Masquerade: The Games Trilogy 3

by Dawn, Nyrae

  “Asshole.” I shake my head and roll my eyes.

  When we get to the bike, I reach for the helmet but Maddox’s hand on my arm stops me. His eyes have transformed from the lightness they held at his last comment.

  “What’s your real name, Bee?”

  And that’s what does it—the fact that he used Bee when asking. It’s almost like he’s telling me it’s okay to be who I want. That to him I’m Bee, the pierced tattoo girl, and he’s okay with that.

  Or maybe I’m going crazy and seeing things I want to see. Still, I open my mouth and let the words tumble out. “Leila . . . or Coral. I guess it depends on how you look at it.”

  Questions swim through his eyes, but he doesn’t ask any of them.

  “Grab the helmet, Bee. Let’s go.” Without another word, Maddox climbs onto the bike and waits. Words bubble in my throat. I can’t sort through them enough to let them free. I’m not sure what I want to say, so I settle on nothing.

  After pushing the helmet onto my head, I climb onto the bike behind him. My arms go around his waist and he revs the engine before pulling away. We speed through the field and onto the road and I swear it feels like freedom. The wind is cold, but I revel in it. Love the feel of it as it rushes past me.

  It’s then I realize I’m not really freaking out about having told him about the Professor. He knows my name and it’s kind of okay. It’s different than how it is with people like my family where I know on some level I’m hurting them but can’t seem to change it. He only knows Bee and he doesn’t expect Leila or Coral when he looks at me. I press my cheek to his back and relax.

  Maddox leans to the side as we take a corner. My body goes along with his, hugging him as he controls the bike.

  It’s not long until we’re pulling back into town. I’m buzzing, getting that same tingle under my skin like I’m getting a new tattoo.

  When Maddox stops at a red light, more words start fumbling out of my mouth. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, Scratch.” Immediately I feel on display. Maddox tenses and I want the words back, but then the light changes, the motorcycle accelerates, and Maddox speeds off again.

  What the hell is wrong with me? If he could hear me, I’d tell him to let me off the bike right now. We shouldn’t be out here together in the first place. We shouldn’t have done any of it.

  The wind no longer feels right as it washes around me and my stomach is nauseous.

  I pushed. I’m always the one who keeps the walls up but I pushed him.

  But then . . . then he turns away from my house—away from Masquerade. My fist tightens in his shirt as we take another turn, then another one.

  Maddox pulls into the driveway of a brown house. It’s a little run-down, some of the paint peeling. It’s his . . .

  It’s a shock to my system when the bike suddenly shuts off under me. Maddox climbs off, then I do. He pulls off his helmet, then I do.

  “It’s not much.” Maddox tucks the helmet under his arm.

  “It’s yours, that’s what’s important.” We’re standing in his driveway, only a foot away from each other.

  “I don’t do this.”

  “I don’t either.”

  He sighs. It’s like a breath being pulled from me too. Confusion mixes around inside me.

  “What do you want, Bee?”

  “Nothing.” And it’s true. “Just to hang out. I’m not here to sleep with you. I . . .” Feel like I can be myself with you.

  “I’ve never really done the friends thing, Scratch, but . . .” I shrug and he nods toward the house before starting to walk away.

  I don’t hesitate before following him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ~Maddox~

  I’ve never taken a girl home with me. I’ve never gone home with a girl. I’ve never fucked a girl in a bed that I considered mine. She said she wasn’t sleeping with me again and my brain knows that’s smart. We’re somehow all tied up in each other when I’ve never been connected to anyone before.

  But then, we’ve also both always been on the same page. We don’t do attachments, so my head is all fucked up about why we’re going into my house together if it’s not for something physical.

  Or maybe I think I should feel screwed up about it. Crazy, but I actually feel and that’s what has the fist squeezing my insides.

  Shake it off, man. “Watch your step.” With my hand flat on the door, I push it open while stepping back so Bee can walk in.

