Fake Dating The Enemy Forward

Chapter 4: Masks and Mint

The Uber dropped me off at a building I couldn't afford to look at, let alone enter.

Marco's house party was apparently located in a glass-and-steel high-rise that scraped the Detroit skyline like it was trying to pick a fight with God. Floor-to-ceiling windows glowed amber against the night, and a private security guard stood at the entrance like he was guarding the gates of Olympus.

I smoothed the front of my dress for the tenth time since leaving my apartment.

It was emerald green, silky, cut lower than anything I'd ever worn in college. The kind of dress that required confidence I wasn't sure I actually possessed. I'd bought it on a whim during my transformation years, telling myself I'd wear it someday. Tonight was apparently someday.

My auburn hair was pinned up in loose waves, a few strands deliberately escaping to frame my face. I wore sharp stilettos that made my legs look longer than they were.

I looked good.

I also looked like I was about to throw up.

"Riley!"

I turned.

Kent was leaning against the building's marble pillar, hands in his pockets, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread about men who casually owned yachts. He wore dark jeans and a black button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top two buttons undone in a way that made my mouth go dry.

But it was his smile that undid me.

Wide. Warm. Directed entirely at me.

"You came," he said, pushing off the pillar and closing the distance between us.

"I said I would."

"I know, but..." He stopped in front of me, his gaze traveling down my body and back up again, slow enough that I felt every inch of it. "Wow."

My face burned. "What?"

"You look..." He shook his head, almost like he was trying to find the right words. "Beautiful, Riley. Seriously. You look beautiful."

I looked down at my shoes, my throat tight. "You're just trying to calm me down. I look like I'm about to pass out, don't I?"

"You look nervous," he admitted, stepping closer. "But you also look gorgeous."

I laughed, and it came out shaky. "I'm way out of my element here. This building probably costs more than my entire apartment complex."

"Hey." He cupped my elbow, his thumb brushing the inside of my arm in a gesture that was somehow both comforting and electric. "You're with me. And I promise, Marco's parties are way less intimidating than the building suggests."

I nodded, letting him guide me toward the entrance.

The security guard barely glanced at Kent. Must have recognized him. But when his eyes landed on me, they narrowed slightly.

"Invitation?"

"She's with me," Kent said easily.

The guard shook his head. "Everyone needs a mask. House rules tonight."

I blinked. "A mask?"

"Masked party," the guard said, like this was obvious. "Entry fee. No mask, no entry."

I turned to Kent. "Did you know about this?"

He looked genuinely surprised for half a second. Then his expression shifted into something more amused, more intrigued. "No. But I'm not shocked. Marco loves a theme."

He was already reaching for one of the black velvet masks the waiters were handing out near the entrance. Intricate. Masquerade-style. It made me feel like we were walking into a different century.

Kent tied his on first. He chose a simple black mask that somehow made his hazel eyes look even more golden, more luminous. Then he turned to me, mask in hand.

"May I?"

I nodded, my heart hammering.

His fingers brushed my temples as he tied the ribbon behind my head. They were gentle and careful. The mask settled over my face like a second skin, emerald green to match my dress, edged in gold filigree.

"Perfect," Kent murmured, his voice lower than before. "It suits you."

I touched the edge of the mask, suddenly aware of how little of my face was actually visible. Just my eyes. My lips. The curve of my jaw.

It felt... freeing.

And terrifying.

"Ready?" Kent offered his arm.

I took it.

***

The elevator opened into chaos.

The apartment, if you could call something this massive an apartment, was a labyrinth of dark rooms and pulsing lights. Bass thumped through the floorboards, vibrating up through my heels. Bodies moved everywhere, masked and anonymous, laughing and shouting over the music.

The lighting was dim, red and purple and gold, as if the masks weren't enough obscurity. As if Marco must want everyone completely untraceable.

"This is insane," I shouted over the noise.

Kent grinned, leaning close enough that his breath warmed my ear. "Welcome to Marco's world!"

He grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, weaving through the crowd with the confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. I clung to his fingers, trying not to get separated, trying to keep up with his longer stride.

But the crowd was surging, shifting, swallowing. A group of elated dancers surged between us and Kent's hand that was wrapped around mine, broke away.

"Kent!"

I reached out, but he was already gone, swallowed by the sea of masked bodies.

"Riley!" His voice came from somewhere to my left, muffled by the music. "Stay there! I'll come to you!"

I tried to follow the sound, pushing through shoulders and elbows and the overwhelming smell of cologne and spilled champagne.

Someone stepped on the hem of my dress.

I stumbled, catching myself on a stranger's arm, my heart kicking into overdrive.

"Forgive me."

The voice came from directly behind me. That familiar rough edge underneath.

I froze.

I knew that voice. I'd heard it yesterday on the ice, close and dangerous.

Jax. What did he want this time?

I turned slowly, my breath shallow behind my mask.

