The Bad Boy’s Woman: Hidden Masks Book 2

by Arthurs, Nia

  Angie grinned but obediently tipped her glass back and guzzled it down, reaching out for the next one. My phone vibrated. I plucked it out of my purse and swiped the screen.

  I had a new message.

  JAMES: Coming soon. Just checking in with the manager.

  I smiled and typed out a reply.

  MONIQUE: Take your time.

  A shadow blocked my light.

  I glanced up and found a guy standing in front of our table. He had straight brown hair, brown eyes and a thin, aristocratic face. The T-shirt he wore was a size too large for his lanky frame. A golden bracelet glittered on his wrist.

  He was handsome in a shrewd-ish kind of way.

  And he was staring right at me.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  “Excuse me.” Angie flicked her fingers. “We have boyfriends. Move along.”

  One side of his lips curved up in a smirk. “I’m Alex.”

  “I’m Uninterested.” Angie pointed to me. “And this is my friend, Couldn’t Be Bothered. Now go away.”

  “You’re Monique.” Alex pointed a finger my way.

  I straightened. “How do you know my name?”

  His smirk deepened. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

  “Mo, do you know this creep?” Angie whispered loudly.

  I put a hand over her clenching fingers and stared at Alex. “Have we met?”

  “No.” He slipped into the stool across from me. “But I’ve heard a lot about you from my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Lauren Baxter. She’s the owner of that café with the bookstore?”

  “Pandora’s?” My mouth fell. “You’re Lauren’s brother?”

  “Yup.”

  “But…” I swallowed my embarrassment at being caught in a club and asked, “How did you recognize me?”

  “Lauren’s got a picture of you two in her living room. You’ve got your hair in a bun and you’re holding…” He gaped at the ceiling. “Is it Terra or Mittens? I can never tell the difference.”

  “Me either! They look so alike, right?”

  Angie frowned. “Could someone explain what’s going on here?”

  “Ang, this is my former boss’s brother.” I grinned.

  “Well, her ex-brother. Our parents were only married for three years before they divorced, but we still keep in touch.”

  “How… complicated.”

  I barked out a laugh, all wariness gone. “It’s so good to meet you, Alex. Honestly, Lauren’s told me so much about you it feels like we’ve met.”

  “Same here.” He glanced around the club. “Though, from all her stories, I didn’t get the vibe that you were the ‘party on a school night’ type.”

  I ducked. “Oh this? I’m not exactly partying. I’m here for—”

  “Hey,” a voice said.

  We all turned.

  James climbed over the railing and strode toward me. He wore a hoodie, but even with the disguise I recognized him. Sweat glistened on his olive-toned skin. The pulsing light picked up the sparkle in his eyes.

  He pressed a kiss to my cheek—a move that I sensed was more for Alex’s benefit than my own.

  Not that I minded. When it came to jealousy, I was usually the one fending girls off. It was nice to feel wanted once in a while, even if I sensed Alex wasn’t checking for me that way.

  “Hi, James.” Angie sipped from her mug. “You came right on time.”

  I slanted her a stern look.

  She shrugged innocently.

  James looked at Alex, one hand on my shoulder. “What did I miss?”

  Alex lifted his chin in welcome. “You were the singer, right? Good show tonight.”

  “Thanks.” James eyed him up and down. “Who are you?”

  “Alex Greene.”

  I repeated my explanation of Alex’s relationship to Lauren and then added, “He stopped by to say hi.”

  “And also to decide if I should run to Lauren about this.”

  “Oh, please don’t,” I begged.

  Alex winked. “We’ll see if I can be convinced.”

  “Ehem.” James shot his hand out. “I’m James, Monique’s boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend, huh?” Alex eyed James’s hand but before he could grab it, his phone rang. He left James hanging and dug into his pocket to scoop the phone out. “Sorry, I gotta take this.” He swerved away. “Yup. I’ll be there soon.”

  James awkwardly fisted his hands and let it fall back to his side. I winced, sensing that his pride had been bruised by the snub.

  “What was that about?” Angie asked fearlessly, nodding to his phone.

  Alex rapped the table with his knuckles. “Personal stuff. It was nice meeting all of you.” He smiled at Angie and then turned to me, his grin widening. “Monique, I hope I’ll see you around.”

  “Sure. I was planning on stopping by Pandora’s tomorrow anyway.”

  “Perfect. It’s a date.”

  James scowled.

  I wisely chose to say nothing in reply.

  2

  JEALOUSY HAS NO COLOR

  James

  Usually after a gig, I rode a musical high. My performance took everything from me, but it was a good kind of ache. One I didn’t mind. Tonight, I was too upset to feel anything but annoyance.

  I turned and watched Monique. She sat in the passenger seat. Her black curls hung over her face, shiny and moisturized. There were days when she wore her hair scooped into a bun or big and blown out, but I liked it this way the best.

  We passed a streetlamp and the silver light glowed over her dark brown skin. She’d brushed something shimmery over her cheekbones and above her eyelids. They drew my eye more than usual.

  “You’re staring.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  We passed a drugstore. Hit a traffic light.

