The Masks We Wear: High School Bully Romance (Emerald Falls Series Book 1)

by Lee Jacquot

  “I don’t want what’s on that menu.” I eat up the distance between us, stopping when her breasts are rubbing against my chest with her inhale. The air between us mingles, an intoxicating mixture of mint and liquor, pushing me into another level of high.

  Her staggering breaths get worse. My dick presses painfully into my jeans, but I ignore it, taking a step toward her.

  When she finally speaks, I have to strain to hear her whisper. “What do you want, Spencer?”

  I thought she’d never fucking ask.

  “You.”

  THIRTY TWO

  Spencer Hanes just told me he wanted me. Through all the shit I’ve thrown at him, and after the hot and cold that is my screwed-up heart, he said he wanted me. And even though it shouldn’t excite me as much as it does, my pulse accelerates, thrumming through my body with anticipation.

  Never mind I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s only sex-related, I still let my mind take the three-letter answer and run with it. At least for tonight.

  Just this one time.

  After that, I can do the whole closure thing and move on. We just need to get it out of our system.

  I keep my face as neutral as I can, tilting my head away from his. “Who says I’m on the menu?”

  He laughs. It’s low, gravelly, and sexy as hell. It connects with my core, sending a pool of desire soaking into my thin underwear. I rip myself out of our bubble and force my feet to the bed where my pajamas are laid out. Instead of looking at him directly, I speak over my shoulder. “I’m taking a shower. You need to get some—”

  A sharp gasp steals my words.

  Spencer presses into my back, letting one hand snake up to the front of my throat and the other holding me by the waist. He tightens his grasp, and suddenly his lips are on the curve of where my neck ends and shoulder begins.

  My skin tingles under his mouth, and I lean into him, unable to fight how good it feels. His hand that was holding my waist moves up, untying my towel and letting it fall to the floor. My moans echo in the air as he twists me around, his lips nearly touching mine.

  His eyes somehow darken even more. “I said, I’m hungry.”

  With a light shove, I’m on the bed, sprawled out for him to see. His eyes rove the length of my body, an index finger following behind his gaze, lighting my skin on fire in the process.

  In those two seconds, any logic or reasoning behind not enjoying this moment dissolves, and I reach up to grab his collar. He collapses on top of me, his mouth on mine, gentle at first, but then his tongue slips through and takes control. We stay like this for what feels like forever, exploring and tasting, kissing, and nipping.

  Lost in time, we make up for all the kisses we should have shared and all the ones we won’t in the future.

  But unlike our farewell in the green room, there’s no finality to it. This feels like an introduction.

  One of many.

  He breaks our kiss, and my mouth mourns its loss, but it only lasts a moment. His warm lips trail down my body, his lashes fluttering across my skin like butterfly kisses as he descends.

  Shivers wrack through me as I watch him, anticipation coiling low in my belly. I writhe beneath him, thrusting my body into his until he takes one large hand and holds me in place.

  I groan my disapproval, and he smiles against my thigh. He gently removes my panties and gives me a warning. “Try not to move.”

  Spencer’s face disappears, and a second later, I throw my head back into the pillow, his warm mouth shocking my nerves into overdrive. His tongue moves quickly, prying my pussy open and finding my throbbing clit immediately, forcing my back to arch.

  A growl rips from the depths of his throat as he grabs both sides of my ass, pulling my body closer to actually feast on. One hand reaches up, pulling my bra down, letting my breast tumble out. He rolls the pebbled nipple in his fingers with surprising expertise while his other sneaks down below his mouth and slides inside my soaking channel.

  My eyes flutter shut, unable to look any longer, and a long moan spills from my mouth.

  “You taste too fucking good,” he groans.

  His fingers curl while his tongue continues its assault, moving in rapid circles until stars light up the inside of my eyelids. My muscles tense, lightning bolts of pleasure spreading through my body, from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair. Every inch of skin tingles until finally, with one last suck of my sensitive bud, the orgasm rips through me. My back arches from the bed, and my hips move of their own accord, chasing Spencer’s mouth as my pussy tightens around his finger, drawing it deeper inside.

