Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
BONNIE
My throat is raw from screaming. I’m sticky with sweat and humidity. The high from watching Reed perform onstage with one of our favorite bands has me amped even more than last night’s show did.
“Hot,” Zeb says, entering my trailer. “Are you planning on wearing pants over that?”
I grin and look down at the long sleeve bodysuit I’m wearing and the way it’s cut high on my hips, showing off more of my ass and pelvis than is probably appropriate for public.
“Thought about going without,” I admit as he tosses his bag on the counter beside me. “But I have those baggy pants over there and an ass begging me to wear them unbuttoned.”
Zeb chuckles. “Yeah, okay.” He straightens his hooded shirt in the illuminated vanity mirror as if he’s making sure it shows off enough of his heavily tattooed chest.
“Did you catch the last performance?” I ask him, adjusting the black wig on my head.
“I caught it from the VIP area. Fucking epic,” he agrees. “Reed living the dream up there. I saw you standing on the barrier screaming,” he adds.
“Had to cheer my guy on,” I say. I tug at my wig and peer closer at my lashes. One of them feels like it’s sticking, and I need to fix it because it’ll drive me fucking wild tonight. “I tried to get Wren up there, but…”
I smile at the memory.
“What, she try to kill you?” Zeb asks.
“Nah… She had tears,” I tell him. “I mean, so did Andi, but you know with Wren, it’s a big deal. I’m sure they’re celebrating hard tonight.”
“Yeah? What about you? Are you ready to celebrate?”
“Fuck yes,” I groan.
“You know I can still see your blonde hair under this,” he says, swatting at the black wig.
“Yeah, I’m going for the layered look,” I say, though it’s really just because my hair is so thick, and I only had a few pins, so I could only pin half of my hair up.
“Did you straighten it?” Zeb asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this… shiny .”
“That’s because it’s naturally wavy and out of control like the rest of me,” I reply.
“Ha. I know that’s right.” He unzips his bag and begins pulling out our masks. “I’m going with this one,” he says, gesturing to the black full-face mask with neon red accents.
“Classic,” I reply. I filter through his choices and gravitate toward a black leather half-mask with apocalypse vibes. “I like this one—oh wait.” Another catches my eye, and I smirk at him as I pull the strappy leather mask out. Small link chains dangle over the eyes as I grip onto one of the pointed cat ears. “I’ll take this one.”
“I thought you might like it. Get your pants on. I’ll buckle this around your face,” he says.
It’s another twenty minutes before he and I head out of the trailer toward the massive party. I can already hear the music, see the strobe and neon lights illuminating the area. The link chains swishing over my eyes don’t exactly give the best visibility, but I don’t really need to see much tonight.
Because I have every intention of losing myself.
As we reach the gate, Zeb pulls his mask down over his face, pushes his hood up, and fist bumps me one more time.
“If you need me—” He points to his phone, and I only nod in response.
I’m nervous, yet already intoxicated by the lights and thumping music.
Here we fucking go.
Music is nearly as powerful a drug and aphrodisiac as more than half the things I’ve ever tried—at least, on nights like tonight—in parties and clubs like this. When I can feel the thump and drag and vibration deep in my bones. When it’s so consuming that I can’t focus on the people and faces around me. When the lights and smoke cloud and dull the senses. All that matters at this moment is the next jump off the ground or sway of my hips, the next body to slide behind me to try and sneak in a few quick grinds before I shove them off.
It’s a fun game, especially when everyone is anonymous.
And so fucking sexy.
Masked parties have always been a favorite of mine. It’s one thing to get fucked by a groupie who already knows your name. But here… I get to be anyone I want—get to imagine anyone I want. It’s a contract. A vow of anonymity.
The secrets arouse every inch of me.
I lose Zeb the moment we enter through the gates. He’s probably found himself a little bunny to chase by now—if they’re into that sort of thing. And I… I already have my sights set on a tall beauty by the bar wearing an all-black bodysuit that covers every inch of her curving body. Her arms, legs, even her face. Light reflects off the pyramid studs and sequins decorating the entire suit, nearly making her disappear in the shadows when she stalks between people, seemingly hopping from bar to bar.
I wonder how the hell she’s seeing out of it; however, when a stray light passes over her face, the light disappears at two shadowed, blank areas where her eyes would be—the sharp texture absent.
An added black, lower-face mask sits over her mouth, the neon pink glow around its edges keeping it from vanishing in the shadows.
Her mouth…
I’m itching to know why she’s wearing the added mask… whether it’s for a voice changer and added secrecy or simply for the look.
Because it looks hot .
The bright red wig she’s wearing atop the suit is the only thing that makes her stand out and not completely vanish in the dark. Half of the hair is down, the other half pulled up into two buns atop her head.
I love that fucking hairstyle.
I’ve been tracking her for nearly an hour now from the dance floor—except for the one song when I slipped off to follow her through the crowd. I had to make sure she wasn’t here with someone, needed to know if I’d be barging in on someone else’s property once I made my move…
She never once peered back at me, never once stopped to watch anyone else or even chat with friends.
I wonder if she’s here alone.
Sweat feels like it’s pouring from every crevice of my body, especially my head. God, this fucking wig is hot. I wish I could toss it on the floor and forget about it. Still, I know I can’t. My hair would tell everyone who I am, and the whole incognito game would be over.
And that wouldn’t be any fun.
I need to get her attention already.
There are enough bar setups that the line at the one she’s perched on a stool at is nonexistent. No drink sits in her gloved hands or on the bar next to her. Her legs are crossed over one another and pointing to the right of me, head turned in that same direction.
I’m curious who she’s watching. If she has her gaze as fixed on them as mine is on her.
I keep an eye on her as I stealthily move through the throngs of dancers, going out of my way to the left so that I’m forced into her sightline.
I don’t want her to have the chance to miss me.
I don’t give up that easily.
Look at me.
Her head moves a fraction, and I think… yes .
She sees me.
She sits up a little straighter, uncrosses and crosses her other leg over, and I feel the pull in her direction. Which of us is the moth and the flame, I can’t tell. It’s a gravitational pull, and even when I reach the bar, I barely look at the bartender when they ask, “What can I get you?”
“Water, thanks,” I answer.
Three people stand between the two of us. Three people who I don’t mind being there. Because the longer she’s watching me, the longer this tension remains alive, and the less restraint I’m going to have later.
The bartender slides my water across the table top.
I wrap my lips around the straw and stare at her though the link chains over my eyes, my elbow leaning on the counter. Purple, blue, and pink lights strobe over her suit, the lights catching in those sequins and triangular studs. I can’t look away or see anything in my peripherals other than her. A fight could break out beside me, and I’d ignore it.
And when the three people between us head into the crowd again, we’re locked in a trance, a battle for which of us will look away or make the first move.
It’s barely thirty seconds before she uncrosses her legs and pats the top of her knee in a summoning move.
I feel my lips curl at the gesture.
My empty drink hits the counter. I strum my fingers on the bar top, watching her, knowing she can see my coy smile, and as her head inclines in a silent question, I push away from the fixture and turn on my heel toward the dance floor again.
I’m just feet away from her when I peer over my shoulder to make sure she’s still watching.
That’s it.
Watch me.
Follow me.
I crook two fingers in her direction before the crowd can swallow me up. Two people walk in front of me, blocking my view of her, and in that second, she’s vanished.