  I slowed the car down. Unable to resist, I snuck a peek from the corner of my eye.

  “Keep your eyes on the road, James. We’ll get into an accident at this rate.”

  “We’re at a light. I’m not even driving.”

  She made a tsking noise, drawing my gaze to her lips. Full, brown, and glossy.

  It was a glorious mouth.

  Correction, everything about Monique was glorious. She was hands down the best-looking girl in the club tonight, and I hadn’t missed the way that Alex guy had been staring her down or the way he dismissed me when he found out we were together.

  “Just say what you need to and stop staring.”

  I adjusted my hands on the wheel. “Do you have to go to Pandora’s tomorrow?”

  “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

  “I was waiting till after we dropped Angie home in case things turned ugly.”

  “Why would it turn ugly?”

  “Because I know you’ll be stubborn about this.”

  She opened her mouth, probably to argue with me.

  I spoke first. “You saw the way that guy was acting. He doesn’t have good intentions.”

  “And you should know, right?” She arched an eyebrow. “Since you’re the king of asking girls out under false pretenses.”

  “Hey, I wanted tutoring. It just… wasn’t a priority.”

  “Yeah, right.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Alex was a random acquaintance. Nothing more. Nothing less. He’s not important enough that I have to avoid an entire store because he might be there.”

  “Still…”

  She bridged the distance between our chairs and lowered her voice. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you come to Pandora’s with me?”

  “Tempting.”

  “We can read together.” She ran a hand down my shoulder. “Discuss what we read. Maybe write a few book reports.”

  My heartbeat skittered. Only Monique could make something as nerdy as going to a bookstore sound like a good time. I swooped toward her, intending to claim that sexy mouth when she pulled back and pointed to the light.

  It was green. />
  Damn you, traffic light.

  “Anyway,” Monique settled back into her seat, “Lauren will be there. And so will Harley, so even if Alex wanted to make a move, he’d get shot down in front of an audience.”

  I sighed. “Maybe I should skip my dad’s dinner and hang with you.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  Her apartment rose into view. I stifled a groan. When did we even get here? I considered going around the block again to prolong our night. The last thing I wanted to do was let Monique go.

  My girlfriend seemed completely unaffected by that thought.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said, her hand going for the door handle.

  “Wait.”

  She spun, her curls whipping the air. “What?”

  “You forgot something.”

  “Oh, right.” She leaned toward me. I pushed my lips out for a kiss when Monique swerved at the last minute and grabbed her phone from the cup holders below the dashboard. “Almost left this. That would have been a disaster.”

  “Why?”

  “You would have seen all my booty call texts to other men.”

  “Very funny.” I hauled her arm. She tumbled backward. My hand gripped the back of her neck and I dipped her head so her delicate throat stretched. Bending over, I kissed her deeply.

  She drank me in and, if we weren’t in front of her apartment where her dad was probably peering through the blinds at the car, I’d take it further.

  For now, I relaxed my grip and let her go.

  Monique rose slowly, dazed. A satisfied smirk unfurled from my lips.

  I did that.

  Me.

  And I was the only one allowed to do that.

  Because Monique was mine.

  “If Alex tries anything tomorrow, let me know.”

  She blinked innocently. “Alex who?”

  “Go before I don’t let you leave this car at all tonight.” I watched her climb out of the vehicle.

  She stopped and waved.

  I waved back, waiting until I was sure she got in safely before driving off.

  The past few months with Monique had been next to perfect. She was everything I didn’t know I needed. Dating her marked the birth of a new era in my life. I also had a serious reduction in personal drama.

  No more seniors popping out of the closet, claiming they were pregnant with my kid.

  No more feuding with Eric and his band.

  Even my father had simmered down a bit, which meant Mom hadn’t made a visit to The Greasy Monkey in over three months.

  Things were good.

  Almost too good.

  A part of me was coiled, expectant, waiting for the other boot to drop. My father was still a wretch and my mother was still blindly devoted to him. This was the calm before the storm.

  I drove on autopilot, lost in my thoughts.

  After parking in the garage, I headed inside. Everywhere was dark. It was late, so I figured Mom would be in bed.

  When I tiptoed past the kitchen to get to the stairs, I heard a clink. My entire body froze. Every nerve heightened, searching for the cause of the sound.

  “Hello?” I asked hesitantly.

  “James!” Suddenly, the lights popped on. I recoiled and threw my hands up, shading my face from the flash. When I adjusted to the brightness, I found Mom sitting around the counter.

  She had her hair up. Strands stuck out like alien antennas. No makeup. Her eyes looked sunken and the telltale redness in their depths said she’d been drinking for a while. My eyes slid to the bottle of wine at her elbow and the vodka near her hand.

  My heart cracked. Which surprised me. I didn’t think there was a part of my heart still unbroken.

  “Son, come in. Come in. Want to join me?” She scrambled for a shot glass. The cup tumbled from her grip and hurtled toward the floor.

  I dove for it, catching it just before it crashed. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “It’s the quiet. It got into my head. This house is too big and cold for one person.” Her fluffy grey robe fell off one shoulder and revealed the strap of her silk nightgown.

  It was hard to watch her unravel like this.

