Tuned for Temptation (Masked Men I Love #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Shadows dance across the swanky bar, drenching its occupants in secrecy.

It’s the kind of place you visit when you can afford to have secrets.

I knew better than to come here alone. Exposing him publicly isn’t just risky—it’s petty as fuck, but that’s what I’ve stooped to.

He left me no other options. When he finds out I planted a tracker on him, he’s going to be pissed. This has to be public.

Across the room, Jackson’s deep, rumbling voice grips my attention and holds it captive.

I have no choice but to listen, hanging on every word he utters, pathetically aching for another.

He rasps compliments loud enough for me to hear.

They send a flash of heat racing up my neck to flush my cheeks.

My lips quiver, too stunned to speak, as fragmented thoughts race through my brain.

He’s such a fucking lying, cheating asshole.

Not the least bit shocked by what he’s saying, I search for some kind of witty, spur-of-the-moment confrontation but come up empty-handed, unable to string together any sort of worthy response.

I guess I’m more of a cool, calculated revenge type of person.

Groaning over my inability to face him, I look down at the cold quartz slab.

Late-night drinks in Capitol Hill weren’t on my BINGO card tonight, but it’s too late to turn back.

This is what I wanted—concrete evidence—and to cut my losses so I can pick up the pieces and move on.

Soon I’ll have both. For my own sanity, I need to stop eavesdropping from across the bar.

Thankfully, the sound of tinkling laughter rescues me from drowning in my disdainful thoughts.

He must have said something funny, because she’s giggling like a buffoon.

I fight the urge to laugh at her. Snorting, I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing in pain.

They’re puffy and sore from crying. At least the piece of shit picked a dimly lit, secluded bar.

It was the very least he could do for me tonight.

My finger traces the thin gold rim of the glass, a slice of lemon floats just below the surface of the sparkling water.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I pause to reflect.

It shouldn’t hurt this bad, but it does.

Even though I knew it was over between us, I’m terrified of what it’s going to be like to try and move on.

My chest aches with an all-too-familiar emptiness, filled with the pain of losing someone important.

It cuts me deep, unapologetically begging to devour whatever resolve remains.

Jackson was my person. He helped me move back into my dad’s house after he passed away.

He held me through all the rough nights and reminded me how to smile.

Everything was perfect—until it wasn’t. It’s hard to imagine what life will be like without him, and yet, at the end of the day, this was his choice.

I won’t allow myself to be a victim, but I’ll mourn my loss.

A rogue tear rolls down my face. I swipe it away quickly with the edge of my finger and glance at my notifications. Roxy should be here soon. When I called her earlier and confessed to finally hiding a tracker tag in the liner of his jacket, I knew she’d understand exactly how serious things are.

We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. Her grandparents owned the house next door to my dad’s, and eventually they decided to move to Florida, leaving Roxy behind to care for things.

The sound of clinking heels against the stone floors has me biting my lip and blinking back fresh tears. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry—not yet. Not until I’m back home in a baggy pair of sweatpants and my emotional support hoodie, curled up on the couch with a pint of gelato.

The universe has other plans. My best friend glides around the corner in a short black dress, destined for mourning. It’s sexy and sleek, matching the aesthetic of my outfit perfectly.

Roxy slides into the seat across from me, snatching my phone. She looks at the waitress walking towards us and smiles.

“You ladies are absolutely stunning,” the waitress compliments, her tone playful as she saunters up to the table. “Can I get you something to drink while you settle in?”

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

“It’s only water,” I mutter.

She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Water’s fine, Vi.”

“Two waters it is,” the waitress replies, practically sprinting off, probably desperate to get away from the sad little pity party I’m throwing.

My emotions battle for control as I purse my lips together, fighting the urge to both laugh and cry. Suddenly the room feels too quiet, the air feels stale, and I no longer have the courage to explain anything to Roxy, who’s typing in the password on my phone.

“What am I looking for, babe?” she asks.

“A dating app. It’s open, and I have his profile pulled up.”

The color drains from her face, and she freezes. “I’m sorry, Vi. But this isn’t a surprise—it’s everything we already knew was happening. You just needed the proof. Don’t forget you only deserve princess treatment.”

Tears threaten to escape at her reminder.

I won’t cry, I remind myself. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Rage bubbles to the surface within me. I want him to hurt the way he hurt me.

