The Bad Boy's Woman (Hidden Masks Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  The mattress bounced as I eased up to the headboard so I had somewhere to rest my back. My gaze trekked around the room. It was my second time in James’s bedroom, but I realized that it was my first time actually seeing everything.

  On my initial visit, my attention had been—ehem—otherwise occupied.

  James’s room was huge and could easily fit most of my apartment. The walls boasted fancy black and silver tiles and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. Shiny guitars, mikes and keyboards huddled in the corner. I spotted a sleek computer desk with a mixing board and other equipment.

  Straight ahead, he had a walk in closet and next to that was the bathroom. It was better than any hotel I’d ever been to. Though, to be fair, I’d never actually been to a hotel.

  For all the amenities his bedroom offered, James spent as little time as he could at home. When he did, the fancy gear and tons of space was nothing but a refuge to hide from the drama going on outside his bedroom door.

  My room was total crap compared to his, but at least I didn’t have to hide in it.

  Well, I did.

  Once.

  Last year, Tito—Dad’s old gambling buddy—stopped by and we were the only two people in the apartment. He started acting creepy so I ran straight to my room and locked the door, staying put until he left.

  That was a long time ago.

  I ran my hand over James’s quilt and brought it to my nose. It smelled like him. Man, what was that scent? Whatever it was, average guys didn’t own it.

  I heard voices downstairs.

  My grip on the quilt loosened. I didn’t want James storming back up here and finding me sniffing his blankets like a crack addict.

  After smoothing out the wrinkles I’d made in his sheets, I pulled my attention to the laptop. Instead of the password login page, a picture of James and his mother smiled from the screen. They looked like they were at some type of party.

  I brushed my fingertips across James’s handsome face. In the picture, he had his hair combed back rather than his usual style of leaving it hanging over his forehead. He wore a black jacket over a white T-shirt and black jeans.

  The way he clasped his hands and tilted his chin at the camera made my heart flutter. James was white and, now that I knew him, he wasn’t that much of a bad boy. But the guy had serious swag. I’d give him that.

  Smiling, I moved my hand to shake the track pad and wake the laptop out of hibernation but before I could, the picture of James and Natasha disappeared, replaced by another.

  It took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at.

  And then it hit me.

  My fingers curled over the keyboard.

  My heart collapsed.

  Time slowed.

  I couldn’t quite believe my eyes.

  Breasts.

  Huge breasts filled the length of James’s laptop. It was a frontal view. Completely exposed. The lighting was low with a yellow sheen glowing behind the woman’s body. The lotion bottles and makeup on the dresser beneath the mirror told me that it wasn’t a professional photo.

  It was personal.

  But… why was it on James’s computer?

  Then the photo switched again. This time it was another nude photo but the sender had been kind enough to step a few paces away from her mirror to deliver a full body shot.

  I saw her face.

  Marissa.

  Her eyes were dark, ringed with heavy mascara. Dark red lipstick. Hair falling in loose blonde waves past her shoulders. She was doing a smutty pout, but I was too distracted by the rest of her exposed body to make fun of the desperate attempt.

  Marissa covered one side of her breasts with a hand, but her naked butt, slender legs, and everything in between were on display.

  I whipped my head away, unable to stand one more second of the sight.

  Had James seen this?

  Had he asked for it?

  My pulse hammered against my skin. I slapped the laptop closed, but just touching the thing made me feel dirty. My chest shuddered like it would cave in any minute. I ran to James’s bathroom and washed my hands.

  That didn’t help so I washed it a second and third time.

  I wished I could wash my eyes too, scrape that private picture of Marissa out of my mind.

  It was one thing if I’d seen a provocative pop-up on the internet by mistake, but I hadn’t. It was in my boyfriend’s laptop. His personal files.

  Marissa sent James a sext.

  In middle school, sending nudes was a trend. I heard that guys used to trade photos like Pokémon cards. They even had secret chat groups where a chosen few were invited to scroll and enjoy.

  But we weren’t kids anymore.

  James wasn’t a kid. Why the hell did he have photos of Marissa on his laptop?

  Angie’s words from a few weeks ago echoed in my head. “He’s James Sawyer? How do you expect to be with him if you don’t put out?”

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Dark skin with golden undertones. Thick, unshaven eyebrows. A big nose. Thick lips. Unruly black hair.

  Slowly, my fingers shaking, I pulled the collar of my shirt back and stared at my breasts cupped in my cheap white bra. My boobs were average—not too small, not too large—but they were like speed bumps in comparison to Marissa’s.

  I dropped my blouse with a grunt and tugged the ends of my curls.

  No, no. I shouldn’t think like this. I shouldn’t compare myself.

  But I couldn’t help it. Marissa had revealed everything about her body and the comparisons ticked by instinctually.

  She was white like porcelain.

  She had small hips. A perky butt. Big breasts.

  If Marissa was the body type that James subscribed to, what would he think about mine if we ever got intimate?

