by Sophie Davis
“It’s Adam. And that’s a long story,” Adam replied, shifting from one foot to the other and showing the first sign of discomfort since our initial encounter.
“I’ve got all night,” Alistair said.
I began to wonder if introducing Adam to my friends had been a huge mistake. The initial testosterone-fueled antics aside, my guy friends were good people. I got it, they wanted to make sure my “friend” was worthy of me, but Alistair had been throwing back liquor drinks all night and his tone was verging on hostile.
“It’s not a very interesting story,” I said before Adam had the chance to answer Alistair.
“I’d still like to hear it.”
“Ally,” Annie hissed. “Stop. Seriously.”
Camilla stepped forward. “Ignore him, Adam, our British friend is just drunk.” She held out her hand. “I’m Cam, by the way.” Adam and Cam shook hands, and then Cam turned to me. “I’m gonna be totally honest here, Lark. Since you’ve keeping this guy a secret, I figured he had like a growth on his face or something. Or, you know, was more fling and less cha-ching, like our buddy Andrew over there. I’d totally spend the hours between midnight and four a.m. with him, but as far as boyfriends go, yeah, he wouldn’t make the cut.”
The waiter in question, Andrew, was approaching again with another tray full of crystal champagne flutes and whiskey tumblers. But, thankfully, was still far enough away that he didn’t hear Cam’s comment.
“He’s not? Could’ve fooled me,” Alistair muttered into his vodka glass.
Enough was enough. I’d put Adam into this situation, naively assuming my friends were adults and could be civil at the very least. Apparently, I was wrong. And my guy friends’ maturity levels weren’t the only thing I’d been wrong about, I hadn’t realized that all my friends would assume Adam was my secret boyfriend. Outside of Annie, I wasn’t even aware my friends knew I had a secret boyfriend.
Time to clear up the misunderstanding.
“Adam and I are—What I mean to say is, Adam isn’t—” As I fumbled for a way to explain our relationship, Adam slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me to his side.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. We were going to tell our parents tonight anyway, we might as well tell your friends the truth, too,” Adam said, his voice confident and his grin wide.
For a moment, I just gaped at my old friend. Seriously? He wanted to play with my friends? Amusement danced in Adam’s caramel eyes as he gazed down at me like a man in love. Oh yeah, he totally wanted to play with my friends.
I managed a small laugh, a nod and shrug of my shoulders, in that order. Apparently that was all the confirmation the Eight needed. Yes, Adam’s proclamation was a little insane, but also quite funny, so I let the charade continue.
The girls started asking questions about us, the guys started asking about him, and Adam handled it all with dignity, grace, and, most importantly, a straight face. Feeling equal parts relief and guilt, I stood there with Adam’s arm around my waist, listening to my supposed boyfriend talk about our fabled romance.
After several moments of make believe, I excused myself, needing an escape from the madness, if even just for a minute. Annie and Taylor asked if I wanted company—Cam was chatting with Andrew the waiter. I declined the offer. Unlike Adam, who was spouting off stories of romantic interludes we’d never had and plans for a future that would never occur, the lies didn’t come so easily to me.
I wound through the crowd on my way to the lobby. Guests called out greetings as I passed, which I returned politely, but didn’t pause to talk. Lost in thought about the strange course the evening was taking—seeing Adam for the first time in four years, him suddenly becoming Blake’s public stand-in—I ran straight into one of the partygoers.
“Excuse me, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled and brushed passed.
Strong fingers caught my wrist and held me in place. Startled, my eyes darted upwards to the masked figure. His gaze was intense and focused solely on me. Nervously, I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was paying attention to us, if anyone might swoop in and intervene. For the first time all night, no one seemed to care about me and what I was doing.
I stared pointedly at the fingers gripping my arm as their owner tugged me sharply backwards. Suddenly I was no longer in the vast open space of the lobby, but instead was being dragged down a narrow, dimly lit hallway off to one side. Once in the shadows, the hand at my wrist fell away and an arm wound around my waist from behind, pulling me flush against a hard, lean body. I let out a startled yelp right before a second hand covered my mouth.
