by Alexa Reign
“I like it –” Beatrice, Bianca's sister, mused next to her. “Ow!”
“Thanks, Beatrice.” I winked at her before turning to Bianca. “And yes, yes I did.”
“Well, I offered to get Victoria's mask and dress custom-made for the party, but as usual, she was being her stubborn self and refused to come out of her room for a fitting,” Rosaline tutted. “But never mind that now – are you having fun?”
“Sure.”
“That's the spirit,” said Rosaline obliviously. “Aren't you glad I dragged you out of your room and made you come with us? What else would you be doing anyway – reading in your pajamas?”
“Or going home with some guy you've said less than 3 words to at some trashy dive bar,” Bianca quipped.
“That's so sweet of you to worry about me, Bianca, but I assure you, I paid plenty of attention in Sex Ed.” I paused, touching my chest emphatically. “But while we're on the issue of sexual morality – oh, wait, that's right. Weren't you the '19-year-old hussy' Mrs. Lewis caught her husband with at that motel down at Sheridan? You remember her husband, yeah? Reverend Lewis?”
“That's right! You –” Beatrice chirped.
“Shut up, Beatrice.” Bianca snarled, lifting her nose.
“But really, Rosaline.” I turned back to my cousin, smiling. “Thanks for thinking of me. This place is really nice. I'm just not sure it's my scene, so I think I'll be heading out in a few –”
“No, no, you can't leave now.” Rosaline clung onto my arm, pouting. “We just got here. Bianca's right. There are dozens of nice, eligible men around here, I'm sure you'll find someone –”
“I don't necessarily need to go home with someone to have a good time, but okay, Rosaline, I'll stay for another 30 minutes. Maybe get a drink at the bar.”
“Good.” Pleased, Rosaline let go of my arm.
“Right, before I forget, are you missing any mail by any chance?”
“No, not that I know of –”
“Excuse me, ladies.”
A guy in a suede suit and a black-and-silver Phantom mask crept up from behind us. He lowered his bowler hat, smoothing a hand over his ashy-blond hair. I stepped aside. My nose twitched as I caught Rosaline and the girls stiffening. They tossed their hair over their shoulders, pinching their lips.
“I don't mean to interrupt, but I couldn't help myself. I saw you from across the room, and I just couldn't look away. I have this feeling I know you from somewhere –”
“I get that a lot,” said Rosaline smugly. She pulled up her mask, revealing the top-half of her face. “You've probably seen me from that commercial for Majestic Mattresses – I was one of the showgirls –”
“Sorry, I don't –”
“Or, on those 3 episodes on CSI: Idaho – I was the barista at Milonakis and Wagner's favorite coffee spot –”
“Sorry. Not to make this awkward –” The guy cleared his throat, shifting in my direction. “– but I was talking to her. Would you like to dance?”
I glanced at Rosaline. She was stunned. The light went out of her blue eyes, and her cheeks started to turn an angry pink.
“Thanks, but I'm hanging out with some friends –”
“Nonsense – don't decline on my behalf. What did I tell you, Victoria? We've been here less than half an hour, and you're already the belle of the ball.” Rosaline clenched her jaw, her wiry smile tightening. “The girls and I were about to go freshen up in the powder room, anyway. It would be nice to take a little break from all the men trying to get us drunk tonight –”
“What men?”
“Shut up, Beatrice!” Rosaline and Bianca barked at the same time.
“Might be a good idea to ice up those ankles.” The guy nodded wisely, pointing out Rosaline's feet. “They're looking a little swollen in those heels.”
Mortified, Rosaline humphed and wobbled off to the ladies' room in her glass stilettos. The sisters hurried off after her. I wrinkled my forehead, turning away from him.
“Not cool, dude.”
“What? What did I say?”
I made my way towards the bar. I knew better than to hang around Rosaline when she was in one of her leave-me-alone-but-not-really moods. I was just hoping she'd resurface from the ladies' room before the 30 minutes I'd promised to stay ran up.
“I'll have a Moscow Mule.”
I slid into the stool at the end of the bar.
“Nice. I'll have one of those, too.”
I thanked the bartender as he slid a copper cup across the counter. He pocketed his tip and began fixing the same drink for the masked man 2 empty stools to my left. I stirred the crushed ice and lemon wedge around in my cup, eyeing the man next to me.
