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

by Lee Jacquot

  It makes my heart flutter a little faster, pissing me off.

  She waits, not moving for a solid minute before finally opening the door, and stepping aside.

  I slide past her, careful not to connect with her body, and walk to the toilet. When I glance up, she’s still standing on the threshold, watching me with her head resting against the doorframe.

  “Did you want to hold it?” I snap.

  She scoffs, “Sorry, I don’t have any tweezers with me.”

  My eyes roll back so far they hurt. “Can you just get out?”

  The reason I came up here in the first place was to get a break from her, yet here she is, suffocating me with her presence.

  Lily thrusts herself off the frame, stepping inside, and closes the door with her black boot. “I’m pretty comfortable, actually.”

  Running my teeth along the inside of my lower lip, I consider my next move. I could play this stupid ass fucking game or just ignore her. Hope she goes away. But curiosity gets the best of me.

  “What do you want, Lily?”

  She pauses, her eyes narrowing. “For you to keep your mouth shut.”

  She says it simply, almost matter-of-factly, like I should know this already. Irritation flickers in my veins, making my right eye twitch twice. “About what? What the fuck do you think I know?”

  “Everything.” It’s a whisper.

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

  What happened to her?

  The question sticks to the underside of my tongue, unable to push it up and spill out.

  “Okay, I won’t say anything. I’ll keep your pretty little name out of my mouth. It tastes like shit, anyway.”

  She grins, but there isn’t any humor in it. Taking two more steps, she’s right next to me—if I take a deep enough breath, my chest will touch hers.

  My breath falters, and hers stops completely.

  Heat swirls between us, and I’m not even sure at this point if it’s from disdain or something else... something impossible.

  “There’s another thing,” she utters, quieter than before.

  “Enlighten me, so I can fucking pee in peace.”

  Her gaze flits to my lips, and my dick twitches in response. After a second, she blinks twice, and lets her eyes slowly come back up to mine. For a moment, she almost looks like Liliana. “I want you to stay away from me.”

  My brows draw together, a little surprised. “I don’t think I follow.”

  “I don’t want us to have any contact besides the project.”

  She pauses, closing her eyes. When they open, and the contacts settle back over the irises, whatever I thought I saw, is gone. She grips my chin and almost snarls. “Or I’ll let the school know you like to sneak into girls’ rooms and handcuff yourself to their bed naked like some sick pervert.”

  I recoil, jerking my head to the side.

  Even though I want to grab her by the fucking throat and rail her against the sink—force her to watch herself unravel around my dick and see how sick I can be, I don’t. Instead, I ball my fists and shove them into my pocket. She doesn’t deserve the orgasm, and I sure as fuck don’t deserve the heartache that would inevitably follow.

  She’s silent, and though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her eyes search my face, scorching a path as they go. A second more, and she backs away, scoffing. “Don’t worry, Spencer. I don’t plan to ever touch you again. The first time was enough. It made me so ill, I couldn’t eat for days.”

  I ignore the rock that caves in my chest with her words and snatch the cup from her hands. In two gulps, the hot, sweet licorice substance burns my insides on the way down. “I thought you looked a little hotter.”

  It’s a subtle jab, but I know it hits its mark when a light gasp escapes her mouth.

  Satisfaction rolls down my back, relieving a little tension as I leave her in the bathroom, returning to Remy downstairs.

  The music is a little louder than before, and the light feeling from just seconds ago dies with the sight of Remy. She has her back to me, facing a pair of monochromatic eyes.

  My spine stiffens when he hands her two drinks, jutting his chin toward the patio. I don’t know Blaze, but with a best friend like Lily, he can’t be good news.

  I move through the small crowd, avoiding any chance encounters with as many sweaty bodies as possible. But by the time I reach her, Blaze is gone, and Remy’s face is the color of a fresh tomato.

  “What did he want?” I gesture toward the backyard.

  Remy shakes her head and somehow flushes a darker shade of red.

  “Just said it was n-nice to see-ee me.”

