Page 13 of The Masks We Burn

For the sixteenth time, I trace over the dreaded food triangle which has since been reinvented and replaced with a plate. It’s sectioned in food groups, and used for the general public, but still irrelevant to athletes.

Their type of diet depends on what their end goal consists of, and even then, every person, each body, is unique and needs a tailored food list.

“It’s good to have an outline, though. Instead of just guessing and casting a broad net, we are able to start with a smaller guide, and remove or add until it’s specialized for that individual.” My professor begins dropping packets at the end of each row in the large auditorium. It’s the syllabus for my sports nutrition class—one I added when I realized last week that Orlov wasn’t in my future, and I’d have plenty of time to pick up an extra course. I already had enough prerequisites when I thought about becoming a sports physical therapist, but it didn’t work out.

At the time, I thought it would be great. Try to help those who have lost their ability, just like me. But it turns out I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. And my psychologist said immersion therapy wasn’t a good fit for everyone and not to beat myself up about it.

Still makes me feel like an asshole though for not being able to let go of my own personal issues and help someone. Kind of like Amora.

It’s true my interaction with her wasn’t the best, but it was a rough fucking night. And her cornering me when I was trying to reach an angry-ass Spencer, didn’t help.

Five Years Ago

“Come on, Spencer, pick up the fuckin’ phone, dude.” I push through the crowd of bodies, irritation nearly boiling my skin.

Fucking Lily, man. She’s got it out for him, and she usedmeto prove a point. I wouldn’t have made out with her if I’d known who she was. He’s got to know that.

I round the stairs and reach for the entry door, but a smooth pale body sweeps in front. A red lace number wraps around her chest, showing more skin than it’s covering, and instantly all my blood rushes south. Her long blonde strands sweep across her face, a mix of tequila and honey wafting through the air. She’s gorgeous—long legs, blue eyes, and a set of breasts I have to bite my teeth not to motorboat.

Do people still do that? I don’t know, but she makes me want to.

Focus, dumbass.

I ignore my stiffening dick, reminding myself this is the best friend to the nightmare, Lily, and jut my chin toward the door behind her. “Got to leave, dear. Would you mind scootin’ over?”

Everything about her screams lust, and I can’t help but wish it was her I made out with ten minutes ago instead. Her half-lidded eyes narrow, and she tilts her head. “But I’m bored. And you look like a good time. Well, your mouth does at least.”

A small pink tongue slips out between her lips, and I don’t stop myself from watching it sweep across her mouth. She’s tempting. I’ll give her that much. But I have royally fucked up, and nogood timeis worth losing a friend.

I glance down at my phone again, dialing Spencer, and put it to my ear.

“That’s rude.” Amora snaps, the desire in her orbs gone, replaced with a fire making her even sexier. “I’m literally standing in front of you and you’re ignoring me?”

She must be used to getting what she wants. No surprise there. I give her a once-over, noting the designer heels strapped around her ankles, the small waist, I’m sure she works hard for, and the makeup that hides freckles by her ears but has been slightly wiped to expose them. Her choice in liquor for a teenager is interesting considering she’s surrounded by plenty of people who will waste no time pulling out a phone if she made a fool of herself. Though something tells me it’s all a show. That she can hold more liquor than she lets on and all this is just an act for attention. Or perhaps she uses her “drunken state” as a cover when she shows who she really is.

Part of me wonders if there’s something deeper than the mask she chooses to wear, but then I remember I have more important things to worry about and this little lady is not one of them.

With a smirk, I read her. “I’m good, love. You look like the type that doesn’t even know what she wants out of life. The type that will find some cushy husband to settle down with and let him pay all your bills while you flirt with every guy you meet at the gym. So again, I think I’ll pass.”

Her head jolts back, a soft thud when she connects with the door lightly. I’ve said only a fraction of what I picked up on and even that was enough to throw her into an existential crisis. Her fierce blues widen a hair before turning into daggers, making me grateful looks can’t kill.

“You don’t know me.” She crosses her arms, still not budging from the exit I desperately need to get through.

“I mean, I must have nailed something right.”

Amora scoffs, her eyes creasing at the corner. “And you think it’s acceptable to be so fucking rude to a stranger who was hitting on you? Real fucking rich. Parents would be proud of what a gentleman you are.”

Her words hit their mark, and just like that, I feel like an asshole. But before I can even mutter a word, she flips her hair and saunters past, her chin held high despite our exchange. “Being a dick won’t make your real one any bigger,Will.”

Regardless of her cute little sass, I struggle to watch her walk away, torn between two ends of what I should do. But then I realize my odds of seeing the infuriating woman again are slim to none, while my best friend has literally just hit rock bottom.

But when I leave Lily’s house and find myself alone, under the gray clouds of Washington, I can’t shake the feeling this will come back and bite me in the ass.

Present

Yeah, it wasn’t a moment I’m proud of, and I tried to forget about it. Chalked it up to bad drinks, and an even shittier night. But then on the few chance occasions I saw her after, it became clear as hell she wasn’t letting go. I had hit something too deep, something too close to the truth. And until she wants to confront the beast within her, no apology I give will ever be enough. It’s a wound that needs to heal, but I can tell she’s still picking at it instead of taking care of it.

Still, it was an ass move to ask her for the damn invite. I can try to use the excuse of being a little desperate, but I was taught better than to stoop so low.

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