The man wore a burnished Venetian mask, and his brown hair neatly combed and parted to one side. The shoulders and arms of his gray suit looked slightly loose, as if he'd lost weight, but he was still visibly toned. I narrowed my eyes at the bottom half of his squared jawline and his piercing gaze.
There was something oddly familiar about him. But then again, who could tell with these ridiculous masks? I was thoroughly convinced I'd spotted Simon Cowell for a full 20 minutes until I saw the impostor snatching off his mask to hurl behind the curtain.
“Cheers.” I raised my glass.
“Cheers,” the man slurred in reply.
“Rough night?”
“I've had worse.” He threw the straw over his shoulder and chugged the whole thing. He gasped, smacking his lips. “You?”
“Same – not exactly the type of music or crowd I'm into, but I mean, look at this place. This party is something else.”
“It's alright.” He shrugged, flagging down the bartender for another drink. “An old friend's back in town. I came over to meet her new boyfriend, but looks like they're running late.”
“I see.” I rolled my straw between my fingertips, sipping slowly. “I hope you haven't been waiting too long.”
“Nah. It's an open bar, so I'm all set.” The guy slipped the bartender a 20 for refreshing his drink. “And you? You here alone?”
That smile... I shivered. That little jolt from when our eyes shared was undeniable.
“No, but my friends are a little...preoccupied for the time being.” I twirled a lock of my hair around my fingertips. “Truth be told, I'm getting a little bored of this place.”
I slurped up the last of my drink and slid off my chair, sidling up next to him. I brushed an “accidental” hand against his thigh. His Adam's apple quivered.
“I'm thinking of sneaking outta here, maybe take a private tour around the place of my own. Would you like to join me?”
I could see him hesitating, but I held my gaze. I could smell the thickness of his liquory breath fused with the pleasant mintiness of his aftershave. Those dreamy brown eyes were even sexier up close...
Finally, he nodded silently and followed me out the back door.
As his warm tongue ran along the back of my ear, I whimpered. My breaths were muffled into the corner, and my mask the only barrier keeping my cheeks from scraping against the rough brick wall. His calloused fingers were squeezing up my thighs and down my dress with the torrid intensity of a man who hadn't touched a woman in months.
My ears were red-hot to the touch, throbbing as crickets and cicadas chirped into the night. My neck was trembling, and my thighs sticky from sweat and the trickle of my juices. I still didn't know what his name was, but something about the anonymity of it all only made this even hotter. Not to mention the fact that a guard on one of his rounds could catch us in the act at any moment...
I wrapped my arms around his neck and twisted my neck back, kissing him. His lips were softer than I'd expected, tasting faintly of bourbon and citrus. He kissed me back, his lips caressing mine for a few seconds until he abruptly tore his lips off mine.
He stared at me for another beat or two, but he swiftly recovered, shifting me away from him. He peeled my panties down my thighs and went straight for my clit. I sucked on my teeth, grass bunching up between
my toes.
Nice save, but that was weird. But before I could sneak a breath-check, his stiff tent called for me, rubbing against my hip. Then came the soft crack of his opening zipper. When I heard him fumbling around behind me with his wallet, I kicked my clutch over to him. I licked the back of my teeth, waiting as he sought out the spare condom I kept by my lipstick.
“Hold – hold still.”
His gruff breaths felt hot on my bare shoulders. I trembled, pushing my palms further into the grainy wall. I was already expecting it, but even as he shoved the head of his cock past my pussy lips, my eyes clamped shut. I sealed my mouth forcefully, my face contorting as his thick, meaty cock drilled itself deep inside me.
He wouldn't even let me catch my breath. I could feel the weight of his heavy body grinding against me like a hungry animal, consumed by his carnal need to have me. But even as he humped away, his husky grunts loud in my ear, he stroked my clit. He thumbed my clit furiously, milking me for more of my sweet, sticky fluids.
My lips had gone numb from all the chewing. My legs were wobbling, fast growing useless. My knees knocked against the wall repeatedly, sure to leave a bruise tomorrow. He could feel it, too. He held onto me. I wasn't going anywhere.
“Ah, shit.”