  Slowly, she goes inside. Bee stops when she gets far enough away from the door that I can close it behind us. Even though it’s dark outside by now, I can see inside because of the small lamp I left on this morning.

  Automatically, my eyes scan the room, trying to see it the way she does. My couch is against the back wall. Fifty-buck special from a yard sale. Next to it, the little oak side table with the black lamp. A matching coffee table in front, pieces of paper scattered all over it: some flat, others balled up. Some blank, others filled with different drawings.

  There’s a small TV, but I only have a few channels. Another yard sale special is in the kitchen, a small round table with two chairs.

  “This is strange . . .” Her back is to me as she looks around the room. Yet, I know, somehow I know, she doesn’t mean my house. She’s talking about being in it.

  “Yeah . . . You thirsty or anything?” Scratching the back of my head, I walk into the kitchen. My first instinct is to watch her, to see if she explores. It’s not that I really give a shit about anything I have, but it’s mine and bringing her here is showing her who I am.

  “Sure, I’ll have some water.”

  It’s a good thing because that’s all I have.

  After pulling two water bottles from the fridge, I toss one to Bee. She catches it easily and then we both stand there drinking, not knowing what to do.

  It’s not even a minute later she puts the lid on and turns. “I shouldn’t have asked to come here.”

  Before she gets more than three feet away from me and toward the door, “You didn’t,” sort of tumbles out of my mouth. “You said you didn’t want to be alone. I brought you here. It was my choice.”

  Slowly she looks my way and gives a small nod. My brain starts searching for words. I find none. I don’t know why I want to. She makes me itch under my skin. It’s not annoying but it’s always there, and I don’t know what it means. It’s like I feel her, even when we’re not touching.

  “How’s the piercing?”

  “Don’t know. You’re the expert. Why don’t you check it for me.”

  She rolls her eyes and grins, not at all taken aback by my words. Not that she would be. Not Bee.

  She sets the water bottle down and steps toward me. My breath gets caught up in my lungs. Holy shit. I’m actually holding my breath as she pushes my jacket off my shoulder.

  Neither of us reaches for it as it falls to the floor.

  Bee looks at me and winks. Her voice is low and feisty when she says, “Sure thing. Just remember, you’re the one who asked. The torture we both feel for the rest of the night will be all your fault.”

  Without planning it, my hand reaches for hers, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Like I said, you asked for it.” And then she pulls her hand out of my grasp. Puts both hands flat on my stomach and starts to push my shirt up—slowly. So fucking slowly I feel like I could lose it.

  “We agreed . . .,” she says. “No more sex, remember?”

  “Shit,” I hiss. “Why did we say that?” Slower . . . higher, her hands warm and smooth against my skin.

  “You know why.”

  I can’t believe it when I close my eyes. It sounds fucked up but it makes me feel more vulnerable. Like she can do anything she wants to me and I wouldn’t know before she strikes. Still, I don’t open them, just keep letting her push my shirt up until my chest shows.

  My hands are begging me to rip it off, to strip her and take her right in my kitchen but I fight it.
>
  “Looks good.” Bee’s breath ghosts across my pierced nipple.

  “You did that on purpose.” I make myself open my eyes.

  She shrugs. “I’m bad like that,” she says before she steps toward the sink and washes her hands. It means she’s planning to touch me.

  She is so bad. I like that about her—like that she’s different from any woman I’ve ever known. The fact that she’s standing here right now proves that.

  “It’s a little pink, but not too bad. We need to keep an eye on it, okay? Does it hurt?”

  Her first finger traces around my nipple and my mouth waters to do the same thing to her. “Tender. Nothing too bad, though.”

  “Make sure you clean it tonight. You’ve been using the antibacterial soap, right?”

  The sexiness in her voice is gone and even though I shouldn’t, I want it back.

  “Yep.” Stepping away from her, I lower my shirt, pick up my jacket, and set it on the counter. “Let’s go sit down.”

  Bee grabs her water again and follows me to the living room. Before she makes it to the couch, I’m already starting to pick up the drawings, trying to put them away so she can’t see them. My whole body tenses when she grabs my arm.