  My once beautiful mother. Natasha Sawyer. Wife of Darius Sawyer. Charity organizer. Champion of women. Resigned to a shell of her former self thanks to a worthless love.

  I almost laughed from the irony. Right now, Mom looked no different from the addicts her humanity organizations reached out to.

  “Come on, Mom.” I wrapped my hand around her shoulder and pulled her up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “How’s Monique?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “When are you going to bring her around, introduce her officially?” Mom snorted. “The first time we met, I wasn’t my best self.”

  Mom was referring to four months ago when she stormed The Greasy Monkey, cursing out all the sex workers and rubbing her face in the brothel’s bed sheets. Monique was with me the day I came to drag Mom home.

  That was also the day I realized my feelings for Monique ran deeper than mere curiosity.

  Mom stood and lurched on her feet. “James, you must bring her to the dinner tomorrow.”

  “She’s busy.” I hesitantly added, “I’m busy too.”

  “With what?” She wiggled her finger in my face. “I allow you to gallivant around, singing in bars because you told me it was your dream.” She stumbled and I steadied my grip on her elbow. Mom continued without missing a beat. “I’ve even kept it a secret from your father.”

  “Alright,” I grumbled. “I’ll attend the dinner tomorrow.”

  “Say it with a smile. You can do this much for me, right?”

  I pasted a grin on my face.

  “So handsome.” She patted my cheek.

  I held her hand as she took the stairs one at a time. It was a slow, excruciating process and I had plenty of time to study her. The frailness of her hand. The weathered texture of her cheek. The wrinkles below her eyes.

  She was killing herself slowly. Maybe that was her plan.

  Watching my parents’ toxic marriage was the reason I’d never wanted to give my heart to anyone. Monique changed my mind, of course, but I still didn’t get why Mom forced herself to honor this marriage.

  “James?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know.” I held her hand tighter. “We’re almost to your room.”

  I helped Mom into bed and tucked her in, wishing things were different. Not for my sake, but for hers.

  “Try to get some sleep,” I whispered.

  Mom clasped my fingers when I moved away. “Will you play a song for me? Something happy.”

  I nodded.

  She let me go and turned on her side.

  The sniffling told me she was crying.

  The way she burrowed under her blankets told me she was trying to hide it.

  I eased off the bed and walked to my room. After singing a two-hour set, my voice was shredded, but I grabbed my guitar and gave a personal concert.

  The next morning, I could barely talk.

  Mom was still asleep when I checked on her. I made some oatmeal and slipped her a note.

  My mood was heavy when I got into the car and drove to school. Only a smile from Monique would be strong enough to cheer me up, but I had to wait to get that.

  One of the rules of my truce with Harley was that he got the morning pickup slots. It made no sense to me. In what world did I sit tight while another man had ‘alone time’ with my girlfriend? But Monique insisted they were just friends and I’d backed off.

  For now.

  I parked in the school lot and strode into the building, returning greetings as they flew left and right. Most of the time, I didn’t even look at the people I was responding to, but when a familiar voice called my name I turned with a grin.

  Baz. He wore a black beanie—which he never took off, jeans and a black T-shirt. Born of two strict African immigrants, B
az was hardworking and principled. He was also the closest thing I had to a real friend in this school.

  “Sup, man.”

  “Sup,” Baz said. We slapped hands. “I saw a clip of your set online. Looks like you’re doing well.”

  “It’s all thanks to you. That song competition I won helped get my name out.”

  “Nah, you did that on your own. I just gave you a tip.” He leaned in. “Speaking of music, have you heard the news?”

  “What news?”

  “They’re reviving the art program this semester and they brought in a new music teacher. I hear he’s a beast on guitar.”

  “Yeah? Who is he?”

  “He’s… I can’t remember his name.” Baz’s eyes fastened on something over my shoulder.

  “What?” I glanced around.

  “Look, he’s right there.”

  “Where?”

  “Coming this way.”

  I glanced in the direction Baz pointed and my stomach dropped. A man strode down the hallway, stopping to greet students and shake their hands.

  I recognized that smug little face.

  Alex.

  3

  WHAT YOU DID LAST NIGHT

  Monique

  I stifled a yawn and leaned my head against the kitchen table, struggling to keep my eyes open. Mom poured me a glass of milk and studied my face. I tried to sit up and act awake, but she wasn’t fooled.

  “Monique, what time did you get in last night?”

  “Not too late,” I said breezily. “Where’s Dad?”

  Mom arched an eyebrow, but allowed the subject change. “His boss needed him at the construction site so he went early.”

  “Right…”

  “Don’t worry.” Mom smirked over her cup of coffee. “I drove him there and lurked around to make sure he didn’t slip off anywhere. He’s really trying this time. I think what happened last year shook him up.”

  “Guess I should be grateful to Mr. Goya then.”

  A few months ago, Dad got a job at a sketchy gambling hall where he was told to cheat during games. It would have worked too, if Orlando Goya—a known mobster—hadn’t caught on.

  Goya threatened murder if Dad didn’t pay back the money he’d lost. Fortunately, he was killed in a police raid on the day of our deadline.