Page 28 of The Masks We Break

“No. I’m not.”

“Then you understand the grade sticks?” I try my best to keep my facial expression serious.

He leans against the doorframe and adjusts his watch, glancing behind me as though he’s looking for someone...waiting for someone.

The thought sends a spike of jealousy down my spine, making me dizzy, but I bite my tongue.

Don’t say something stupid, Remy.

“I’m not sure it’s fair, but I’ll accept the grade this time. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He takes a step back, and I realize heiswaiting for someone.

“Yeah, sure. I have a date to get ready for anyway.” The lie falls from my mouth, and the regret is instant. It was a childish thing to lie about, and the look on Blaze’s face tells me nothing’s changed, and he can read me like the back of a cereal box.

He runs a thumb across his bottom lip before cracking his knuckle. “This late at night? Seems more like a hookup than a date. Is it with the guy on the golf cart?”

My mouth gapes open this time, a warmth shooting up my neck and consuming my entire face. So many things I want to pick out from what he said, but one thing takes precedence. “How do you know it’s him?”

Blaze sighs and the boredom pulling down his features send a fresh wave of anger through me. “I saw what seemed to be an awkward exchange the other night in the parking lot. And I don’t think anyone could miss that deathtrap he rides in. Looks like a dick, and not your type.”

I pinch my nose, a failed attempt to draw my attention away from the irritation boiling in my stomach. “And please tell me, Blaze. What’s my type? Tall, dark, handsome and emotionally unavailable?”

Before he can answer, I spin on my heels. I don’t want to hear his response, nor does what he says matter. Blaze doesn’t get to tell me who is or isn’t my type. And I’m dang sure not going to give him the satisfaction of catching me in a lie.

So when I make it back to my apartment, I grab my phone, sink into my bed, and text Ricky.

It only takes him a minute to respond.

Ricky: Next Saturday works great for me.

FOURTEEN

I’m not too sure what to make of Blaze anymore. It’s not like he’s saying one thing and doing another. But it feels like I’m on a roller coaster, my stomach twisting every time we interact. It’s difficult to separate the man he is and what I’ve seen him capable of being. It’s like he’s fighting the thought that he could ever be anything other than cold and detached. And while I shouldn’t wonder why and just let it go, the thoughts plague me.

Lily, who sees a family therapist, tells me that everyone that has trauma, deals with it in their own way. For example, her treatment of Spencer during high school was her outlet that she’s since discovered was harsh and mistargeted. But the notion makes me curious if Blaze has some form of trauma that makes him so closed off. It’s not far-fetched, but also not my business.

“You alright over there?” William’s voice, which is so dang low, it sounds as if someone turned the bass up and broke the treble, snaps me back tomycurrent business.

It’s our Friday night Zoom tutoring session, and while I’m usually very focused, careful not to let my mind wander, I’m overthinking Blaze’s comment.

It was so subtle, it probably meant nothing, but to someone like me who over analyzes everything he does, I want it to meansomething.Or maybe it’s the romantic side of me. Wondering if perhaps my personal Hades has a soft spot.

I shake my head, forcing away the thoughts that always seem to bring me back to the same pathetic place, and look at my computer. “Sorry, Will. What did you say it was?”

William’s deep green eyes narrow as he studies me through the screen, and for once, I wish I didn’t have such a high spec camera. I shift in my seat and clear my throat. “What’s wrong?”

The corner of his lips curve, letting his teeth peek through. “I think I should be askin’ you that, lil’ lady. What’s up?”

I grab the half-gallon water bottle on my desk and take a swig, hoping it will do something to alleviate the dryness in my throat. “I’m fine, really. Now, what did you get?”

“Girl, this calculus can wait.” He slides his pencil behind his ear and folds his hands across his desk.

Sighing, I take another drink, fixating on the beautiful butterflies that cover the smooth brown skin on his forearm. I’ve known William for a few years, introduced by our mutual friend Spencer my senior year. And very similar to Amora, he’s got a personality I usually stray away from, but I’m so happy I didn’t. He’s hardheaded, opinionated, and a tad intimidating. But under the mask the rest of the world sees, he’s actually a giant cinnamon roll. We even have a few things in common, the most notable is the fact that we have no real say in our futures.

I watch as the biggest butterfly near his elbow jumps under the muscle ticking and decide to ask before I think better of it. “It may seem childish, but I’m curious.”

His thick eyebrows raise in a silent prompt to continue.

Chewing on the inside of my lip, I rush out the words. “If you were to tell a woman that another man isn’t her type when you weren’t even asked for your opinion, what does that mean? Or does it mean nothing, and I’m reading into it?”

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