Chapter 2 #3
Reyana touched her hair self-consciously.
The high, elaborate lavender pouf, complete with twills and twirls, had taken her over an hour to get right, before shellacking the entire thing with gel and hairspray, and finally dusting fine glitter all over.
Even now, her biceps ached from teasing the curls and getting the volume the way she liked it.
“This is my real hair. I change the color to fit whatever mood I’m in.
” She laughed. Reyana hadn’t worn her natural black hair in years.
“And yeah, I did all this.” She waved her hands around her bouffant, refusing to feel an ounce of foolishness for loving to be someone other than herself all the time.
“Your eyes are purple, too. Let me guess: colored contacts?” The other woman was catching on.
Reyana chuckled. “Nailed it. My eyes have to match my hair.”
“Obviously,” the other woman said with approval. “I might have to vote for you. What’s your name so I can make sure to get it on a ballot?”
Reyana was about to tell her when the woman’s phone buzzed, and her attention went to her purse.
“Hold on a sec.” She pulled her phone out and scanned the screen. “It’s my man!” she squealed before answering. She spoke excitedly with whoever was on the other end as she left the bathroom, totally forgetting about Reyana, it seemed.
Reyana blinked in confusion before irritation set in. She was just beginning to feel at ease with her fellow, possibly stood-up comrade. The fleeting thought of the two of them hanging and making fun of the Finance Bros all night had been extremely appealing.
“Maybe I do need to call it a night,” she suggested to her reflection in disappointment.
She unconsciously pressed the black velvet, heart-shaped beauty spot on her chin next to her bottom lip. She’d caught herself doing that all night to make sure it stayed in place. But what was the use now? Grabbing her mask, she ducked out of the bathroom.
Annoyingly, she realized her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes.
She was in the process of dashing them away, attempting to get a hold of herself, when the brick wall came out of nowhere.
She ricocheted off the hard surface, and her mask slipped from her fingers.
It fell to the floor, where she unceremoniously crushed it with her heel.
“For the love of God!” she said through clenched teeth, just as two big hands whipped out in a blur. She barely saw them before they grabbed her upper arms, holding her upright to prevent her from tumbling further back.
“Whoa.” A deep timbre grumbled softly, stoically, but not entirely unfriendly. “Slow down.” The words rumbled through her in a low vibration.
Reyana blinked furiously before finally, curiously, peeping up from under her lashes.
The brick wall was a man—a living, breathing, warm, solid man who was dressed in a ridiculous, blousy black shirt, with a wide, frilly cravat at the neck that blossomed down his chest, the knot of which was crushing against her forehead.
Steel-grey eyes stared down at her closely as she reared her head back, her neck notching all the way to get a better look at him.
She couldn’t see the upper half of his face because it was covered by a black mask.
But he had a thin, curling mustache above his mouth, with a goatee to match underneath his wide lips.
Ick might have been her first thought because any man who deigned to don that style on their face out in the real world might be a smarmy gene carrier. But this was a costume party, and on this man, it was a positively hot—a sensual accent to his strong, square jaw and tan skin.
His stare was now earnest and held a confidence that reminded her of one of her favorite fictional heroes: The Dread Pirate Roberts (aka Westley, the farm boy) from the classic film The Princess Bride. And like Westley, she detected no slickness in his attitude, which made her relieved.
“Freakin’ game changer,” she murmured admiringly, still in awe of the bottom-half beauty of this man’s face and his facial hair adornment.
As they studied one another, she realized how tall he was. She was average height without heels, but compared to a lot of men she dated (and Sameer), this man was practically a tree. Her neck craned up to see all of him.
“Pardon?” he asked; his worried countenance from before about her well-being now sounded more like he might be concerned about her mental state. “Are you ok?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. And that mouth … a wide, full, perfect cupid’s bow.
“Gorgeous,” she heard herself utter before she could catch herself. “I—” She cleared her throat because she was indeed ogling him but finally managed to look away. “Oop…”
Heat flooded her face in embarrassment as she realized she was still standing extremely close to him, practically in his embrace, with her breasts pressed into his hard chest. His big hands still gripping her arms.
Ok, but why did that feel so good? And did he smell good? Yep. Musky, leather, and man—always a great combination. He was a stranger, however, and she was acting like a freak. She bristled and wiggled, attempting to shrug out of his hold.