  “You don’t have to hide that from me. I do it, too, remember?”

  The papers fall from my hand. “So show me something.”

  There’s blank paper and pencils and erasers all over the table. Bee pulls off her sweatshirt and sets it on the couch before sitting on the floor. I go down next to her, both our backs against the couch as we sit around the small table.

  “This is going to be quick, so no laughing.” Bee bends over, her arm and body trying to hide the paper from me as she starts drawing.

  “What the hell is that? I thought you were showing me something?”

  She looks over her shoulder at me and smiles. Really fucking smiles and I think it’s the first real, bone-deep smile I’ve seen from her. If I wasn’t already sitting down, she’d knock me on my ass.

  “When I’m done, Scratch. Have some patience.”

  It’s crazy how that name doesn’t bother me anymore. Trying to block out her smile, I shake my head. “Hell, maybe I shouldn’t be workin’ under you, if you don’t even trust your drawing skills.”

  My teasing comment doesn’t even faze her. Bee looks at the paper, me, and then the paper again. The only sound in the room is her pencil scratching out whatever she’s drawing.

  Quiet I can do, so I watch her while she works. Wondering what she’s doing and how in the hell we got here. That urge to pull away, to question what she’s doing here is still pulsing beneath my skin, but not strong enough for me to do something about it. Right now I’m watching the way she puts her blond hair behind her ear with her black-painted fingernails.

  It hasn’t been more than a couple minutes, but I realize I’m watching this woman the whole time, studying her, and it’s like a jolt, pushing me to my feet. This is so fucking strange, being here with someone like this.

  “I’ll be right back,” I mumble. Bee is so lost in whatever she’s drawing that I don’t even know if she heard me. Behind me, I close the bathroom door before splashing some water on my face as though that will make a difference.

  My cell rings and I almost don’t pull it out of my pocket until I remember Laney got hurt and I haven’t even checked on her. Phone in hand, Laney’s name lights up on the screen.

  My thumb lingers over ANSWER before I push it. “Hey.”

  “Hey. How are you?” Her voice is soft.

  Standing in my bathroom freaking out over nothing. “Okay. How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Not really in much pain at all. I’m annoyed over this stupid neck brace. I want to take it off.”

  “When do you go to the doctor?”

  “Tomorrow, so I should be able to take it off then. I don’t see what a day would change.”

  “Keep it on till then to be safe,” I tell her.

  Laney laughs; then it trails off. “I wish you realized how big your heart is, Maddy.”

  Is it, really? I want to ask her. Wouldn’t I have put aside worries about college and money to tell Mom what was happening with Dad? If I had, maybe she’d be better. Maybe Adrian’s son would be alive. “I fucked up . . . with Adrian after the accident. I shouldn’t have been such an asshole to him.”

  “You should tell him that sometime.” She pauses for a second. “What’s going on? You sound different.”

  I look up at myself in the mirror. “Nope. Still me. Listen, I gotta run. Let me know how things go after you see the doc, yeah?”

  “Love you,” she whispers.

  “You too.” I turn my phone all the way off before shoving it in my pocket. Unwilling to let myself hide out in my bathroom, I slide the door open and go out.

  “Thought you ran away, Scratch.” Bee looks up at me from where she’s sitting on the floor.

  “Had to get up and move around before I fell asleep waiting for you to finish.”

  “Asshole.” There’s a smile on her face and then she lifts the piece of paper so I can see it.

  It’s me.

  A loud laugh shocks me by bursting out of my mouth. “What the fuck is that?” When I get to her, I pull the paper out of her hands.

  “It’s you.”

  “Need your eyes checked?” Her body touches mine when I go down beside her. It’s crazy how I can tell it’s me, but she’s obviously trying to be funny too. It’s a caricature of me, like the ones people draw at carnivals. My head’s huge, my hair floppy, and there’s a smile on my face that’s so big, I’m not sure I’ve ever had one like it. “And what the hell’s up with the bike?”

