, but I can’t find it in me to care.
I rub at my nose, a failed attempt to rid my nostrils of his lingering smell–an alluring combination of fresh air and cedar wood. It’s a deep musk that calms me, reminding me of a time when nothing mattered but spending all night in a treehouse, surrounded by scattered popcorn and open manga. We would laugh until we fell asleep, always finding each other’s hand in the middle of our dreams.
He never knew that part, though. I always woke up before him and would slip my hand out of his so he wouldn’t see. See how much he meant to me. See that when I looked at him, I was envisioning all the seeds I’d planted over the last seven years beginning to bloom into something magnificent.
What I didn’t want him to see, was how terrified I was he would forget me like the people who were supposed to cherish me. Mom, Dad, and my aunt Mina, who I loved more than my parents combined. All of them disappeared without a trace, leaving me to wonder what the hell was wrong with me.
For a while, everything was fine. But of course, Spencer decided to ruin it, burning my fragile garden to ashes with just a few words.
I won’t let that happen again. I can’t. Not after all the work it took to rebuild it.
Amora clears her throat, and I realize she’s waiting. Her thin blonde eyebrows arched in anticipation. “So?”
We’ve met at my house to discuss everything I have planned, but I’m becoming easily distracted. Already his return is messing with me.
I shrug, half hoping she repeats herself while also wishing she would just read my mind so I don’t have to talk anymore. She’s been a friend since eighth-grade cheer camp, and it became apparent immediately she wasn’t going anywhere. I’m not big on conversation, while she yelps like a damn chihuahua, continually droning on about guys, drama, and more guys. None of which I’m interested in. My goals override all the foolishness that comes with high school. Perhaps that’s why my skin crawls when I think of my plan.
“What happens when you get him upstairs?” she repeats.
Part of me can’t believe I’ve resorted to something so juvenile, but I need to make sure Spencer stays far away from me while ensuring my childhood secrets remain locked up. Nothing could tear up my future faster than Spencer Hanes and the map of where they’re hidden.
Blaze grabs a fry from my plate, his dark eyes dim with boredom as he pops it in his mouth. His strong jaw clenches as he returns his gaze to the TV he’s been brooding over, raking a hand through his dark strands.
Like Amora, we met in the eighth grade at his football game. Something about the mask he wore matched mine, and we gravitated toward each other. It’s been nice having someone who understands me at my core. Understands when pain becomes a second nature emotion.
I snatch the second fry he tries to steal from his hand. “You think it’s stupid?”
His lips pull down, and he shrugs, his black shirt tugging against his thick biceps. “Do what you got to do. You’ve come too far now.” He grabs the fry from my lips. “Besides, you know I’ve done worse for less.”
Blaze continues his assault of stealing my french fries as he scrutinizes the players running back and forth across the screen. He sucks his teeth when the referee calls a foul and leans forward, grabbing his phone from the counter. He makes quick work, tapping out only a few words before sliding from his bar stool, and snatches up his leather jacket.
“Leaving?” Amora asks, her blue eyes sparkling under the kitchen lights.
It’s incredible to watch the way girls drool over Blaze, and even more so when they know how he’s incapable of feelings. He makes it clear, both with his general fuck off aura and the actual ‘fuck off’ that spills from his mouth. They never seem to mind, though, overlooking anything that guarantees one night under him.
“Stacy wants to swallow my cock. Care to join?” he asks her before he shoves an arm through his jacket.
“Only if you lick this cunt while she does it,” Amora sneers, the twinkle now replaced with a borderline challenge.
He ignores her and leans in, leaving a whisper of a kiss on my cheek.
“Drive safe, Blaze. It’s wet. Let me know when you make it,” I call after him, stating the obvious. It rains almost every day. But I still worry about him on that damn motorcycle.
“Of course.”
He waves me off, grabbing his helmet from the couch, and spares the game one last look before disappearing out the front door, leaving an empty void in the room.
Amora sighs, pushing her food around the crinkled yellow paper before turning back to me, her piercing blue eyes narrowing. “Why are you doing this again? I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is going to be funny as hell, but why him?”
I roll my eyes, the lie slipping from my tongue as effortlessly as breathing. “I don’t want to do the project. My plate is full already. A little blackmail, and I think he’ll have no problem doing the whole thing.”
Any sane, rational person would know how full of shit I am, but not Amora. She’s so hell-bent on being a classic mean girl that she’ll look past any reasoning just for the fun of it.
Blaze, on the other hand, saw through me the second I told them. I think it’s those damn eyes of his. I swear they give him x-ray powers. Thankfully though, he didn’t berate me with questions. Either because he doesn’t care or knows the pain of hiding secrets through any means necessary.
She scrolls on her phone a few more minutes, flipping her bright yellow strands over her tan shoulder. “Alright, everything’s a go. I’m going to go change, grab some liquor, and be back in an hour.”
I nod but don’t look at her. Instead, I focus my gaze on the house behind mine. The lights in the far right room flicker to life and something inside me darkens. It crawls around my heart, squeezing the organ, making it harder to breathe.
