13. Casper
Practice is over, and I’m drenched, head to toe. All I can think about is getting to the showers and then getting to Mona. I fly toward the bench, digging my blades in at the last second. It has to be one of the best noises in the entire goddamn world.
I mean, I could list one that tops it … Mona’s whimpers when she’s falling apart on my dick.
Fuck, the sounds she makes.
I think I’m going to tell her who I am very soon; I just haven’t quite figured out how to break the ice. But I’m sure it’ll come to me.
As much fun as we have with my mask and the mystery it brings, I’m ready to evolve into something more. I want to hear my name on her lips, whether she’s cursing me out or crying out for me. Once she knows who I am, the limits are endless.
Our sexual chemistry is incredible, but it doesn’t end there. We can see into each other’s mind, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Our connection is instinctual, like we were created to find one another.
There will never be a word to properly describe the way I feel about Mona Greer.
After a quick shower, I’m in my car and driving to the house. The trek is about twenty-five minutes, a bit longer with the traffic I hit. But thankfully, I jump on the bypass and get there in no time.
When I reach The Schrader House, business is booming.
The parking lot across the street is completely full, and the parking spots along the curbs are also packed.
It takes me a good bit to get into an open spot.
I end up having to wait until some smiling, satisfied customers make their exit before killing my engine and walking across the street.
Fall is in full swing. I can feel it tonight, the cold wind whipping through my crewneck, making my chain feel like ice as it shifts around my neck. Leaves blow across the concrete, swirling and crinkling about. If it wasn’t for my mask, my cheeks would be rosy right now.
I can’t risk Mona seeing what I’m wearing without my mask because she’s smart and she’ll quickly put it together, which is why it is already secured over my head before I get to the front door.
The entryway is bustling, and I stroll past the ticketing booth, getting through because the security guard, Rocky, knows who I am from when he stopped me last time. He’s the reason I went through the front and didn’t sneak in through the back like I had to before.
Hopefully, he and Mona don’t have some super-secret friendship. Who am I kidding? I already know everything about her and him, including that they’ve never spoken a word to one another.
He’s married, and he has three kids, all of whom I gifted lifetime passes to, out of the goodness in my heart, of course. He was a Marine for ten years, retired post-injury. He’s a seemingly great man.
It wasn’t hard to convince him that I was here undercover, to make sure the house was being run properly and to get a better understanding of our guests without them knowing who I was.
He didn’t question it then, and he’s not questioning it now.
If anything, he’s amused, like he’s in on a major secret. He is; it’s just not the one he thinks.
I nod my head at him as I pass, and he smirks, nodding back.
“Have a good night, sir.”
“You too,” I tell him, making a mental note that I need to give him a raise. I’ll let Cambrie know tomorrow. In the meantime, I have far more pressing things on my mind.
Halloween is the best time of the year. I’ve always thought that, and it rings even more true today. It’s a time when inhibitions wane and desires are free. People can't often show up to work dressed as a werewolf, but on Halloween, or the business day nearest, it’s accepted as normal.
I’ve always been more myself in the fall, feeling grounded and connected to the world around me. Dressing up, baking treats, donning a mask of some sort—it’s always freed me, my guards coming down completely.
Some people get seasonal depression during winter because they miss summer, but I’m the opposite. I crave the crunchy leaves, the brisk wind, the pumpkin spice, and the warm treats. I’m well aware that I’m a basic bitch when it comes to fall. But I’ll die on this hill.
Navigating through the house, I don’t have to search for Mona because I already know where she is—in the staff wing with Peyton.
They’re sitting in the makeup room, talking about the look Mona just finished.
God, I’m so fucking proud of her. She’s doing what she loves, and she’s never looked happier.
I make my way toward the room, stopping and lingering in an arched doorway. Mona and Peyton are the only two in there, and I’m praying Peyton will get the hell out in the next few minutes so I can take her place.
I’ve been thinking about seeing Mona all goddamn day. Longer than that because it’s been a couple of days now since hockey has been stealing a lot of my time, the season officially underway. I love my sport so much, but it’s really getting in the way of my Mona time.
After what feels like forever, Peyton finally walks toward the door. She asks Mona something, and she nods in response. Peyton dims the lights, leaving only Mona’s row lit up.