  It’s not until I’m greedily gulping air that I realize I was holding my breath. He laps at my orgasm, draining my cunt of every drop until I finally come down, and my eyes trail along my bare stomach to a grinning Spencer.

  He pulls his fingers from my pussy with an audible squelch and samples each one, closing his eyes as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. After he’s done, and a blush has worked its way up my entire face, he threads a hand under my back and scoops me up like a doll, placing me at the head of the bed. I grab the top sheet, sliding it over the both of us as he settles in beside me.

  Realization starts to sink in, and my pulse increases, screaming the millions of ways this will explode in my face. My body vibrates from the erratic thoughts, and a horrible chill takes over.

  None of this is what I expected. It wasn’t angry or aggressive. It was passionate, and specifically just for me.

  Why would he do that?

  As if he can read my mind, he kisses my bottom lip twice. “Stay with me. Whatever’s going on up there, ignore it and just be here in this space with me.”

  I nod, and the softness of his voice pushes away the stress, at least for now.

  Spencer rests in the crook of my arm, draping his own across my waist to pull me closer. The temptation to play with his hair is strong, so I decide not to fight it, threading my fingers in his soft locks.

  He glances up and kisses the tip of my chin before laying back down and sighing. “Do you remember that time when it was raining, and I came over, and we stayed up all night in the treehouse?” His voice is low, still filled with sex, as his hand trails up my naked stomach. Every spot his fingertips touch lights the skin on fire underneath, and suddenly my core is aching all over again.

  I bite back a laugh. “That was every day for half our summers. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  He huffs through his nose. “Good point. But this time was different. You asked if I’d been crying.”

  There was only one time that ever happened. We were in sixth grade, and the storm outside was one for the books. When Spencer sent me the text, asking to meet, I didn’t hesitate. I think a piece of me knew something was wrong.

  His eyes were red and puffy—a look I wore more than I ever let on. So when he told me he wasn’t upset, I knew it was a lie. I didn’t push him, though. Instead, just brought out my laptop, and we watched a movie he had been begging to watch for weeks. When he fell asleep, I cried, cuddling him until I didn’t have any tears left.

  “I remember.”

  He pinches my nipple softly, and I gasp. “I lied.”

  Nodding, I tug his hair to make him look at me. “I know.”

  He flips over, resting his forearms on either side of my head. His chocolate eyes search my face, and I melt under the golden flakes swirling in them.

  “It was when we found out my mother’s treatments weren’t working, and she was advancing to near moderate stages of Alzheimer’s. It was still early, but they knew it wouldn’t be long.” He presses his lips to mine.

  Once.

  Twice.

  “You made me so happy that night. I knew you didn’t want to watch that show. But you did it anyway. That was the third time I knew I loved you.”

  “The third?” My brows furrow, but he doesn’t respond.

  Instead, he lies on his side, returning to his previous position. His eyes flutter shut, and he
just murmurs a soft, “third.”

  A few moments later, his breath becomes steady and heavy, filling the room with his tempo. I lay still for what’s probably hours, listening to his rest.

  I want to stay like this forever. Forget the world and just exist here in our own private bubble. But the shower water that’s still running won’t let me.

  Forcing myself to get up, I gently move his arm and hop out of bed, meandering to the bathroom. When I pass the front door, Spencer’s backpack catches my eye. It’s open, and half the contents are sprawled on the ground. I bend down, sticking the items back in, when something catches my eye.

  I examine it slowly, and within a second, an idea materializes.

  I’m supposed to be closing things here, guarding my heart against ever breaking again.

  But hey, what’s one more time?

  THIRTY THREE

  It’s the warmth of the sun on my face that wakes me up. Deep yellow rays penetrate the thin hotel curtains, blinding me with its light. The world’s natural alarm and the most annoying thing to see after a hangover.

