Saint

“Guys, I’ll be right back,” I tell Loni and Henry.

“We’ll be here!” she sings, but I think she’s too distracted by everyone around her congratulating her on such a good job putting the dance together, she doesn’t notice where I’m going.

I make my way over to the masked guy and stop in front of him.

“Happy?” I ask in a syrupy sweet voice as I bat my eyelashes.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds out his hand for me to take. I slip my palm against his, and instantly, something feels wrong.

“Wait—”

Before I can finish my sentence, the guy’s pulling me out to the dancefloor with him. I feel a fissure of apprehension course up my spine. I don’t think this is Saint. He looks a lot like him, at least with the mask, but he’s not quite as broad, though he is about the right height. This guy’s hands and fingers are longer and slenderer than Saint’s thick ones, and the way he’s touching me is possessive, but not … obsessive.

As Billie Eilish’s “You Should See Me in a Crown” plays over the speaker, the guy’s hand wraps around my waist and pulls me tight against him. His body his hard, and I’m pressed so tight to him, I can feel every line, every angle, everything. My cheeks flood with heat.

“Who are you?” I realize how rude that question sounds as soon as it’s out of my mouth. “Sorry, I mean, you’re obviously not who I thought you were.”

The guy shrugs, but still doesn’t speak. I try to see behind his mask, but it covers half his face, and the room is dim. I’m begi

“Look, I’m all for a little mystery, but this is getting kind of weird.” I move to step out of his arms and end our dance, but his fingers tighten against me, and he holds me still as his head dips and captures my lips.

I gasp in shock, and his tongue sweeps into tangle with mine. This is definitely not Saint. I know Saint Angelle’s lips. I probably have every dip and curve of them memorized, and these aren’t them. Still, this guy’s a pretty good kisser. No, not pretty good.

Pretty epic.

With a strangled cry, I push the guy off me and glare up at him. “What the hell was that?”

“Was that not good for you? We can try again, if you’d like.”

I recognize that voice. Holy fuck, I know who this is.

Reaching up, I tear the mask from his face like I’m Scooby-Doo and he’s my bad guy. I gape up in disbelief at Liam.

“What … what are you … what are you doing?”

He smirks down at me and runs his hand through his hair, which I can see now is colored with some kind of spray.

“Just thought I’d come to the Halloween ball dressed as the biggest fucking sham I know. Since I’m faking it, figured I’d bring you along for the ride.”

He’s done this on purpose. He dressed as Saint to intentionally confuse and trick me. Anger spirals from the pit of my stomach through my chest, blazing out of control. After weeks of saying nothing to me in English class, and avoiding me on campus, he pulls this bullshit on me? I shove at his chest, though I don’t budge him an inch.

“What are you trying to prove?” I demand to know.

He opens his mouth to answer, but before any words can make their way out, the crowd parts to my right. I turn, and my heart shoots up into my throat.

Saint’s storming our way, and I can tell by the look in his eyes, that he’s out for blood.