After tonight, those lights will haunt me, and rightfully so.
A few hours later and music hums through my body, coating each nerve with its infectious melody, forcing my hips to move. I’ve had a few drinks, but Blaze made them, so they weren’t too strong. Even still, liquid courage courses through me with the quick beat, matching my heart’s pulse.
About a dozen people are here already, but most of them are in my living room, engrossed with the football game playing on the television. I look at the clock. Five till ten. He should be here any minute.
I adjust the tight black dress stuck to my clammy skin. I’m not sure why my stomach is in knots. I’m not nervous, at least I don’t think. Maybe it’s guilt, creeping into the small sober part of my consciousness, begging me to rethink my plan.
Grabbing the red Solo cup from Blaze that I know is water, I suck the cool liquid from the ice, reveling in the shiver that reverberates down my spine. I hand it back just as the doorbell rings.
Everyone else knows that when I have my parties, you walk in, so it must be him.
My stomach hollows out, making way for the hundreds of tiny butterflies swirling around inside, colliding with the Hennessy sprinkling down on them. The closer I get to the door, the more frantic they become, and my heart picks up speed, hammering into my chest.
Don’t do this.
I ignore the thought—I don’t have a choice.
Taking a deep breath, I reach for the cold metal knob, twisting it too slow before opening the door.
Spencer stands on the other side of the threshold—his white shirt clinging to the body I knew he was hiding under his flannel. His corded arms grip a journal at his side, while the gray sweatpants he’s wearing leave nothing to the imagination.
My core tenses involuntarily, and I force my eyes back up to his. His face is unreadable as his chocolate orbs scan the scene behind me. “Busy?”
His voice is deep, husky, and travels straight to my pussy, my thighs clenching around the ache.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Focus, bitch.
I clear my throat, opening the door a little wider. “It’s fine. We’re going to be working upstairs anyway.”
He hesitates, his eyes narrowing as unasked questions flit across them. I don’t want to make it obvious I need him inside, so I wait, leaning against the door frame. After a few more seconds, I raise an eyebrow as if annoyed and check an invisible watch on my wrist.
“I don’t have all night, Einstein. Are we working or not?” I try to keep my voice light, playful even, in hopes he doesn’t decide to go home. My heart accelerates, and I wonder for a second if he can hear it crashing into my sternum.
Finally, he sighs and steps inside.
I turn around, hurrying for the stairs on the right, but my pulse doesn’t calm.
His agreement to come in is his signature to our end. The last formality needed to sever our lingering ties.
This is supposed to be a good thing—what I need—the quick death of something that shouldn’t be alive. But the weight in my steps plant the seeds of doubt—the what-ifs and the maybes.
I shake my head, straightening my spine, as I rid the wayward thoughts and lead Spencer to the banister. Luckily, only Amora notices us drift up the stairs. She shoots me a wink, turning back to her latest boy-toy she’s entertaining with her tongue.
Spencer follows behind me, and I can feel his eyes searing into my skin, lighting my back on fire. I shouldn’t, but I like it. The combination of excitement, fear, arousal, and my plan circulate in the thick air around me, settling in my lungs. I suck in the sweet air and open my bedroom door, careful to leave the lights off.
He walks over to my empty desk, tossing down his journal. “What’s going on? We’re supposed to be working on the project, Lily.”
I know it’s my preferred name, but hearing it from his lips feels foreign. Like he’s talking to someone else entirely. But his dark gaze is locked on me, his eyebrows knitting together in a delicious scowl.
My lips part and my tongue peeks out to sweep across my suddenly parched mouth. The dull ache in my belly flares when I see Spencer’s throat bob. The muscles in his jaw tighten as his eyes begin trailing down my body. It’s almost as if he’s fighting the very act, and it turns me on. The thought that my old friend might see me, with just a fraction of the desire I’ve held for him, lights a match between my thighs.
I take large strides toward him, eating up the space in seconds. He stiffens, and I can’t help but drink him in under the moonlight spilling in from the window.
He runs a hand through his dark locks, pausing at the base of his neck. A muscle in his bicep twitches as he massages it before repeating himself. “What are you doing?”
I’m so close to him now, I can taste the mint in his breath. It mingles with mine, sending shivers down my spine. He closes his eyes, letting out a quiet, controlled sigh, and when they open, the passion darkening them swirls with the caramel.
In just those few seconds, I can feel my mask slip. The one that keeps me safe and guarded against all the things I’m terrified of. His eyes pierce through it, forcing me to see him too.
He’s beautiful.
He was supposed to be… mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck and rise on my tiptoes, my lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Do you want me, Spencer?”
He moves his head to look at me, his jaw tight as he examines my face. He blinks a few times before his gaze finds my lips. “Whatever this is... stop, Liliana.”
There it is. Even if it’s just for this moment, he sees me—remembers me, and I take full advantage.
My tongue sweeps across his earlobe before dipping down the curves of his neck. He stiffens, grabbing my hips to keep me from smothering him with my body, but he can’t control the growl that erupts from the back of his throat.
“Liliana,” he warns, his voice impossibly deeper.