His breath, warm against my flushed skin, fanned across my cheek when he leaned down and spoke into my ear. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered.
My heart hammered against my ribs and I wondered if he could feel it beat against his chest. He pressed me into the wall, his muscular frame concealing my much smaller form should anyone else venture down this way.
“Nod if you understand,” he insisted.
Slowly, with deliberate precision, I bobbed my head up and down.
“Good.”
The hand at my waist spun me until I faced forward, spine now pressed into the wall behind me. My eyes were wide and chills ran from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. He held one finger up to his own lips, reminding me of my promise to remain silent, then let the hand covering my mouth fell away. Bending down, so close that our masks were touching, he murmured, “Who knew you’d be so difficult to kidnap?”
SINCE LURKING IN the shadows was super creepy and all, I didn’t linger long outside the stadium. Just long enough to catch one more glimpse of Blake as he joined his team on the field and began stretching.
I really did want to see Blake’s soccer skills in action. After all, he was supposedly one of the best players that Georgetown had recruited in years. But there wasn’t anywhere inside the stadium to sit where I’d go unnoticed. And being the lone spectator in a large, empty stadium wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Besides, I needed to get back before Asher returned from class, with dinner in hand.
Not today, I decided, a little disappointed.
As I began walking away from Blake and the soccer stadium, a thought struck me and I paused. There were no more reasons left. I’d confirmed that Blake Greyfield was a real person. That he did, in fact, attend Georgetown University. And now I’d seen him in person. I was officially out of excuses.
It was time to give Lark’s envelope to Blake.
With another glance back at the figures on the soccer field, now running speed drills, I wondered if using the mail was even necessary. He was right there. Sneaking into the locker room and leaving the envelope with Blake’s things was a viable option. Entering a guy’s locker room, however, did not, sound appealing. Who knew what I might see? Ugh, or worse, smell.
Gross boy hygiene aside, I had to be honest with myself—I still felt torn about the fate of the envelope. But…why?
Lark wanted him, not you, to have whatever was inside, my angel reminded me.
Maybe then she should have sent him on this snipe hunt, my devil countered.
And there it was. The reason for not wanting to part with the envelope. If she’d trusted me with her life, with her fate, if she’d put her full faith in me, to make me the only person who could find out who or what happened to her on that critical day…what didn’t she trust me with? What was within the envelope that Blake could know, and not me? Was the answer to the most burning question contained within the manila sides?
Why me?
Maybe. Or maybe it’s something personal.
Either way, I decided with a sigh, walking up to the blue mailbox on the corner outside the stadium, it doesn’t make a difference.
When I started following Lark’s clues and reading her journal, I’d done so because she needed help. By not going to the authorities, I’d agreed to discover the truth about her disappearance. Sure, it wasn’t a legally binding contract or anything. But I felt bound to Lark. And
if she wanted Blake to have the information in that envelope, then I was going to make sure that happened.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Lark,” I muttered as the heavy manila envelope thunked into the mailbox.
Pizza was both cheap and easy. A Little Slice of Pie, a pizza shop on 7th Street, had high reviews on Yelp and a small parking lot for patrons. Setting my phone to the speaker option, I placed the order while I drove out of Georgetown, so that it would be ready when I arrived. When the guy on the other end of the receiver put me on hold while he rang up my order, an idea flashed through my mind.
It was risky. And I had no idea what Lark’s intention was. If there was a single, specific purpose for the item she’d left, Lark hadn’t made me aware of it. Since my name was on the card, and there weren’t instructions, was I supposed to assume she was offering to cover my expenses while I searched for her? For that matter, was it even valid? Or was it as fake as the passport bearing my name?
“Sorry about that, miss,” the deep male voice said, cutting off the smooth jazz hold music. “Your total is $14.72. Will that be cash or charge?”