There was a light brush against my leg. I glanced behind me, staring at the brass mask sitting on the grass. He scooped it up from the ground, but it was too late. I looked up at him, my eyes bulging as they locked on his.
“A-Ace?”
Chapter Six: Victoria
“Hello, Mother.” I grinned into the front camera of my phone as I walked up the front steps of the Alcott. “I got your last message – sorry I keep missing your calls. Work's been good – you'll never guess who's working at the station with me. I'll tell you all about it when you get back from New Delhi. Good luck with your exhibit! Love you. Talk to you later.”
I sent the message and pulled back the side door.
“Hey, watch where you're – oh, hey, Victoria.”
Rosaline sighed theatrically. She lowered her hand from her chest, the scowl on her lips twisting in a smile. Her hair was in pristine pin-curls, and the wide-brim hat on her head looked way too wide to fit through the doorway.
“Hey, purdy. You on your way to the concert hall?”
“Ugh, don't remind me.” Rosaline shuddered. Her bright floral skirt swished around her knees. “I was hoping to ditch this whole thing – an ex-sorority sister's having her birthday weekend in Reno – but Cailie called me up last night to say that Grandma and Grandpa were canceling. Some old frog's having a retirement party or whatever, I don't know.”
“Aww, that's nice. Look at you, being all supportive of Cailie. The shrew hath a heart after all.”
“Hysterical,” said Rosaline dryly, sticking out her tongue. “Anyhow, I'd love to stay for more of your wacky one-liners, but I should go. Show's starting in 15 minutes – ugh. Let's just hope this whole Dance Hall Acapella thing's nothing more than a phase.”
“Cool. Save me a seat. I've already told Cailie I'd be late –”
“Wait, you're going?” Rosaline scrunched up her nose. “If I'd have known, I'd have gone with – forget it. Whatever. I'll save you a seat – I'm not suffering through this alone.”
“Great. I've just gotta grab some files and drop it off at the station. I'll catch up with you inside – I've got my ticket with me.”
Rosaline pulled down the sides of her hat and slouched past me, muttering all the way down to the pink limo waiting for her on the curb.
On my way to the elevator, I noticed a mailman with a small brown envelope in his hands. He gave the mailboxes a quick once-over and paused in front of ours. I jogged over to him.
“Hi! Is that for 10-B?”
“Huh?” The mailman blinked, his eyes tellingly bloodshot and half-open. “Are you Mr. Warner?”
My heart paused at the mention of his name.
“What? No, you're looking for 11-B.” I pointed him to the mailbox above ours. “Sorry for the confusion. The '0' on ours has been scratched off – we'll be replacing that soon.”
I made a mental note of fixing the lettering on our mailbox tonight. It would have taken the Super less than a minute to replace the lettering, but word around the street was, Rosaline had earned herself quite a reputation as a “difficult” tenant in just a year-and-a-half at Alcott. Witnessing the way she berated the janitorial staff, however, it wasn't all that hard to believe.
“Gotcha.”
The mailman moved his hand slowly to Ace's mailbox and slipped the letter into the slot before heading back out the door. I leaned my head to one side, watching through the glass as the lanky man floated down the steps and clambered onto his bicycle. But it wasn't until he sounded his bells and pedaled away that it suddenly clicked. My stomach jumped like I'd just rolled over a pothole.
No – there was no way...
I clutched my helmet against my chest and fled back to the apartment. Bursting through my bedroom door, I flung my helmet onto my bed and dropped to my knees. I sifted through the trash in the wastebasket, digging past wrinkled receipts, chocolate wrappers, and balled up tissues. Finally, I fished out the black envelope. The edges were slightly curled, but the letters were still intact.
I waddled over to my bed and spread the 3 letters out on my bedspread.
“TBCLXBCDETWWBCLWTGPBCYZBCETXPBCEZBCPIAWLTYBCJZFBCSLGPBCECFDEBCXPBCTBCLXBCTYBCECLFMWPBCTBCYPPOBCJZFBCTQBCJZFBCHLYEBCEZBCDPPBCXPBCLRLTYBCXPPEBCXPBCLEBC17725BCCZNVLHWJBCMWGOBCTYBC2BCHPPVDBCXTOYTRSEBCNZXPBCLWZYB.”
I stared at the letters, my head starting to spin as it dawned on me.