  If it was this easy for me to compare my own body—one my mother had always told me was beautiful—to Marissa’s, how much harder would it be for him to separate us in his mind?

  The door creaked.

  Someone rattled the knob.

  I walked outside the bathroom and poked my head through, watching as James opened his bedroom door and plodded inside. His face was pale. He looked shaken, broken. I studied his expression and tried to drum up some sympathy, a little concern.

  I couldn’t.

  All that paraded through my mind was: ‘he saw Marissa naked’.

  “Monique,” James whispered.

  He saw Marissa naked and he liked it.

  My nose flared. At that moment, I was entirely disgusted by him. Heat speared my chest, slipped between each one of my ribs and into my blood stream. I strode forward and I wouldn’t be surprised if the frames of the house trembled with every step.

  “How long have you been talking to Marissa?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.

  James blinked. “What?”

  “Since Marissa left,” I wielded my arm back and pointed at his laptop, “have you been keeping in touch with her?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “So those were old pictures then,” I mumbled.

  “Monique,” James put his hands on my shoulders, “what’s going on? What pictures?”

  I brushed him off. Tears prickled the back of my eyes, but I’d look pathetic if I burst out crying and I had already been vulnerable and clueless enough. “Is it normal for girls to send you naked pictures?”

  His shoulders sagged and he tugged on his ear. “You found the folder?”

  “What?” I staggered back, gasping for breath. “You have a folder filled with those things?”

  James stalked to his laptop and shook the mouse. Rushing to type in his password, he frowned. “I was going to delete then eventually…” He glanced at me. “What are you doing snooping anyway?”

  The anger that seared through my body was almost blinding. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m just saying. Some things are private.”

  “Sorry, James. I didn’t mean to see your private folder of nudes.”r />
  “It’s not like that.” He licked his lips. “Okay? I don’t ask for them. Girls just send them to me.”

  “You poor, innocent victim. Is that why you collect them all and put them into a nice, neat folder? The injustice.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem?”

  “It’s hard enough to compete with all the girls you’ve already slept with and all the ones that would eagerly sleep with you if you looked at them a half-second longer than usual. Now I have to worry about my boyfriend collecting nudes?”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “No, I’m not,” I snapped. He wasn’t getting it. “The fact that you have those pictures makes me feel…” I clutched my chest, “like I’m suffocating. It hurts, James.”

  “I told you I’ll delete them.”

  “And what if someone sends you again? Will you just look at it and then delete it before I even find out?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m a guy. We like looking at that stuff.”

  I half-gasped, half-snorted. “Then don’t just be a guy, James. Be a guy with honor and respect.”

  “Look,” he ran a hand through his hair, “can we not talk about this right now?”

  “No, we will talk about it!” I shrieked.

  James’s face tightened.

  I was beyond the point of caring. “Every time we kiss, every time we touch, I’m giving you more than just my body. I’m giving you my heart. And the thought that…” I glared at the laptop, “that this is what you’ll compare me to—”

  “You think I’ll compare you to other women? Is that why you won’t have sex with me?”

  “That’s a part of it, yeah.” I trembled. “Do you know what I did after I saw those pictures? I went to the bathroom and I stared at myself in the mirror and I started thinking about the differences, about how I measured up against her. And that made me feel so, so small.”

  James clenched his jaw. “I can’t change my past, Monique. Not even if I wanted to. If it’s such a big deal for you then—”

  “Then what?”

  He glared at the wall.

  I thought of Natasha and how she’d allowed Darius to walk all over her because she was so in love with him she was scared he would leave.

  The reason I didn’t bring up my standards about sex until months after we started dating was because I was afraid that James would leave me too.

  In that sense, I was no different from her.

  And Natasha’s wasn’t a life I aspired to.

  My body trembled. I gathered my strength and inhaled deeply before saying, “I think… we should take a break.”

  James shot to his feet and stared at me.

  A tear slipped down my cheek. I hadn’t felt any humiliation until that moment, until that teardrop popped free and tainted my skin. Now, James would see how much he’d hurt me.

  I angrily brushed the tear away. “I should go.”

  “Monique!” James grabbed my arm to keep me from leaving. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, gently grasping his fingers and tugging him off. “I’m sorry that my heart is not enough for you.”

  “Monique…”

  I ignored him, opened the door and ran, not stopping until I made it all the way to the bus stop.

  21

  UNRAVELING

  James

  I FLICKED a glance at the window. The world beyond the thick glass was one big blur. I shifted gears and eased my foot on the gas, ignoring the needle that climbed higher and higher.

  Outside, the engine was roaring, a guttural sound that chased leaves and shot birds into a frightened flight.

  Inside, the silence thickened.

  I pushed the machine to its limits, unleashing its true potential—one that had been smothered beneath pesky things like traffic lights, pedestrians, and laws.

  A yellow sign stood on the side of the road.

  A warning.

  Curve ahead.

  I moved my foot from the gas pedal to the brakes.

  Tires screamed against gravel.

  The car careened and then righted itself.