He stood there in a black mask of his own—more elaborate than Kent's, silver-edged, framing his dark eyes like a frame around a storm. He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone. His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd run his hands through it.

He looked devastating.

And he was looking at me like he'd never seen me before.

"I didn't see you there," he said, and there was genuine apology in his voice. "Your dress—did I tear it?"

I shook my head, refusing to speak. If I spoke, he'd recognize me. He had to recognize me. But the mask covered so much of my face, and the lighting was so dim, and maybe—

Maybe he didn't know.

"Good," he said, and his gaze traveled over me with an openness I'd never seen from him before. "Because it would be a crime to damage something that beautiful."

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Fuck me. Did Jax Callahan just call me beautiful?

And not in the loaded, teasing way he'd said, "Highlight Honey." This was different. This was a man looking at me like he found me attractive.

It shouldn't have felt good.

It felt amazing.

"Let me make it up to you," he said, stepping closer. "A drink?"

I shook my head again, still not trusting my voice.

"A dance, then." He extended his hand, palm up, and the gesture was so unexpectedly gentle that something inside me cracked. "One dance. To apologize for nearly destroying your dress."

I looked at his hand, then around the room, still searching for Kent, still hoping to hear his voice calling for me.

With all the years of pain, the nights I'd cried into my pillow because of this man and the people he'd surrounded himself with. How satisfying would it be to see his face when he realized who I was.

An evil smile curled at the edges of my lips. I didn't care if he saw it.

I placed my gloved hand in his.

A tingle shot up my arm at the contact. I ignored it.

Jax led me to the center of the room, where the crowd parted like water around a stone. The music shifted with a beat that vibrated in my ribs.

His hand settled on my waist, and I placed mine on his shoulder, and then we were moving.

I'd expected awkwardness and careful steps.

I got none of that.

Jax moved with complete confidence. His hand guided my waist, his thigh brushed mine, and we fell into rhythm like we'd been dancing together for years. The surrounding crowd blurred into color and noise, and suddenly it was just the two of us, spinning in the center of the storm.

Everywhere he touched was fire.

My waist. My hand. The small of my back, where his palm pressed just firmly enough to make my breath hitch. I could feel the heat of him through his shirt, the lean muscle of his shoulder beneath my fingers, the way his body moved against mine with each turn.

It was too much.

It wasn't enough.

I realized, with a jolt of panic, that I'd never been this close to him before.

Well, except for that one night in college, but that doesn't count.

And I was burning alive.

The people around us had stopped dancing. I felt their eyes on us, but I couldn't look away from Jax's face. His eyes, dark and endless behind the mask, held mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

The song ended.

We stopped moving, both breathing hard, staring at each other like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Then Jax took my hand and pulled me forward, and I followed without thinking, my heart hammering, my body still vibrating with the memory of his touch.

He dragged me through the crowd, past the bar, past the hallway, past everything, until we burst through a set of glass doors into the night air.

A balcony.

Secluded. Empty. The city lights sprawling beneath us like a field of stars.

Jax released my hand and turned to face me, and the look in his eyes made my stomach flip.

"You're driving me crazy," he breathed.

I opened my mouth to say something, some desperate attempt to reclaim the upper hand.

But then he said it.

"Rice cake."

My words got stuck in my throat.

Rice cake?.

His college nickname for me. The one he'd used in hallways, at parties, in whispered conversations that had followed me like a shadow. The one that had made me feel small and soft and wrong, every time it left his lips.

He knew.

He'd known the whole time.

Before I could process it or do anything rational, his mouth crashed against mine.

He tasted like mint and something darker, something that made my head spin. His lips were warm and demanding, and his hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing my jaw with a gentleness that completely contradicted the ferocity of the kiss.

I should have kneed him in the stomach and stormed back inside and found Kent and pretended this never happened.

Instead, I kissed him back.

Fiercely.

I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer, tilting my head to deepen the angle, meeting his tongue with mine in a clash of heat and fury and three years of buried wanting. He made a sound against my mouth and his hands slid down to my waist, lifting me.

I wrapped my legs around his hips without thinking, fitting against him like we were made for this, like every inch of empty space between us was a crime.

The height difference didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

The masks came off at some point—I didn't know when, didn't care. His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling pins loose, and my hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, closer, closer.

It was like dancing again. Only better. Only more.

I didn't want it to end.

I felt him grin against my lips—that smug, arrogant, Jax grin—and something inside me snapped back into focus.

This was Jax Callahan.

The boy who'd watched me suffer.

The boy who'd called me rice cake was the man kissing me like I was the only thing in the world and grinning like he'd won something.

I pushed him away.

Hard.

He stumbled back, his eyes wide, his lips swollen, his chest heaving. He looked... hurt. Actually hurt. Like I'd punched him instead of just shoved him.

"You asshole," I screamed, my voice cracking, my hands shaking.

The grin returned, slower this time, but no less arrogant. "Come on now, love." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with something I couldn't read. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."