Masquerade Read Free Page A

peak.
    My moves are scripted, my body on autopilot as I get her ready—fingers and mouth teasing each mound. I grind against her, feel her wetness, wait for her little gasps and moans to increase before I’m rolling the condom down and pushing inside her—taking my quick, anonymous pleasure and hoping I’m giving her what she’s looking for too.
    It’s not long before her nails are digging into my back and sounds fall from her lips quicker and louder. When she tenses under me, her body shaking in aftershocks, I give in. My release immediately follows, and then I’m rolling off her, our sweat-slicked bodies side by side.
    “Wow…” she pants between breaths.
    I take that as a compliment, not sure she gives many of them out. “No shit.” For now, all the tension is gone from my body.
    “I should go,” she says, and I don’t argue. It’s exactly what I need it to be. We both got what we were looking for.
    “Thanks,” tumbles out of my mouth as I watch her get dressed.
    “You don’t have to thank me for sex. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t what I wanted too.”
    For only a second, a thought climbs its way into my head, making me wonder why she’s okay with this. I mean, I’ve obviously done it before, but it was never this simple. The girl usually isn’t the one leaving. Before the questions get their claws in, I slam the door on them.
    “See ya later,” she says before walking out.
    I make a quick trip to the bathroom, get rid of the condom, and clean up. I consider getting dressed to head home. It’s not like I have anyone there who will wonder where I am, so I grab my cigarettes, turn off the lights, and spend the rest of the night alternating between sleeping and smoking.
    * * *
    I reach into the bag on my bike and pull my sketchbook out. Before going in, I flip through it, again making sure I marked my favorite pages.
    A thrill of excitement strums through me like I haven’t felt since sitting in the tattoo parlor where I apprenticed for a few months. Before that, I hadn’t felt it since I played football in school. Before I quit. Before I realized what a bastard my old man is. Before I stopped giving a shit.
    Shaking my head, I head toward the building, hoping like hell this is going to work out. I left a message this morning, telling the owner that I’m interested in apprenticing here, left my number, and said I’d be down later. Then I sat around like a pussy, hoping he’d call back before I came down.
    He didn’t.
    I pull open the door but don’t see anyone inside. There’s only one workstation, a desk with a computer, and then a small hallway leading to another room.
    “Hello?” I call out.
    “Yeah?” a female voice replies.
    What the fuck? She could at least come out here. The urge to walk out hits me. I don’t have time for this shit. It’s probably a waste of time anyway. Still, I reply, “I called earlier. Lookin’ for a place to apprentice.”
    “Sorry, just opened up. I don’t need to take on any scratches right now.” As soon as the last word clears her mouth, she steps around the corner.
    Motherfucker.
    Bee’s eyes widen in shock, but she recovers quickly, making me do the same.
    “Don’t call me a scratch.” My fist tightens on the book in my hand; disappointment takes control of me. Jesus, what are the odds of sleeping with one of the only tattoo artists in town? The only one left who hasn’t already told me they’re not looking? Especially when neither of us wanted to see each other again.
    “I’m not trying to be a bitch when I say it, but it’s what you are. When I first started, I was a scratch too. If you can’t handle getting shit, you really don’t belong here.” She sits in the chair behind the desk.
    Anger fills me, banging against my pride.
    “You don’t know me or what I can handle.”
Shut up. Chill out, man. She’s your last opportunity.
    I don’t want it anymore, if it has to be with her. I don’t see women again after I’ve had