Masquerade

“You’re right. I’m drunk and not thinking.” I almost tell him it’s his fault for being so hot, but I have a feeling that would break the floodgates we’re trying to hold in place.

“Let me pay for your cab.” It’s the least I can do.

“You’re not paying,” he snaps.

“Why? First I couldn’t leave by myself and now I can’t return your favor? I’m a big girl, Scratch. I can take care of myself.” But thank you…

He pulls out his phone and I can’t help but wish I could see the expression on his face in the darkness.

“Tell me your address.”

He’s more like the Maddox from the first night, even more locked tight with short, angry answers. Maybe that’s a good thing.

He dials information and asks for the number for a cab. When he gets them on the line, I give him my address.

“They’ll be here in twenty.” He drops his cell to his lap.

We’re both quiet for a few minutes. The whole time I know I should go in the house, but my legs are a little weak, the alcohol taking the energy out of me, so I don’t move. Really? Is that really why?

“You coming in tomorrow?” I ask, needing to fill the silence. It’s a stupid question because he’s at Masquerade every day.

“Yeah. We got anything?”

“A couple appointments. I have a piercing. You can watch me in action and see how good I am.”

At that he chuckles. “Still ain’t happening.”

“Who said I still want to pierce you? I don’t do people who are scared.”

He laughs a little harder at that. “I’m so scared I could cry.”

“Wuss,” I toss back at him in this easy banter that I refuse to let myself question right now.

It’s more silence after that. The quiet makes me a little jittery, though I’m not sure why. “Did I frighten you away?” My voice sounds light, but there’s a part of me really begging for the answer. Sometimes I’m too much for people and usually it works fine for me. I should get out of the car right now and tell him he can’t come back because of the way I’m waiting for his answer.

“Nah. You just made me go over my word quota for the day.” His voice is honest.

Lights shine through the window, burning my eyes. “Cab.” Yeah, like he didn’t notice that.

We both get out of the car and Maddox says, “Go inside.”

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off. I can handle standing outside my own house in the middle of the night if I want to. But he’s been cool tonight. He drove me here when he didn’t have to, and I think there’s a white knight inside him who really couldn’t let himself leave if I stayed out here.

And then he would hate himself for staying too.

“FYI, I’m going in because I’m tired. Not because you told me to. See ya tomorrow, Scratch.”

When I get inside, I don’t turn on the light. There’s a window right by the door and I peek out, watching as the cab takes Maddox away.

Chapter Ten ~Maddox~

My sister wants to talk about everything. If she’s upset, happy, sad, whatever, she has words for it. Mom’s like that too. Not in the same way Laney is. Mom goes off—yells, screams, cries, and tries to make people feel bad. Laney likes to be close to people. She has this big fucking heart. I don’t know where she got it from because no one else in our family is like that.

I grew up around this woman who wanted to tell me about every fucking thing, and sometimes it was hard because all I wanted to do was fix it, but I’ve never been able to.

It’s been two weeks since I went to Lunar with Bee and she hasn’t mentioned it. Not the sex or the fight or sitting in her car. It’s a relief. I was tense as hell the next couple times I saw her, but she just went on with her life the way I like to pretend to go on with mine.

I respect that about her.

So, when she mentioned she pla

She didn’t react, which means I didn’t have to be a prick, and here I am, parking my bike in front of the shop, knowing it’ll only be the two of us all day.

I don’t usually do one-on-one real well, but I also want to be a part of everything when it comes to Masquerade.

The door’s locked when I get there. Bee’s not in the front, so I have to knock for her to let me in.

“You need a key,” she says as she closes and locks the door behind me.

My pulse spikes in a way I actually enjoy. She’d give me a key? Bee doesn’t trust and that’s a huge fucking bit of it right there. “Would make things easier.” I shrug.

“Of course, I’d have to kill you if you screwed with anything in my shop.”

“You think you’re so fucking tough, don’t you?” Playfully, I ruffle her hair before realizing what the hell I’m doing and jerking my hand back.

She laughs. “No, but I know a guy who knows a guy.”

That makes me laugh too. “Your guys ain’t shit.”

She rolls her eyes and it’s something so normal, it takes me back for a second. Bee is so different from any girl I know, that even something as simple as rolling her eyes is too ordinary for her.

“So what are we doing?” I need to get my mind off her and stop having fun and get to work. That’s what I’m here for.

“I started a little already. I have tons more supplies I’ve been organizing in the supply closet and I have a box full of pictures. I’m thinking about changing out some of the samples in my portfolios. I don’t like to put it all out, but if I switch it up from time to time, it gives my clients fresh material.” She winks. “Makes it look like I’m doing a lot more work than I really am right now.”

Crossing my arms, I also shake my head. “That’s dirty.”

“You don’t like dirty?” she tosses back, making me smile.

“I didn’t say that.” My gut clenches when I think about this back-and-forth we have going. It’s easy when nothing’s been easy in so fucking long.

“Yeah, I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Without replying, I go toward the back. There’s not much more to say without dragging on this moment that I’m still unsure how I feel about. We rearrange the boxes, pulling out what she needs and packing away what she doesn’t. I take what she needs to the supply closet while Bee unpacks and puts everything where she needs it.

She’s had enough out for Masquerade to run, but something makes me wonder why she hasn’t unpacked everything before now. It’s almost like she wasn’t sure she’d stay, but I know this place is hers, so that doesn’t make sense.

Why does it matter? It’s not my business either way.

A couple hours later we’re done with all that, so I pull out the small box with her pictures of her tattoos. We go into the front of the shop, Bee sitting at the table at her desk and me in another chair in front of it.

I open the box and stick my hand in before something makes me meet Bee’s eyes. She nods as if to say, Go for it, so I pull out a stack and start looking through them.

I only make it through a couple photos before I think, Jesus, she’s good. Really fucking good.

“How’d you get into tattooing?” I ask.

“Same as you, I guess. I asked someone if I could apprentice and they said yes.”

My first reaction is to be pissed at her half-answer, but I bury it with all the other thoughts and feelings I want to keep as far from the surface as I can. I don’t really need to know every detail about her, do I?

“We should make an art portfolio for you that you wouldn’t mind sharing. We could put it up in the shop, or if you wanted to wait until you start tatting, we could put it out then.”

“Nah. Not yet.” What’s the point when they’re only drawings?