Peyton exits the room, passing by me without a second glance, her face buried in her phone, sending someone a text with a thousand flirty emojis.
My heart rate picks up as I glance at the door she came out of. Mona’s all alone and waiting for me. Drifting toward the wooden frame, I don’t fight the gravity that always pulls me in Mona’s direction.
I balance checking the cameras with grabbing the door handle, debating if I should burst in like the Kool-Aid Man or try to sneak up and scare her. When I glance back down at the screen, I find her holding her makeup and facing the exit like she might decide to leave.
But some indiscernible sparkle twinkles in her eyes.
Turning back around, she strides over and plops down in a stool at a different style station, two rows from the door.
This room is the heart and soul behind the characters and their appearances.
Hair and makeup happen in here, and costumes are next door.
She hooks the heels of her boots on the footrest, opening her makeup bag and emptying the contents onto the countertop in front of the big oval mirror. It’s outlined in glowing light bulbs.
A movie star—that’s what she looks like. Beautiful and tempting. Sealed lips with eyes that say a thousand words, telling endless stories. Most onlookers would see her stone-cold exterior and assume she’s impenetrable and mean.
I don’t understand how others don’t notice that Mona’s armor’s constructed from broken pieces of past versions of herself, ones she’s had to kill over the last twenty-four years to survive, using the death of her vulnerability and softness to shield her from the brutality of the world.
She’s strong, brilliant, and so goddamn beautiful.
She’s blasting music on her phone now, swaying to it as she gets lost in her craft. I don’t miss out on my opportunity to silently slip inside, closing, locking, and blocking the door behind me, sealing us completely inside.
Every stroke of her brush, on her eyes or cheeks, captivates me completely, until time seems to fade away around us. My only indication that time isn’t standing completely still is the changing of songs from the overhead speakers, much quieter in here than the hallway.
She’s a master of her craft, and I can see the passion in every application.
Her eyelids are glittery, gold and green, fading to a dark smoky eye, with a sharp wing liner that looks sexy as hell.
She finishes the look with a pair of fake lashes, the kind applied underneath her lashes with fucking sorcery, setting her eyes ablaze, showing the fire burning deep within.
I’m ten feet from her, having snaked my way through the darkened stations to get closer. I’m watching and waiting to strike, but then she takes her earbuds out. Hmm, I planned on scaring her with my reflection in the mirror. Although scaring her with my voice might be equally fun. Why not both?
Stowing her earbuds in their case, she studies her work in the mirror. She’d better be hyping it up in her mind and not trying to find every tiny imperfection to pick apart.
Positioning myself a row directly behind her, straight back between two stations, I feel my adrenaline spike as I inhale, ready to watch her freak out. Reaching up into my mask, I flip the tiny switch and watch the purple LEDs light up around my eyes.
“It’s a shame that pretty makeup is going to be running down your cheeks when I’m through with you.”
She jumps in her chair at the sound of my voice, her face twisting with panic as she whips around, searching for the source.
“What the fuck?!” she shouts, every muscle in her body tensing, her gaze narrowing and landing on my now-illuminated mask. Fury fueling her movements, she jumps to her feet and spins around, facing me, looking like the cutest firecracker I’ve ever seen. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
I step out from the shadows, enjoying the way her neck tips back to hold my stare as I close the distance between us, not stopping until the toes of our boots touch.
“What’s wrong with me?” I laugh, reaching out and tucking her hair back behind her ears so I can see her pretty face clearly. “I’ve been here for ten minutes, and you had no idea. You need to be better aware of your surroundings, Scaredy-Cat.”
A look of defiance gleams in her eyes, and the moment her lips part to tell me off, I slam my palm over them, stopping her.
“No, no, no. I know. Let me do it for you.” My voice shifts to a mocking, high-pitched tone as I recite what I assume she’d say. “You are out of your fucking mind. I’ve been on edge lately, and now you’re purposefully taunting me. I hate you and your stupid, big, incredible dick.”
Her eyes narrow glaring up at me, clearly unamused.
A muffled groan vibrates against my fingers. While it’s barely audible, I can make out what she’s saying, unsurprising in the least.
“I hate you.”