  I groan, rolling over and drawing the sheets over my face. Why I decided to let them talk me into some tequila World of Warcraft game, I’ll never know. Since I don’t play the damn game, I was the first one to drink. Every. Single. Time. After my sixth shot, I bowed out.

  Then, there was that fucking dream.

  Lily.

  Like the juice of the forbidden apple, it still coats my tongue in its sweetness. It’s the type of taste you can’t get enough of, easy to get addicted to… to love. The memory of her warm body writhing beneath me, arching into me like she couldn’t get enough, and her orgasm... Fuck. It was amazing watching her completely unravel, shedding years of built-up anger in a single moment.

  Right before Lily came, her toes curled so tight, three of them popped. And when I looked up, her nose was scrunched up in the cutest way—I actually had to look back down to keep from smiling.

  Groaning again, I roll on my side, releasing my throbbing dick from being trapped under my thighs.

  And then I hear it. A light stifled giggle.

  My body tenses and everything I thought was a fucking dream slaps me in the face.

  “Hey.” Her voice isn’t too far, and it’s a tone I haven’t heard from her. Light, sweet, dripping with affection.

  I’m in the fucking twilight zone. I know it.

  “Hey.” My voice, on the other hand, is hoarse, what I imagine a zombie would sound like rising from the dead.

  “How are you feeling?”

  That evokes a throaty laugh from the back of my throat. I throw the cover off and let my eyes focus.

  Lily’s sitting in the armchair next to the bed, legs clad in skintight ripped jeans, crossed, and a slightly oversized band tee draped off one shoulder. Those blonde locks I’m coming to like, are tied into a messy, yet adorable bun on the top of her head.

  And her eyes. Seeing the chestnut hue for the second day in a row feels like winning the fucking lottery. They are lighter than I remember, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how she doesn’t love them. But when she tilts her head, she reveals dark shadows beneath them. Like she didn’t sleep... at all.

  “Are you okay?” I try my best to hide the sudden alarm tightening my vocal cords.

  What if she regrets everything? I know where she stands with me and how much I care, but the same can’t be said for her. She may have gotten me out of her system and is ready to move on.

  Forget.

  Thankfully Lily speaks, pulling me from the thoughts trying to drown me. “I did a midnight run to Wally World. And I made you something.”

  What?

  I rewind and replay what she just said at least seven times before letting my brows furrow. She squirms like she’s nervous. Lily Conley. Queen of Emerald Falls. Nervous.

  “It was a real invasion of privacy, so I’m really hoping you don’t get pissed off. But I really wanted to do something special. To kind of close the chapter of who we were before yesterday.”

  There’s a full blush across her cheeks, but it stops right before her ears. She’s being genuine. She grasps her necklace and draws it back and forth, chewing on her bottom lip.

  Now she whispers. “We missed breakfast, so everyone is getting on the buses in about ten minutes. I’m going to load up. So hurry down.”

  She’s up and out the door before I even have a chance to get up. The combination of the lingering liquor, the fact my dream was real, and what just happened has my head reeling, to say the least.

  I stretch my arms above my head, reveling in the way my back cracks down my spine. When I stretch across to grab my phone on the side table, a note rests on top.

  Pulling it toward me without getting up yet, I unfold it and read Lily’s script.

  I read the letter several times over, letting the words seep into my bloodstream and carry the euphoric tingle throughout my entire body. There’s no way this is real, no way I’m not still asleep.

  Finally, I sit up and notice two leather-bound books under my phone. Moving it, I grab the top one and open it to more script.

  My hands are shaking, and my heart is in my throat, but I flip the page. And the moment my eyes settle on the first picture, the world crashes down around me.

  It’s a scrapbook. A fucking scrapbook of my bucket list trip with my mom. Standing on the Great Wall of China. Shoveling our face with pitas from Rome. Posing under the waterfall in Niagara. Every single picture. Printed, cut, glued, and labeled.