  I didn’t stop. I just kept going. Farther and farther. Away from this town. I didn’t know where I was headed or what I would do when I got there. It didn’t matter. I’d run as far as the gas in the tank would take me and then I’d go back.

  Because even if I didn’t belong in Pine Hill, it was all I had.

  I think we should take a break. Monique’s words haunted me. Her brown eyes, full of hurt and anger, floated before me, a violent stain on the windshield. I slapped the lever that controlled the wipers, desperately swiping at the image.

  It didn’t budge.

  I gritted my teeth and glanced to the right. Thick forests streaked past my window. I forced my gaze forward again. I couldn’t keep shifting my eyes off the road. This drive was supposed to clear my head not tear it clean off.

  My phone rang.

  I didn’t budge. Whoever it was, I doubted it was Monique or Mom and I didn’t want to talk to anyone else.

  The phone rang again.

  I held back a curse and sped to the side of the road.

  Angrily, I grabbed my phone and checked the screen.

  Baz’s name appeared.

  I answered. “What do you want?

  The car shuddered as the engine cooled.

  “Whoa, did I call at a bad time?”

  “Yeah, kind of.” I shifted the phone from my left ear to my right and rested my arm against the steering wheel.

  “Aren’t you with Monique?” Baz asked.

  I clenched my teeth so hard each one of them ached. “No.”

  “I thought you two would have met by now. Reporters were hounding the school, so I volunteered to take her home. She insisted on seeing you so I dropped her off on your front porch. Did she leave?”

  I rested my head on the wheel. “No, I saw her.”

  “But you’re not with her now?”

  “No.”

  “Then what happened?”

  We broke up. “Nothing.”

  Baz paused for a beat. I heard movement on the other side of the line and wondered if he was practicing with the band. They had a gig at the pep rally tomorrow. I’d seen the posters up in the cafeteria.

  “Is that all?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Is everything good, man?” Worry tinged Baz’s voice. “You sound kind of—I don’t know—stressed.”

  My girlfriend just broke up with me and my mom ordered a hit on my half-brother. “Everything is perfect.”

  “Cool.” He hesitated as if giving me a chance to change my mind and talk. When I didn’t, he added, “Well, I’ll forward you the notes you missed in class today.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wait, on second thought, I’ll forward them to Monique. You won’t read them if I send them to you.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “It’s no trouble. See you tomorrow.”

  I listened to the dial tone and ran my fingers through my hair. Baz’s concern sounded genuine. Maybe I should have shared my sorrows with him, told him everything—about Alex being my brother, my mother hiring an arsonist, and my fight with Monique.

  But what could he say that would make my situation better?

  Nothing.

  My life was a mess and the only good part of it, the only person who believed in me, had walked out. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. I didn’t deserve Monique. I’d been on borrowed time from the moment I saw her in The Greasy Monkey.

  She was too good for me.

  I knew that.

  I just… hadn’t expected it to end like this.

  Those stupid pictures.

  I punched the steering wheel. The horn blasted the quiet air. No one was around to be startled, but I quickly pulled my hand away and drank in the silence.

  The folder of nudes was a joke and I’d honestly forgotten about it until Monique brought it up. I groaned recalling the way h
er brown eyes had narrowed on my face. In that moment, I felt more exposed than any of the girls in my collection.

  I should have deleted the damn things a long time ago.

  We should take a break…

  An ache spread in my head. I rubbed my temples and inched my hand out to start the ignition. Thinking about Mom gave me too much stress and fighting to push Monique out of my mind took too much effort.

  So I lingered on her.

  Everything about her was beautiful. Her smile. Her laughter. Even her weird ticks. Like the way she crinkled her nose when she was amused and wanted to hide it. The way she sucked on her lower lip when she was deep in thought. The way her gaze skittered when she was shy.

  I lost focus of the road ahead.

  And, somehow, I found myself in front of Monique’s apartment when I looked up again.

  My body stilled.

  I shut the engine, struggling to remember making any conscious decisions to return to town or stop by this building.

  Before I could drive off, I saw Monique and her mother strolling toward me. I ducked and listened to their footsteps fade.

  A minute passed.

  Two.

  I eased my head up and peeked through the window to make sure they hadn’t noticed me lurking.

  The coast was clear.

  I let out a breath and looked forward. A dark figure stood outlined in the light from the lampposts. My eyes widened and I almost jumped. The figure stalked to the side of my car.

  Monique.

  She rapped on the window with her knuckles and mouthed, “Get out.”

  I opened the door carefully as she stepped back and gave me room. Fury still lingered in her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest and craned her neck to look up at me, an eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

  “Did you help your mom out at the restaurant again?” I asked.

  “What are you doing, James?”

  “I don’t know. I was driving and I ended up here.” I sensed her impatience and sighed. “Monique, I’m sorry about earlier. Can we just make up and forget about it?”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t trust you.”

  “What?” My jaw fell. “It’s not like I cheated on you with anyone. They’re just pictures.” Her nose flared and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. “Monique, I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize, okay?”