  “You ride one!” She grabs the paper from me.

  “Motorcycle. Not a bicycle.” Then I’m laughing again and it feels kind of good. There’s this rumble in my chest and usually the only vibrations inside me are anger or lust.

  “Where’s my shirt?” Of course she had my piercing in there, too, but it’s oversized as well. “You hinting you want to see me without it again?”

  “I’m sure any girl would like that and you know it.”

  Her words send a sort of jolt through me because they’re so honest. She’s not shy about anything and she says whatever she feels, whatever she thinks. It’s crazy and the urge to ask her questions just to see what she’ll say hits me.

  “Gimme that.” I pull the pencil out of her hand before grabbing a piece of paper. “Now go away.” Turning slightly, I bend over the table and wrap my arm around the paper so she can’t see.

  Bee sits forward and grabs me, trying to pull me away from the table. “Lemme see.”

  I nudge her back. “Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll draw you exactly how you look. I promise.”

  A fist squeezes around my throat because of what came out of my mouth. I’ve never called someone baby in my life. Sure I was only giving her shit but—

  “If you can. Let’s see how good your art skills really are.” The way she rolls right over it like it’s nothing makes me want to do the same thing. It should be that fucking easy, so I’m going to make it.

  “You’ve never doubted any of my skills before, so why would you start now?”

  She looks at me and rolls her eyes before picking up another pencil from the table. “We’ll see who has the best kills, Scratch.”

  When she huddles over her paper to start drawing, I do the same. My fingers easily sketch her out without having to look at her. It’s as though she’s been embedded into my brain.

  This is different. I make the diamond in her nose bigger, put a big tattoo gun in her hand, and make it so her tongue is out of her mouth.

  “What the hell ever!” She peeks over my shoulder, but then Bee drops her head back and she laughs. It slips between the cracks and crevices until it finds its way inside me. I concentrate on the column of her throat, which I really fucking want my mouth on right now, but then she’s showing her newest picture of me and I’m laughing aga
in.

  On and on we keep drawing pictures of each other. Each time I want to make her laugh more because I love the sound and it makes me feel amazing that I’m the one making her sound so happy. We draw each other for two hours before she tosses her pencil to the table and says, “I’m done. I won.”

  For some reason, I don’t argue with her.

  “It’s getting late.” Bee stands and stretches, her shirt lifting to show her flat stomach and belly button piercing. My fingers itch to play with it.

  Instead, I stand too. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Before I finish getting all the words out, she’s already shaking her head. “No. That’s not fair.”

  “And I don’t work that way. You’re not sleeping on the couch while I sleep in a bed.” I’m used to sleeping on couches anyway. After Dad went to prison, I didn’t have my own room anymore. Mom got pissed but I always gave the extra bedroom to Laney.

  “I can go home—”

  “No. It’s late. You’re here.” My pulse is speeding.

  “Then we’ll share the bed. I can handle keeping my hands to myself. Can you?”

  No. “Yes.”

  She’s right behind me as I turn everything off. I could be a gentleman. Maybe I fucking should but the thought of being next to someone like that, the thought of being next to her, fills me up a little when I’ve been used to being empty for so long.

  My stomach is in knots, but I ignore it. I show Bee the bathroom and give her a pair of my sweats and a T-shirt. She lets me in the bathroom first to clean up and then she goes in. I’m in my room when she steps in. My clothes drown her, but my cock instantly gets hard. There’s something sexy as hell about seeing a woman in your clothes. I want to savor it and strip her out of them at the same time.

  “It’s not much,” finds its way out of my mouth even though it has nothing to do with how gorgeous she looks. “My room.”

  It smells slightly of cigarettes. There’s no headboard on the bed, just a queen mattress, dresser, side table, and more art stuff.

  “Who said something has to be extravagant to be something?”

  There’s this strange thump in my chest and this urge to grab her and pull her to me that has nothing to do with how beautiful she is. I want to hold her and I’ve never wanted to fucking hold anyone in my life.