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It was everything I’d ever hoped for in a relationship…
But it wasn’t real.
Brad was playing his role to perfection, just like he always had whenever he came up with these schemes. Hell, even in high school he’d had me pose as his girlfriend one time at a family political function so he could get out of yet another lecture from one of his parents’ friends. He’d told them he had to take care of me because I had a cold, even though I’d been at my place, vegged out in front of the TV. He’d taken a picture to prove where he was at when his father questioned his sudden disappearance, his parents’ friend never knowing I was just a friend.
“Okay, you’ve been silent way too long,” Zoe said. “Now you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“Zoe,” I groaned. It’s not that I didn’t want to share the last few days with her, I did. I trusted her as much as I trusted Brad, but it was the fact that I wasn’t even clear myself on what was happening between me and my longtime best friend. Because while I could tell myself we were just playing a role all I wanted, I could feel it in my bones.
This wasn’t a game to me.
It may have started that way, but the more time we spent together like we were—as a couple—I couldn’t stop myself from wondering why we’d never tried it before.
“Come on,” Zoe said. “Not only am I a badass psychologist, I can tell when you need to talk. Spill it.”
I bit my bottom lip, wondering where to start.
“How about this,” she said before I could respond. “If I tell you a mortifying secret you can never ever repeat, will you tell me what’s going on between you and Brad?”
I sat up a little straighter in my chair. “You’re Dr. Zoe Casson,” I said. “Rule-follower and open-book extraordinaire. You don’t have mortifying secrets.” Seriously, the woman never made mistakes, it was uncanny.
“Oh stop it,” she said. “I do too. And this one is more than worth whatever is happening at that resort.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m more than intrigued. You tell me and I’ll tell you.” I didn’t feel a hint of guilt about the quid-pro-quo because I knew Zoe would’ve never offered the tidbit if she didn’t actually need to get it off her chest.
“You know the night of the masquerade party?”
“Yes,” I said, remembering it vividly. It was only a week ago, and it happened to be the first time I kissed Brad.
“I may have…sort of…possibly slept with a stranger on the roof.”
“You did what?” I blurted out the question, leaping out of my chair because the shock was way too much to take sitting down.
“I know,” she groaned, and I could just picture her flailing her head back and covering her face with her hand. “I’m terrible. It was a mistake—”
“I think it’s awesome!” I cut her off.
“What?”
“I mean, wait, was it good?”
She sighed, the sound almost nostalgic like she was picturing some favorite memory of a blissful tropical vacation. “It was the best sex of my life.”
“Omigod!” I squealed, practically doing a happy dance in the room. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “We bumped into each other, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was on the roof and he was…”
“On you!”
We both laughed before reeling it in.
“I saw you go up to the roof with a masked stranger! How the hell did you wait so long to tell me?”
“I don’t know. It was so surreal and not like me at all. I blame the mask. It made me feel…”
“Like a different person?” I asked, totally understanding. That night had been all about shedding our inhibitions and taking a break from the stress of our daily lives.
“Exactly. And I haven’t even told you the embarrassing part yet.”
“What?”
“He was wearing a full-face mask,” she explained, and I vaguely remembered it from the quick glimpse I got from the guy. “Like a super-hot one. It was silver and had all these cool markings on it, and he was wearing all black and his voice was super deep and I don’t know what the hell came over me.”
“Did you use protection?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Then who cares? This is awesome!”
“It’s mortifying. I don’t do that. I don’t even date, let alone have one-night stands. I don’t even know his name. He put his number in my phone as Silver because that’s what I kept calling him.”
“You got his number—”
“He put his number in my phone,” she cut over me.
“Has he texted?”
“Yep.”
“Have you responded?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because, I slept with him on the roof of that club without even knowing his name! God, he could be literally anybody!”
“At least you know he wasn’t anyone who met us there,” I said. “You saw all their masks, and none were full-face-covering.”
