Page 13 of The Masks We Break

The sounds of the TV begin to fade as I think of how long it’s been. How, ever since I ran into Remy, the thought of someone else has yet to cross my mind. The realization sends a shudder down my spine.

That in itself is dangerous. She’s always been a pure little butterfly—delicate and sweet. Meant to be admired from afar but never touched, or else she’ll be ruined and will never fly again.

I sigh, leaning back into the soft couch. First thing tomorrow, I’ll contact a few old flings and fuck the dark-haired girl out of my system until I’m done with that lit class. Maybe then we can go back to never seeing each other, and I can rid myself of the distraction she’s already becoming.

A soft rasp echoes in my entryway, drawing my attention to the door.

A quick glance at my phone confirms I haven’t missed any calls, but it’s not unlike Bellamy to stop by unannounced—something I’ve learned very quickly this week.

I trek to the door, flipping on the tall lamp near the entryway table before unlocking it. When it drifts open, no part of me is ready for the surprise that grips my throat.

Remy stands on the threshold, leaning casually on the frame. A pair of gray sweat shorts hug her thighs, and a matching cropped top hangs off one shoulder. The sight of her incredible Coke bottle shape on full display does irritating things to my pulse, and I have to take three controlled breaths before I find my voice.

“He-e-ey.” She beams, and it’s then I notice the rose color on her cheeks.

Remy’s speech only hitches when she is nervous or if she’sinebriated.

An unwelcome sting of annoyance flickers in my chest, causing my left eye to twitch. Not only is she half naked and drunk, but she’s also been left to wander around the Square where anyone could have seen her—taken advantage of her.

A new flare of anger blooms in my sternum, and I step back, opening my door farther. “Come in.”

Remy’s eyes widen and her gaze falls behind me. She shuffles on her feet, unsteady as if she’s just realized where she is. “This was stupid. I don-n’t know wh-yy I came here. I’ll just—”

“I wasn’t asking, puppet.” It’s a direct command, and she responds immediately. Her spine stiffens, and she stumbles in, the lemon scent from her hair still prevalent under the tequila in her breath. Satisfaction sweeps through me as she does as she’s told for once, and I have to bite on the inside of my lip from the verbal praise playing on my tongue.

Once inside, she stops in the middle of my living room. I know what most twenty-year-old male apartments look like, and I’m well aware mine is the exact opposite. But I have acquired taste. Things need to be orderly, easy to clean, and sleek.

My place is all dark wood, low lighting, and greenery—they help with keeping the air pure and lessening my horrific allergies.

Remy’s nimble finger strokes along the edge of my mahogany TV stand as she walks toward a blank space on the wall. It’s on the left side and leaves the room unbalanced since I have artwork on the right. I haven’t quite figured out what to put there, and I try to avoid making eye contact because it makes my eyes itch.

I readjust my watch and take a quick breath. “Are you done inspecting?”

Remy sucks in air and whirls around, her eyes wide as if she’s forgotten I was here. Her hands curl around her waist, and an audible swallow causes her throat to bob. “I-I’m sorry. Your place is beautiful-l. I guess I didn’t expect it to look like this-s.”

My head tilts back as I walk toward her, both hands sliding into my front pockets. I stop a foot away, noting the slightest increase in her breathing. “And what did you expect?”

The interest is genuine, which surprises me. Besides my father, I could care less about what people have come toexpectof me, but the change in her demeanor has left my mind…curious.

She tries to swallow again, but this one seems to get caught, and a rose tint creeps up her neck. “I’m not sure.”

Remy turns to glance back at the blank space, and my eyes follow an invisible path down her throat. They settle on her exposed collarbone, where two tiny freckles mark the edge, and I wonder what the skin there might taste like. It stirs my blood to life, surging it through my veins as I recall how long I’ve thought about her taste.

About what it would be like to feel her.

To dive inside her.

I draw in a deep breath before breaking my eye contact and finding my spot on the couch. No matter how tempted I am to taste the forbidden fruit, I know better. And in the end, it wouldn’t be me who is plagued with the decision's fallout.

It doesn’t make it any less tempting, though.

“You should-d put a bookshelf here,” Remy mutters.

For the first time in quite some time, I laugh. It’s deep and loud enough to make her twist around. “Why would I do that, puppet?”

“Because reading is important, especially in college.” Her hands fall to her hips, and those arched brows furrow.

I’m not quite sure why she thinks her posture could intimidate anyone, much less me. I’m then reminded of the chip she has on her shoulder. I’ve only been around her a few times now, but it’s easy to see how much has changed. I’m somewhere in between wanting to watch that delicious blush rise in her cheeks and scolding her for walking around past midnight drunk. But I also have a strange urge to just be in her presence.

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