Page 187 of Trick or Stalk

I stare at him.

Then, before my brain can stop me, I lift my hand.

His entire body goes still.

My fingertips touch the mask. It’s cold. Hard. I trace the weathered edge along his cheek.

He doesn't move.

Doesn't even seem to breathe.

“What are you hiding?”

He doesn’t speak.

My fingers slide toward the bottom edge.

His hand closes around my wrist, stopping me.

My eyes lift to his. “You won't let me see you.”

His thumb moves once against the inside of my wrist.

My pulse jumps beneath it.

He feels it. I know he does.

His head dips.

The mask comes closer.

My breathing turns shallow.

I should pull my hand away.

But I don't.

I should tell him to back up.

I don't do that either.

Outside, someone laughs. Music drifts up from the square. Dozens of people are right there.

And I'm standing in a darkened bookstore, letting a masked man hold my wrist while I touch his face.

I need therapy.

So much fucking therapy.

He releases me.

My hand remains against the mask.

His head turns slightly into my palm.

Fuck.

Something low in my stomach clenches.