  My brows knit together at her slurred speech. I open my mouth to ask her what the hell that’s about, but instead of words, laughter seeps out. It’s a chuckle at first, bouncing my chest, but then it deepens, lowering into my gut. I laugh so hard my shoulders begin to shake.

  What the fuck? Stop laughing.

  But I can’t. And now, neither can Remy. Her hand shoots to my chest, gripping it to stabilize herself against her dry heaves. We must look like complete psychos, but we keep laughing until our voices crack and cheeks start to hurt.

  I smack my lips together, suddenly aware of the cottonmouth I have. “We got to get a drink, Rem.”

  Her mouth drops open, handing me two red cups she manifests out of the air. “Ha! I like that.”

  We cheer to her new name and take our drinks in a few large gulps. The same sweet licorice taste from earlier flows down my throat. Remy lowers her voice to a whisper, letting her eyes dart around frantically. “Like a rem job.”

  Another laugh erupts from deep in my core. “It’s call—”

  A pair of nails rake up my back, searing the skin beneath as if there’s no fabric to protect me.

  Do I have a shirt on?

  “For someone so smart, you’re dumb as fuck. It’s a r-i-m job, you idiot.” Amora’s voice cuts through the air, but it misses Remy completely.

  Instead, we both look at each other and crack up into more chortling. I think Remy even snorts, which only pushes us further into our hysterics. Finally, under a little control, Remy’s eyes widen, her hands curling around her stomach. “I ha-have to p-pee.”

  Amora steps into view, and I jerk back, bumping into a squealing sexy mail woman. I hadn’t even realized she was still standing there, and seeing her now in her Harley Quinn outfit is kind of...sexy?

  She’s a pretty girl—tall, and slightly curvy in all the right places, with the clearest set of light blue eyes I’ve ever seen. But she’s also a raging sarcastic bitch, who has fucked half the student body from what I hear.

  “Bathroom downstairs has a line. Take the stairs. First door on the left.”

  On the left? That’s not where it’s at. Is it?

  I’m not sure. What was I doing before this? Oh shit. My shirt.

  Placing my cup on the counter, my hands rove over my upper body. I feel the soft cotton under my fingertips and sigh. How weird would that have been?

  It is hot, though. Like, make-sense-why-a-guy-would-take-off-his-shirt-in-the-middle-of-a-party hot. I lift the bottom and wipe my forehead.

  Why is it so fucking hot? Where is Remy again?

  I can’t seem to focus on a singular thought, and the giggle bug that bit me left when Remy did. So I concentrate on that. I just saw her. She said she needed something.

  Was it a drink?

  No.

  Something about the patio, maybe... my arm tingles. It almost reminds me of that time William had me try Molly….

  “Lily wants to know if you still want to fuck her.”

  My face snaps to the sound, shredding my concentration. Amora is still standing near me, leaning against the island, twirling a blue-tinted pigtail around her finger.

  Lily.

  I don’t like her. She’s not the same as she used to be. I miss Liliana.

  A strange pain stretches across my chest, and I clutch at it, suddenly finding it harder to breathe
.

  Why is it so fucking hot?

  “She wants to know.”

  “Do I want to have sex with her? I doubt that,” I bite out. “Why?”

  Amora laughs, pushing off the counter and moving into my personal bubble. She’s too close, uncomfortably so, but I can’t move. My feet feel like they weigh a thousand damn pounds. Her lips graze against the shell of my ear.

  “She wants you to fuck her until she can’t remember who she is.”

  I recoil, and my body tenses. All my blood courses south, leaving little for my head, which now feels incredibly light. Dizzy, even.

  As if on cue, Lily appears, a red cup in one hand, and the sexiest fucking grin on her mouth. She hops on top of the counter, crossing her legs, and dangles a foot toward me. “Hey, Spence. How you feeling?”

  Her voice is soft, smooth, and drives right into my core. Images of her laid out on the black rug, lost in the abyss, pass through my muddled thoughts. I wanted to jump through my fucking window and climb into that tree so goddamn bad. Every inch of me burned under the fire she started. And I liked it.