Still unsure, I took a deep breath, wild thoughts bouncing through my mind.
“Charge, please,” I finally said, practically mumbling the words.
“What’s your card number?” the pizza man asked.
As I slowly read him the numbers from the debit card I’d found in the safe, I told myself that I at least needed to find out if it was the real deal.
“One moment,” he responded, ostensibly punching in the numbers and pressing enter.
Terrified that it might set off some sort of alarm or trigger a pack of hellhounds, I held my breath, anxious to see whether the payment would go through.
“Alright, give us fifteen minutes, miss. If you pull into one of the pickup parking spaces, we’ll bring it out to your car.”
A bark of relieved laughter bubbled up in my throat.
“Th-thanks,” I stuttered.
When I get home, I totally need to figure out how much money is in this account, I thought.
Not long after, the pizza box was riding shotgun as I pulled to a stop in front of the Gibson Street apartment. With uncanny timing, Asher was just walking up the front steps. I honked my horn to get his attention. At first, when Asher turned, alarm filled his big brown eyes. But when he saw it was me beeping at him, a grin broke out across his face and he waved.
“Hey, sorry I’m running so late,” Asher called as I got out of the car.
Glancing towards the clock on my car’s dashboard, I saw it was just after 9 p.m.
Forcing a bright smile, I called back to him across the street. “No worries! The pizza place was packed, it took forever.” But I felt nauseated by the lie.
Doing quick mental calculations, I realized that it wasn’t all adding up. Since I hadn’t loitered for long after Blake’s practice started, I’d left the stadium at a little after six. The walk back to my car couldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes, tops. Driving across town had probably taken another thirty with all the rush hour traffic. But I’d waited less than five minutes outside of A Little Slice of Pie. From there, it was less than two miles to Gibson Street.
So…where had the rest of the time gone?
“What’s wrong?” Asher asked, immediately sensing that something was off with my mood.
“Nothing. Nothing,” I assured him. “Traffic just sucks. I mean, it took me like an hour to go two miles.”
Asher laughed.
“Yeah, that’s D.C. for you. Here, I’ll take that.”
Handing over the pizza box, I trailed Asher up to my apartment. There was no discussion over the dinner venue; it seemed a given that we’d eat at my place. A small part of me wondered if the decision had to do with my little invasion of privacy act, when I’d looked at his mail from Kim.
We ate on my couch with The Big Bang Theory playing for background noise. Between bites of cheesy goodness, I told Asher that I’d mailed the package to Blake.
“So you looked him up then? He’s real?” Asher asked.
“As real as you and I,” I confirmed. “And he’s definitely a student at Georgetown. I found him on their website. He’s like a soccer phenom or something.”
“What do you think the odds are that the school actually gives him the package? Sending it to Student Services seems sort of risky, you know?”
“Now you tell me,” I groaned.
The point Asher had just brought up was not one I’d considered, and my attention was quickly diverted to the potential pitfall.
“Raven?”
What were the odds Blake would actually get the envelope? And if he didn’t, where did that leave Lark? Would I be able to find her still? Find out what happened to her? What if the contents of that envelope, and Blake receiving them, were somehow the key to all of this?
“Raven?”
When I met Asher’s gaze, I saw concern and uncertainty.
“Lark…,” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat before starting over. “Lark has been extremely careful to this point. I don’t think she would’ve left Blake receiving that package to chance, if she really wanted him to have it. I’m sure Student Services will make sure it gets to him. Okay?”
Though the idea still made me uneasy, Asher had a point. Lark was nothing if not cautious.
“You’re right. Sorry. I’ve just been really on edge these past couple of days. We’ve found so many things, but there’s still so much left, so many unanswered questions.”
Asher set his plate with a half-eaten slice of pizza down, then took mine and set it beside his. He scooted closer to me on the couch and took my hands in his.
