“You always were the epitome of grace. And that is what you get for hijacking this round. I told you tonight was on me.” Quinn’s green eyes dance with humor as she sidles up. Remembering the masked man, I whip around, but I can’t see him anywhere. “Uh, earth to Fallon. You good?”
Am I?My second drink is ready so I bring my attention back to my friend. “Yeah, sorry. I thought I saw something.” I shrug off the feeling of being watched, chalking it up to tension and sexual frustration.
Quinn glances around the crowd. “Anattractivething I hope. You need to get laid.” She starts toward the stairs.
“Attractive would be an understatement.”More like magnetic… more like yes, Daddy.I roll my eyes at my own internal monologue and follow her up the stairs.
The evening goes by in a blur of drinks and dancing. I don't allow myself to lose control with alcohol, not after what happened before. I shove down a wave of nausea and focus on people watching, our favorite pastime. “So, what was her name?” I ask Quinn.
“The redhead from Friday night.” I choke on my drink. “What?” She hits me with a smirk and a shrug. “This wasn’t a names situation. Half the fun is anonymity, ya know?” A wicked little smile paints her mouth.
Oh, I definitely know. Something about that guy on the dance floor has me feeling temptation that I haven't felt in years. And yet, for some reason I keep it to myself, like my little secret fantasy that if spoken out loud would be ruined.
“Hey, girl.” Her attention catches on something over my shoulder. “Asshole incoming.”
I glance in that direction and see Clay, the office ick, approaching with drinks in hand, his gaze fixed on us. Well, there goes a perfectly good evening.
Fucking Clay. He always seems to magically appear when I’m out and ruin a perfectly good night. Women have a tendency to fall at his feet, and he has a new woman each week, going on and on about how charming he is. But his “charm”, which often finds its way to me, just feels wrong somehow. He probablyischarming in a generic sense, but I’m reminded of a quote from my favorite series calledHavoc:“Perfect things make my soul and my teeth ache.” C.M. Stunich had it right with that one; I have more trust in visible flaws and imperfections because they feel like home to my fucked up soul.Note: talk to my therapist about seeking masked, red-flag men and being skeeved out by Clay and guys like him.
Speaking of girls falling at his feet, there are at least five that are subtly following him, trying to catch his eye. I’m not one to bring down another girl and to each their own, yada yada… But gross.
“Fallon! I thought I saw you earlier. Here gorgeous, I got your favorite.”
Is that a fucking lemon drop? I side-eye Quinn who is stifling laughter behind her own drink. “I'm actually done drinking for the night, but thanks.” I make no moves toward the glass, letting him stew in the awkwardness.
“One of these days, Ice Queen, you’re going to give me a shot. I don’t give up.” He winks as if that is something to be proud of. It’s a fine line between charming tenacity and the creep factor.
“Sorry, Clay. I don't date co-workers.” He starts to speak, but I cut him off, “I don’t fuck them either.” I give him a deadpan stare. Quinn is dying trying to hold in her laughter, but Clay pretends not to notice.
“Wounded Fallon. I am wounded.” Just as he starts speaking, I see him over Clay's shoulder. In the dark hallway, stands a man dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and a skull mask. Again, it’s a completely different mask on the stranger. His head tilts to the side.
Like a gnat in my ear, Clay never stops his self-righteous monologue. “Tough break with Rogers, huh? I bet it’s frustrating when you know you’re right about something but your dad doesn’t listen.” Normally that would get under my skin, but I’m distracted.
“Mmhmm. You would know all about that.” My eyes stay on the masked man while Quinn pivots to speak to someone entering the VIP area, clearly preferring that to Clay’s company .
The man in the mask nods his head to the hallway – an area he shouldn’t have access to – and I feel a pull as if summoned by a demon.
“Fallon I…”
“Sorry Clay, I have to go… do… something.” I catch his jaw clench, and his eyes tighten in irritation. His knuckles turn white around the glass holding amber liquid. I ignore him and make a beeline for the back hallway.
I trail one hand along the black wall to my right as I approach.Great idea, Fallon. Following strangers into dim hallways. Are you trying to die?Maybe I’ve mistaken fear for excitement. Or maybe I don't care because it’s making me feel alive.
I move into the darkness, then follow the only corridor as it turns a corner. My breath quickens as I draw closer to him.
“Hello, Fallon.” That smooth voice goes straight to my core. The blackened jaws of the mask move subtly with his words.
“How do you know my name?” Now close enough to touch, I gaze up into dark eyes.
His gloved hand touches my shoulder, turning me to face away from him. He closes in behind me, and the scent of leather and something sweet envelops me.
“Who are you?” I find myself leaning into him as the same gloved hand draws my long black curls over one shoulder. His other hand slowly moves down my arm. Fuck, he’s barely touching me and I’m clenching my thighs together, craving friction. My eyes drift closed.
“You will know soon enough.” His hand grasps the front of my throat, just enough to give a thrill of pressure. “The real question is, what can you do for me, for us?”
Anything.
Another set of hands trail up my thighs. I gasp in surprise at the sudden appearance of the second masked man kneeling to my left. I was so entranced by the man I followed that I missed the approach of this one, whose finger continues up, toying with the strip of skin showing between my top and pants. I shiver. His other hand slowly slides up the inside of my thigh, so close to where I want it but too far away to enjoy.