  Why do I feel like I’m not supposed to like it?

  “I’m hot,” I manage to utter.

  Her smile grows, somehow warming me more. It’s not the sneer I’m used to. It reminds me of when she was my Liliana, making the second time I’ve seen it tonight. It’s almost like she’s still in there—somewhere under all the makeup, fake lashes, and contacts.

  “Just take your shirt off, Spencer. Half of everyone here is naked.” Lily waves a hand around before gripping her necklace, pulling it back and forth. “Nobody will care.”

  My eyes find themselves wandering, detached from what I’m telling them to do, and exploring the sight before them. They survey her exposed tan skin. It looks so smooth, like when you take the lid off a fresh carton of ice cream. Velvety.

  I want to lick the dip between her breasts. See if they taste how I always imagined.

  Then maybe after that—my eyes slip farther down her waist—see what her pussy tastes like.

  There’s a little bell going off somewhere. It’s the smallest chime I’ve ever heard, but it sounds closer to me than Liliana.

  I do want to fuck her.

  I am going to fuck her.

  As if she can see the revelation cross my face, she giggles. It’s so light, infectious...real.

  It’s been so long since I’ve heard it, and suddenly I find myself wondering what I need to do to hear it again.

  As her laugh subsides, she tilts her head down, her eyes barely visible through narrow slits.

  “Kiss her boot.” My head moves toward Amora’s voice, but my eyes belong to Lily. I can’t look away.

  Fuck, it’s so hot in here.

  “Kiss it, and you can have her,” she finishes.

  I clench my jaw, and I vaguely hear something crack. Part of me thinks I must have misheard her, but then Lily juts out her foot, shaking the loose black boot at me.

  I squeeze my eyes closed. Focus.

  There is no way in hell I’m putting my mouth on this girl’s goddamn boot.

  Shaking my head and taking a few more rattled breaths, I open my eyes. They connect with brown ones I haven’t seen in over five years, stealing my words from me before I can think twice.

  “Okay.”

  TWELVE

  It’s funny how predictable people are. How they naturally crave things, and once you figure out what it is, they’re putty in your hands. They’ll do anything to get it, and by whatever means.

  For Spencer, it’s the new and improved Lily.

  Back then, I was boring, just something to do, nothing. At least, that’s what I recall him saying about me. But now, he sees I’m not that weak little girl anymore, fawning after him anytime he spoke. Or maybe it’s because I’m hot, and the temptation of having something you can’t is too strong to ignore. Either way, I don’t care.

  He’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss my boot. And maybe with a little luck, the strong-ass alcohol, plus the sprinkle of something extra Blaze added, will coax him to do more than just put his lips on it.

  He tugs at the hem of his shirt, his caramel eyes never leaving mine. He’s still thinking about it, weighing the pros and cons, but never once does he look at the people around him. It’s like he doesn’t know anyone else is here.

  A strange combination of guilt and satisfaction swirl in my stomach. It’s like baking the sweetest cake in the world and then devouring it in one sitting.

  Two small drops of sweat roll down his temples, and no matter the number of times he wipes them away, they reappear. Finally, he yanks his shirt off, and my core clenches.

  His entire chest is glistening like he ran two miles. All eight of his abs are on full display, and even a few passing girls stop and admire what I’m sure is an equally impressive back. I have to stop my eyes from rolling.

  Spencer may look good, but inside he’s just as ugly as me.

  I lift my foot, leveling it with his chest, and he grabs it accordingly, wrapping his fingers around my calf. My skin burns under his touch, searing it like a hot poker. It feels foreboding. Like if I let this happen, there’s no coming back. I’ll be left with a scar.

  But I think I crossed that line a long time ago.

  Ignoring the searing pain, I tip my toe out, watching as his eyes darken and flit to my boot. His chest rises higher and falls deeper, and I imagine him standing at the edge of a cliff, weighing what the fall might do. He edges closer, and if I move an inch, it will happen.