“TBCLXBCDETWWBCLWTGPBCYZBCETXPBCEZBCPIAWLTYBCJZFBCSLGPBCECFDEBCXPBCTBCLXBCTYBCECLFMWPBCTBCYPPOBCJZFBCTQBCJZFBCHLYEBCEZBCDPPBCXPBCLRLTYBCXPPEBCXPBCLEBC17725BCCZNVLHWJBCMWGOBCTYBC2BCHPPVDBCXTOYTRSEBCNZXPBCLWZYB.”
I was staring at the emerging pattern so vehemently, my eyes started to well up. BC. BC. BC. As in, Brooklyn Cunningham, Ace's dead wife? This had to be some kind of coincidence – a disturbing coincidence – but a coincidence all the same.
My gaze landed on the second letter. 031918. I snatched up my phone and pulled up a browser. A quick Google search later, and the restless excitement in my gut turned to dread. Dazed, my lips moved along as I read the headline in disbelief.
“Wife of Jets Quarterback Dies in Fiery Car Crash – March 19, 2018.”
I couldn't even begin to grasp what any of this meant, but one thing was for sure – this letter was never intended for me.
Chapter Seven: Ace
“Been fuelin' up on cocaine and whiskey,
Wish I had a good girl to miss me,
Lord I wonder if I'll ever change my ways...”
I sunk down in the backseat, sliding a hand over my mouth. In the front seat, the cabbie whistled along to the track. I stared at the swinging crucifix on the rosary hung over the rearview mirror.
“I put your picture away,
Sat down and cried today,
I can't look at you while I'm lying next to her...”
“Hey, brother, you mind turning that thing off?”
The cabbie reached over and switched off the radio.
“Thanks.”
I straightened up in my seat, looking out the window.
It didn't matter what I did – I couldn't get that night at the courtyard out of my mind. It was fucking pathetic. 5 years ago, I would've been able to bed any chick in less than 30, no problem. And look at me now. I hadn't been able to get it up for anyone else in 3 years, and fuck me, it's not like I haven't tried.
They say there's nearly 400,000 more women than there are men in the state of New York. I call bullshit. How could that even be possible when this Victoria chick kept showing up wherever I went? The only reasonable explanation I could think of was that the girl was some kind of stalker, but she didn't strike me as the type. She looked just as shocked as I was when my mask slipped off – if not more.
Maybe I needed to take Tabitha up on he
r advice and see someone. Shit, I don't know. I knew it made no logical sense to have this guilt riding on my shoulders. Brooklyn was gone, and she wasn't coming back. It killed me, but I knew there was nothing I could do to bring her back. Yet the minute I started feeling myself getting hard for this other chick, this weird feeling of guilt just ripped across my chest.
Like I was doing Brooklyn wrong.
But all that liquor in my system just kept me going. For a while, I thought I'd made progress. Thinking back now, not knowing who I was sticking my dick in was probably what kept me going. Once I'd discovered who it was behind that mask, I was done for the night. This Victoria chick was a fucking babe, too. I couldn't help but think about those thick lips and the feel of her round, milky tits as I whacked off in the shower this morning. I still finished, but as I watched my cum going down the drain, that guilt came roaring back.
This was why I hated feeling shit. You can't make sense out of feelings. Fuck, I needed a drink.
“You can stop here. Thanks.”
I handed the cabbie the fare and got out of the car. When the cab drove off, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and crossed the street. I headed for the parking lot, greeted by the stench of sewage, week-old trash, and the drunk ox waving me in on the neon sign.
I reached for the door handle.
“Please – please – leave me alone!”
A loud howl came from the back alley, followed by the loud clang of metal. My ears perked. I walked over to the side of the building.
3 dudes in flashy designer hoodies were crowded around the dumpsters. A homeless man in a yellow beanie and a beat-up Bulls jacket cowered underneath them. His foam cup was lying a few feet away from him, his change strewn across the concrete.
“Yo! The fuck do you guys think you're doing?”
All 3 looked back at me. The scrawny shits couldn't have been older than 18. The kid in the red hoodie stepped forward, squaring his shoulders back.
“Teaching this piece of shit a lesson.” He cracked his knuckles and threw his head back, spitting loudly. It was a direct hit, splatting across the man's face. “This loser almost scuffed up my shoes –”