I want him to think I’m not the least bit disappointed I’m losing him.

Why should I be sad? He’s a narcissistic douchebag, and I’m obviously dodging a bullet finding out now before we got more serious.

“So… he was acting strange yesterday.” My confession rushes out, my voice shaking and on the verge of cracking.

Roxy nods in understanding. We’ve talked about this a lot lately.

I know she empathizes with my situation.

I bet most women do. It’s hard knowing why he’s here tonight.

She squeezes my hand again. “I love you. I know you don’t need to hear this, but I believe in you.

You’re a badass bitch, and you’ve got this, babe. ”

I grin. I’m a badass. I planned an epic ex-boyfriend-caught-cheating bust. “You’re right,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

She chuckles. “Want me to go throw this glass of water in his face?”

I make a pathetic attempt at a scowl and shake my head no.

It takes me a few minutes to regain my composure, but Roxy gives me all the time I need, joining in my laughter.

All the while, she rubs her thumb over the back of my hand, like she’s channeling strength into me.

When I feel like I’m ready to keep going, I take a gulp of water and swallow the lump in my throat.

I’ve come this far; there’s no turning back.

My eyebrow quirks. “I have a better idea.”

“Ohhh,” Roxy says with a hum, intrigued, leaning in on her elbows.

“I’ve been watching some videos on social media about ways to confront a cheater, and I’m ready. I know I told you we couldn’t get unhinged, but I changed my mind.” My confession feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

“Ohhh. Girl. I’m here for this. Let’s teach that asshole a lesson. Tell me exactly what you need me to do. I’m in.”

This is undeniably why Roxy is my best friend. She’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met. “Can you order a drink from the waitress and ask her to deliver a message from us?”

“Not only can I do this for you—I will enjoy every last minute of it,” Roxy replies, beaming. “What else?”

“I’m going to have his profile pulled up on my phone,” I explain. “Then I’m going to march over, confront them, and throw the drink in his face.”

Roxy interrupts. “Can I be standing next to you, flipping that asshole off?”

“As much as I wouldn’t expect anything less than that, I was thinking you could film it. I want to post the video as part of my healing process.”

“Can I be filming him and flipping him off?“ she begs.

I grin. And she knows she’s won.

The waitress reappears, setting a glass of water down in front of Roxy. “Let me know if you ladies need anything,” she says before sauntering back to the bar for a waiting tray of drinks.

“What do you want to order? Beer. Red wine. Vodka. I know—champagne!” Roxy rapid-fires suggestions as I lean back in my chair, arms crossed.

“Are you done?” I ask, cocking a brow.

She nods.

“We’re getting a mojito. According to the internet, it’s the best drink to throw at someone, because the mint leaves stick to the person’s face.”

Roxy slaps a hand over her mouth, stifling a cackle. I’ve done a lot of research leading up to this moment. It’s like my one last hoorah before I wallow in self-pity for a while.

She takes a few minutes to compose herself, then asks, “What do you want her to tell him?”

I take a deep breath. “I want her to say it’s from his ex-girlfriend, and she says cheers.”

“Okay. Got it.” Roxy beams, waving the waitress over.

“Ladies, are we ready for a round of drinks?” she asks, cheerfully eyeing us in our little black dresses.

“Actually,” Roxy begins, then pauses dramatically to read the waitress’s name tag. “Are you a girl’s girl, Lisa? Because we’re wondering if we can buy that lovely couple over there a drink—to share.”

“Of course you can buy them a drink, but I’m not sure why that would make me a girl’s girl.” Her head tilts to the side, confused.

“That’s not the part that makes you a girl’s girl, Lisa. This next part does. Can you also deliver them a message from us?” Roxy whispers.

“Sure,” Lisa replies, uncertainty lacing her words.

“Can you tell them: your ex-girlfriend says cheers? And can you also say, enjoy the sloppy seconds?”

“Roxy!” I gasp, but she giggles.

Lisa laughs with her. “Now I understand. Let me get my boss. I think she can do something better.”

I stare in disbelief as Lisa prances off, giddy as a goddamn unicorn. She whispers in the bartender’s ear. The pretty blonde freezes at whatever she says, then looks in our direction. She gives us a thumbs-up, smiles, and winks. Lisa waves before returning to our table.