  The amount of time it must have taken her to fucking do this, twice, is unreal. I needed one sign. Just one. No matter how small, that I was still somehow in her heart. And she gave me two galaxy-sized signals. My heart speeds up, hammering in my chest like it wants to jump out, find her, and burrow itself behind her ribs.

  I grab the second book, and it’s identical to the first. The only difference is the writing on the front.

  Hot tears flow down my cheeks, that same erratic heart now swelling so big I fear it may actually bust through my sternum. But I push through, flipping every page and tracing my finger down my mother’s beautiful face.

  Any wall, any fucking reservation or hesitation I might have had, crumbles into dust. Liliana was always there, deep beneath the mask, even when I started to doubt it myself. And there is no way in hell I’m giving that up again.

  I shove my things in my bag, doing quick work to get dressed and brush my teeth. My leg bounces the entire elevator ride, and when the door finally slides open, I haul ass outside.

  Lily is talking to Remy, her back to me. But the closer I get, her spine suddenly stiffens, as if she can feel me, and she swings around.

  I don’t wait, dropping my bag and keeping my pace. She jumps at the perfect moment, my beautiful little cheerleader, and lands right in my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. Our mouths collide in an unapologetic, hungry kiss. I steal every breath she has, squeezing her as hard as I can to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  “Mr. Hanes. Miss Conley.” Mr. Jones clears his throat.

  Lily smiles against my mouth, unlatching her legs and sliding down my waist. I hold on to her hips, helping lower her down until her Converse hits the pavement. There’s a fresh burn of tears teetering on the edge of my eyes.

  The ends of her lip curl and she brushes the wayward hair from my face. “So, you liked it?”

  “Fucking loved it. Thank you… so fucking much, Lily.”

  “Language, Mr. Hanes. Now, let’s go.”

  I kiss Lily again before turning to grab my bag and climb on the bus. We sit in the seats next to Remy, who holds her hands out impatiently. “I have to see this. Gimme, gimme.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Lily scooches next to the window, resting her head on the glass, watching as I pluck out one of the books. Remy takes it, opens it, and gasps. “It’s so beautiful, Lily, oh my goodness. Oh, Spencer, what’s that?”

  She’s pointing to a tapestry
from a workshop we went to in India. It’s a kaleidoscope of colors, handcrafted by some of the most incredible women. I explain it to her, then she flips the page and asks about another. Soon, I’m lost in the conversation, describing the details I tried to on the phone but couldn’t.

  When I look back at Lily, she’s asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady tempo, soft hums coming from her button nose. And it’s right then, I know.

  This is the thirty-sixth time I know I love her.

  When we arrive at the school, I reluctantly part ways with her and promise to meet her tonight after my celebration dinner with my dad.

  The dinner is nice but depressing as hell without my mother. He didn’t want to get her since it was her first weekend there, deciding to let her settle in and calm down. My dad spends the whole time talking, excited about the future, while I push my food around, taking small bites here and there. I try my best to smile when needed and maintain at least a semi-content mood. But after spending three months as a family, to have it disappear in twenty- four hours… it didn’t really mesh well with my chicken marsala.

  Still, I try my best to wear a smile, nodding my head when needed, mutter thanks after compliments and answer questions in full sentences.

  When we get home, I shed the dress clothes at my door, tugging on something comfortable, and drift to the window. Lily’s light is off, and I wonder vaguely if she crashed earlier, still tired from being awake all night.

  I open my window, and the smell of damp earth and ozone blows inside. It’s hard to see in the dark, but heavy clouds hang overhead, painting the black sky with fluffs of gray and hues of purple. I contemplate just letting her rest and texting her tomorrow when I hear it.

  It’s low at first, muffled through the brick exterior. But then it comes again, even louder.

  Was that a scream?

  Just then, fissures open up the sky, drowning our backyards in a blanket of white as lightning rips through it. The rain pours through, pummeling to the ground as if its plan is to drive right through to the core.