“We’re going to get to the bottom of this, okay? Trust me. I can’t imagine how weird this is for you,” Asher promised, his voice low and husky.
“Weird is a huge understatement,” I said, feeling oddly close to tears for some reason.
Looking down, I focused my attention on my lap to keep Asher from seeing the pools building in my eyes.
“Raven?” Asher asked uncertainly. “Look at me, Raven.”
Finally I met his gaze. And then, my lips were on his. Asher’s hands were around my waist, making their way up my back.
Two lips across mine. Ten fingers down my spine. No space between us.
The words popped into my head unbidden. I jumped back, as if Asher’s touch was electric. Through wide, watery eyes, I saw my own shocked expression mirrored in Asher’s face.
What the hell had I just done?
“NOW THAT YOU have me, what do you plan on doing with me?” I asked, playing coy.
Blake’s deep, rumbling laughter echoed in the dark hallway, filling me with warmth and love. Emerald eyes shone with amusement from behind his black mask, several sable locks of his silky hair curled around the edges. Reaching up to cup his cheek with one hand, I used the other to push the mask up onto the top of his head. His hands were untying the ribbons holding my own mask in place. And then, Blake’s mouth was on mine and it was his kiss that filled my heart with love.
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pulled Blake closer and deepened the kiss. He ran a thumb along my jaw, while the fingers of his free hand toyed with one strap of my dress. Tendrils of liquid fire licked every inch of skin that Blake caressed.
Wishes do come true, I thought.
Voices from the far end of the hallway, closest to where the party—my party—was still in full-swing, drifted down to where we stood, wrapped around each other.
“I don’t think this is where the bathrooms are,” slurred a female voice.
“The bathroom? I thought we were looking for the coat check,” a second woman replied.
The click of high-heels faded as the two women retreated.
Gently, I pushed Blake away from me, fully aware that we’d come incredibly close to being caught. Breathless, we broke apart.
“Happy birthday, love,” Blake whispered.
Overj
oyed as I was at his unexpected appearance at my party, I knew that dragging me into this hallway was reckless.
“Blake! You scared the shit out of me!” I admonished with a swat to his chest.
He caught my wrist and brought my hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on my palm. “Really? You didn’t know it was me?” Blake asked playfully.
“I did,” I admitted. “Of course I did. It’s just—what are you doing here?”
The light in his eyes dimmed a little. Worried I hurt his feelings, I hurried to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re here.”
“Yeah?” Blake threaded his fingers through mine. “Just happy?” His lips brushed briefly across mouth, before trailing kisses along my jaw, up to my ear. “More like ecstatic, I’d say. I’m going to have to kidnap you more often.”
A low moan escaped my lips and I trembled slightly as Blake nuzzled my neck.
“Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?” he murmured against my skin.
“You know good and well that my chills have nothing to do with being cold,” I managed to say.
“That I do.”
I let my head fall back against the wall as Blake’s lips returned to mine. The kiss that followed was the best present that anyone had given me all night. It was tender and demanding, passionate and loving, hungry and gentle, all at the same time.
When we broke apart, I sighed contentedly. “Best. Birthday. Ever,” I declared.
Blake laughed. “Good. That was what I was going for,” he said. “Seriously, I am sorry if I scared you. I figured you’d know it was me, even with the mask.”
“I did.” Touch feather-light, I traced the contours of his face with my fingertips. “I’d know you anywhere.”
He closed his eyes and grinned.
In my heels, it wasn’t much of a stretch to place a kiss on his cheek, right beside his ear, and whisper, “You didn’t answer my question, though. So I’ll ask it again: Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”
With an insistence he rarely showed with me, Blake moved his hands to my hips and pulled me into him. Running my fingers from the taut muscles of his chest down to the chiseled washboard of his stomach, I thanked the soccer gods for his perfect physique. Embolden by the liquor I’d consumed and the thrill of doing something so naughty right under my mother’s nose, my fingers traveled lower and tugged at the bottom of his dress shirt.