  Amora clears her throat, and when I snap my gaze to hers, those big blue eyes widen—waiting for the cue. I simply nod and cast my attention back to Spencer.

  Out of my periphery, Amora signals the cheer squad. Within seconds, the football team and others crowd around, watching. Hoots and hollers break through the crowd—some egging him on, others saying how disgusting he is. But still, he doesn’t seem to notice them. Spencer looks at me one last time sending a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

  I shouldn’t do this.

  “Will, just shut up. She’s nothing—no one to me. Just a summer friend that makes my summer suck a little less. Now lay off.”

  I blink the memory away and smile at Spencer, the same smile I use to get whatever I want, and it works. His lips touch my boot, and the herd behind him goes wild.

  Different slurs ring through the air, but he doesn’t regard them. Instead, his grip around my calf tightens, like the smooth patent leather is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. His tongue sweeps out, licking the sides in a way that burns my cheeks. It’s not like he’s licking a spoon. No, this is different.

  It’s carnivorous, and for a second, I wonder what he’s seeing. What he thinks he is actually doing.

  His tongue swirls around, and he even sucks up the loose string, pulling it through his teeth with a growl. As sick as it is, my pussy quivers at the sight, lighting my nerves up in that region.

  I clench my thighs together and snatch my foot away. “That’s enough, you revolting dog, I think you cleaned all the shit off. Now get out of my house.”

  I press the tip of my boot right above his collarbone and shove him back, laughing when his ass hits the wood floor and his glasses clatter beside him.

  The surrounding people jump back, screaming with laughter that finally wakes him up. His eyes flash to me, brows knit together, and then… he smiles.

  A wide grin, that makes his dimples deepen profoundly.

  It sets off a chain reaction in my stomach and if it weren’t for the dozens of spectators, would have caused me to blush, maybe even smile back.

  Spencer grabs his glasses, placing them on his face as though nothing out of the ordinary happened, and stands. His muscles flex with the movement, and even with the disgusting comments thrown his way, every girl I can see stops and ogles his frame.

  I fist my necklace, pulling it so hard, I know it will leave marks if it doesn’t cut through the delicate skin first, an
d watch him.

  He slips his thumb across his bottom lip before turning, leaving through the door without saying a word.

  I suck in air and realize I’ve been holding my breath. Everyone is still standing near me, crowding my space as though waiting for me to say something—announce something.

  But I don’t. That’s not the MO I’m known for. Instead, I hop off the counter and find Blaze’s steel eyes in the crowd. I tug on his jersey, and he follows.

  We take the stairs at my pace, which is slow—the weight of everything finally pushing down on my shoulders, making it taxing even to move. My plan was to make him keep childhood secrets.

  But truthfully, it was something else.

  Something I can’t admit. Not even to myself in the privacy of my own thoughts.

  My phone jolts in my bra, vibrating across my chest.

  I pull it out, wondering if it’s him, but instead I frown. It’s an unknown number that’s called me almost every day this week. They don’t leave a message or text me back when I ask who it is, so I assume it’s spam.

  We reach the landing just as I press ignore, shoving my phone in my jacket. Turning toward Blaze, I try to read his face. His beautiful eyes are low as if he’s tired, and his lips are clamped together in a thin line. But nothing out of the ordinary suggesting he disapproves of my prior and current actions.

  Suddenly those eyes narrow and I freeze.

  Shit.

  He moves in closer, grabbing my chin with his finger and thumb, adjusting my head to look at the wounded side. After a beat, the nerve in his jaw tics. “When did this happen?”

  “Today.”

  “And you didn’t call me because?”

  I sigh, more guilt piling on what’s already pulling me down. “Amora walked in when I was cleaning up.”

  He clenches his teeth. “Where is the woman now?”

  Blaze is the only one that knows the truth behind my scars. Not too long after I met him in eighth grade, I lied about one my mother left on my arm. Told him the same thing I tell everyone else—a mark from a cheer incident when it was really a bruise from the end of a broom. But that’s the thing about abused children. They can spot the lie in a heartbeat.