It’s almost like this weight lifted off my shoulders to say this to him. My back straightens, pride teasing me and asking for permission in. I decided who I am.
Maddox turns his head in my direction. There’s a relaxed air about him that he doesn’t usually have. With my eyes, I take in the stubble on his jaw and his dark, messy hair. It would really help things if he wasn’t so damn sexy. Keep lyin’ to yourself, Bee. If it was just his looks, you wouldn’t be here right now.
“That takes guts. Not everyone can do that.” He’s staring at me and I’m still staring at him. I can’t keep from thinking about the ring in his nipple and want to run my tongue over it.
Then he reaches toward me. Automatically I flinch and then feel like an idiot. He pauses for a second, touches my hair, and the movement is almost… tender. I’ve slept with Maddox three times. He’s not the only guy I’ve ever been with but that touch—the way he lets my hair almost float and fall from his fingertips—feels like the most intimate moment of my life.
“Who told you who you should be?” Then his hand falls, as does my stomach.
No one, but that doesn’t make it easier. I know who they want me to be and I should love them enough to do it.
“Next question.”
Maddox laughs this rich, throaty sound that makes my insides flip. “No shit. I’m going to use that one from now on.”
“Deal.”
A whistle blows, signaling the football game is over. Time flew by because I didn’t even realize we’d been out here this long. I watch as Maddox stands and then holds out his hand. I surprise myself by letting him help me up. “I’m driving.” I look over my shoulder at him as I walk toward the motorcycle.
He gives another laugh. “Where’d you hide the alcohol because you must be drunk.”
“Asshole.” I shake my head and roll my eyes.
When we get to the bike, I reach for the helmet but Maddox’s hand on my arm stops me. His eyes have transformed from the lightness they held at his last comment.
“What’s your real name, Bee?”
And that’s what does it—the fact that he used Bee when asking. It’s almost like he’s telling me it’s okay to be who I want. That to him I’m Bee, the pierced tattoo girl, and he’s okay with that.
Or maybe I’m going crazy and seeing things I want to see. Still, I open my mouth and let the words tumble out. “Leila… or Coral. I guess it depends on how you look at it.”
Questions swim through his eyes, but he doesn’t ask any of them.
“Grab the helmet, Bee. Let’s go.” Without another word, Maddox climbs onto the bike and waits. Words bubble in my throat. I can’t sort through them enough to let them free. I’m not sure what I want to say, so I settle on nothing.
After pushing the helmet onto my head, I climb onto the bike behind him. My arms go around his waist and he revs the engine before pulling away. We speed through the field and onto the road and I swear it feels like freedom. The wind is cold, but I revel in it. Love the feel of it as it rushes past me.
It’s then I realize I’m not really freaking out about having told him about the Professor. He knows my name and it’s kind of okay. It’s different than how it is with people like my family where I know on some level I’m hurting them but can’t seem to change it. He only knows Bee and he doesn’t expect Leila or Coral when he looks at me. I press my cheek to his back and relax.
Maddox leans to the side as we take a corner. My body goes along with his, hugging him as he controls the bike.
It’s not long until we’re pulling back into town. I’m buzzing, getting that same tingle under my skin like I’m getting a new tattoo.
When Maddox stops at a red light, more words start fumbling out of my mouth. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, Scratch.” Immediately I feel on display. Maddox tenses and I want the words back, but then the light changes, the motorcycle accelerates, and Maddox speeds off again.
What the hell is wrong with me? If he could hear me, I’d tell him to let me off the bike right now. We shouldn’t be out here together in the first place. We shouldn’t have done any of it.
The wind no longer feels right as it washes around me and my stomach is nauseous.
I pushed. I’m always the one who keeps the walls up but I pushed him.
But then… then he turns away from my house—away from Masquerade. My fist tightens in his shirt as we take another turn, then another one.
Maddox pulls into the driveway of a brown house. It’s a little run-down, some of the paint peeling. It’s his…
It’s a shock to my system when the bike suddenly shuts off under me. Maddox climbs off, then I do. He pulls off his helmet, then I do.
“It’s not much.” Maddox tucks the helmet under his arm.
“It’s yours, that’s what’s important.” We’re standing in his driveway, only a foot away from each other.
“I don’t do this.”
“I don’t either.”
He sighs. It’s like a breath being pulled from me too. Confusion mixes around inside me.
“What do you want, Bee?”
“Nothing.” And it’s true. “Just to hang out. I’m not here to sleep with you. I…” Feel like I can be myself with you.
“I’ve never really done the friends thing, Scratch, but…” I shrug and he nods toward the house before starting to walk away.
I don’t hesitate before following him.
Chapter Eighteen ~Maddox~
I’ve never taken a girl home with me. I’ve never gone home with a girl. I’ve never fucked a girl in a bed that I considered mine. She said she wasn’t sleeping with me again and my brain knows that’s smart. We’re somehow all tied up in each other when I’ve never been connected to anyone before.
But then, we’ve also both always been on the same page. We don’t do attachments, so my head is all fucked up about why we’re going into my house together if it’s not for something physical.
Or maybe I think I should feel screwed up about it. Crazy, but I actually feel and that’s what has the fist squeezing my insides.
Shake it off, man. “Watch your step.” With my hand flat on the door, I push it open while stepping back so Bee can walk in.
Slowly, she goes inside. Bee stops when she gets far enough away from the door that I can close it behind us. Even though it’s dark outside by now, I can see inside because of the small lamp I left on this morning.
Automatically, my eyes scan the room, trying to see it the way she does. My couch is against the back wall. Fifty-buck special from a yard sale. Next to it, the little oak side table with the black lamp. A matching coffee table in front, pieces of paper scattered all over it: some flat, others balled up. Some blank, others filled with different drawings.
There’s a small TV, but I only have a few channels. Another yard sale special is in the kitchen, a small round table with two chairs.
“This is strange…” Her back is to me as she looks around the room. Yet, I know, somehow I know, she doesn’t mean my house. She’s talking about being in it.
“Yeah… You thirsty or anything?” Scratching the back of my head, I walk into the kitchen. My first instinct is to watch her, to see if she explores. It’s not that I really give a shit about anything I have, but it’s mine and bringing her here is showing her who I am.