It makes the fine hairs on my arms stand, every sense suddenly heightened. Strong fingers sink into me, but I can tell by the way his breath hitches that he’s losing control. Losing the willpower to keep from giving in to something that’s been brewing for way too long. I kiss his soft skin, trailing my lips down his collarbone. He grips me tighter the more I push into him.
“Spencer, just fucking fuck me already.” My voice is too heady, too desperate, too real.
But it does the trick. He releases my hips, and our bodies collide. One arm wraps around my waist while the other snakes up my back, and he tangles his hand in my hair, gripping it by the root. He tugs my head to the side, exposing my neck.
I hiss as the sharp pain subsides and turn into jolts of pleasure when his mouth connects with my jaw. His warm tongue slips across my pulse point, and my head tilts further, urging him to continue.
My sex throbs as he continues his descent and my knees begin to shake, forcing me to shift my weight onto him.
I yank on the hem of his white shirt, pulling enough that he lifts his hands, letting me tug it over his head—the dips and ripples of his muscles on full display. His glasses fall from his face, and he laughs. It’s low, and the vibration against my chest heats my core.
He hooks his finger beneath my chin, tilting it gently to look at him. The golden flakes in his eyes shine in the moonlight. In this moment, I forget everything, too transfixed, utter putty in his hands to bend as he pleases. It’s as if the smolder has been waiting ten years to ignite.
His hand moves to cup my cheek, and I lean into it, my eyes closing under his warmth. I feel it before I open them—the heat of his lips closing in on mine.
No.
I promised myself I would do anything but that. The connection of our mouths would reveal the truth I won’t admit, not even to myself, and ruin all the things I have planned.
Pushing him into the bed, he huffs, not seeming to notice my deflection. I climb on top of him, digging both knees into the soft mattress on either side of his thighs. His sculpted body lays beneath my heated core, a definite bulge pressing into my ass.
I hook a finger in the waistband of his sweats, and he lifts his hips, allowing me better access to rip them from his body. His erection slaps against his stomach. It’s even bigger than it felt, rock-solid, and glistening at the tip. I have an indescribable urge to lick it but instead chew the inside of my cheek to distract me.
Spencer grabs my forearm, pulling me flush on top of him, a primitive growl escaping his throat at our connection. His thumb frees my lips from my teeth before stroking the length of my jaw. “You are so incredibly infuriating.”
“And it turns you on,” I counter, gesturing toward his massive erection.
His eyes narrow, but before he can respond, I take out handcuffs hidden beneath the pillow. I clamp them on his wrist, which is in the perfect spot above his head, just under the metal headboard. He’s attached to the bed faster than he can blink, and I have to laugh at the way his thick vein pulses in his neck.
His mouth drops open, and I have to stop myself from kissing it closed. Instead, I slip the key into his hand. “Just trust me.”
His face hardens, and his head falls back. “That was always my biggest problem.”
I swallow around the cotton suddenly caught in my throat. An odd combination of guilt and anger swirl in my chest, and I rub at the phantom pain. All I ever wanted was him. No. All I fucking wished for was to be wanted by him.
But he never did. Even after spending every day in the summers together, I was left to be forgotten the other ten months.
The rage in my gut bubbles, bile rising in the back of my throat. He doesn’t get to make me feel bad for what’s happened between us. This is his fault.
Two knocks on my door yank me from my thoughts, and Amora’s voice rings through the hallway, signaling it’s time.
Spencer’s hands pause, but he doesn’t release me. Instead, his dark eyes search mine. As if he wants me to stay. Here. With him. It’s a quick lapse in judgment, but my gaze lingers at his lips. I want to kiss and bite them off at the same damn time.
Don’t.
I clear my throat, forcing myself from his iron hold. “Let me get rid of her. Stay here. Please, Spencer.”
He hesitates but doesn’t argue and instead nods. A soft smile splits across his face, causing the dimples in his cheeks to deepen as he lets my hand slip from his.
It’s strange how bad I would rather ignore the knocks and just hash it out with him. Settle things once and for all and find out why I wasn’t enough. Or maybe just curl into him and let the worries of my life fizzle in his flames. And right now, it’s almost as if I can feel him pull toward me as much as I gravitate to him. Which both pisses me off and excites me beyond comprehension.
That’s impossible, though. Just like them, he never really cared. And now that I’m someone, his desire for me is only skin deep.
I stand, leaving the warmth of him, instantly wrapped in the cool air whirling around the room. Every step feels heavy, weighted under a bag of bricks. It’s as if my body knows that if I do this, that’s it. There is no going back.
He’ll hate me.
I look at him over my shoulder one last time, my heart stuttering at the beautiful sight laid out before me. For a second, I decide I won’t do it. Maybe things can be different, that he might feel something for me this time. But doubt—or perhaps reason, rears its head.
He’ll forget you, just like he has before. Your parents couldn’t love you. Why do you think he will?
The thought settles in my stomach, a pit of realization burning the fragment of hope to dust.
And at that, I open the door, just enough to slip out, leaving my heart in the room with him.
I don’t need it anymore.
