Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(8)

Well and truly busted. Conceited ass. “You’re pretty to look at, that’s all. Doesn’t mean I want to have dinner with you.”

“Fine. I won’t waste my breath then.” He handed over four hundred-dollar bills. “Tell Delilah to keep the change.”

He turned to walk away, and my ridiculous heart sank. Before I could berate myself for my ludicrous reaction, he turned back around and pulled something out of his pocket. A business card. He dropped it on the counter. “If you ever change your mind, Charlie.”





I turned down Con last Saturday night. It was the first time I’d ever done that. Given the awkward tension that had lingered between us all week, I was even more grateful to have the rest of the weekend off. Besides, I hadn’t had a Saturday night to myself in three weeks. And followed by an entire Sunday off? It’d been forever. Now I just needed my shift at the Dirty Dog to end already.

I looked at the clock. Twenty minutes to go. I sighed, reorganizing a rack of vintage concert T-shirts for the seventh time. My paycheck was going to take a hit this week because there was a Black Sabbath Heaven + Hell Tour T-shirt I needed to own. I didn’t splurge often, never really, but this shirt was so perfectly ironic because of the lyrics on the back. The part about blinded eyes and stolen dreams sent my thoughts back to Manhattan. The song summed up so much of my former life. Wearing it would be another little rebellion. I checked the time again. Five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

A slobbery tennis ball hit me in the side of the head. “What the hell?” I grabbed it off the floor and looked around for Huck. But all I saw was Yve rolling her eyes at me.

“What’s your deal, girl? You’ve been dragging ass all day and staring at the clock. Got a hot date?”

My breath caught in my chest. A hot date was exactly what I didn’t have. I thought about the business card buried in the bottom of my junk drawer. I still wasn’t sure why I’d kept it, but now it was dog-eared from all the times I’d dug it out only to shove it back in the drawer just as quickly. I hated the indecision Simon dredged up in me.

“Earth to Charlie…”

Shit. I hadn’t answered her question. “No—no hot date.” I decided, against my better judgment, to share. Maybe Yve would just kick my ass, and I could move on and stop thinking about him. I took a deep breath and added, “But … there is this guy…”

Yve rested her elbows on the glass case that served as a checkout counter and steepled her fingers. “Tell Yve all about it.”

So I did. I told her about both times he’d come to Voodoo, how he’d asked me out, and how Con had reacted.

“So, a hot piece of man asked you to dinner and you turned him down, why? Because Constantine was having a jealous moment?”

“It wasn’t jealousy really. It was more protectiveness … I think.”

“Call it what you want, but I’ve always thought your f*ck buddy thing with Con was going to end with one of you gettin’ your heart broken.”

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “Umm … what? No. It’s not like that between Con and me. So, just no.”

“Whatever you say. So what’s the real reason you’re not calling this guy?”

I cringed, because I couldn’t tell her the real reason. But I could give her at least part of the truth. “Because Simon is Simon Duchesne. Current city councilman, son of a former congressman, probably going to run for Congress?”

She tapped one perfectly manicured nail on the glass. “And?”

“And—well, look at me.” I gestured to my tattoos. They started at the tops of my shoulders and swirled down my arms and sides, stopping at my wrists and hips. I didn’t have a chest piece, or any on my hands, but still. I was a walking work of art. Not exactly prime arm candy material for a politician, even if I could risk the cameras. But it wasn’t like I wanted to be, or would ever allow myself to be, someone’s arm candy. “I’m not exactly his type.”

“He asked you out. So he thinks you are his type. Besides, that old rule about good girls liking bad boys—it cuts both ways, sugar. He’s a good boy, and you’re a pretty bad ass bad girl.” She paused. “I notice you didn’t say anything about not wanting to take him up on his offer because you weren’t attracted to him.”


I skimmed my hand along the rack of hanging shirts. “How could I not be? I mean, the man is gorgeous. I thought I was going to have to find a new pair of panties after he left.”

Yve shrugged. “So take him for a ride. Doesn’t mean you have to keep him. You get off, he gets his bad girl fix, and no one gets hurt.”

Goddammit. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Then get out of here, girl. Go get your booty call. I’ll close up. It’s been a slow night anyway.”

So Huck and I went.

My hands were sweaty as I sifted through my junk drawer for his card. I can’t believe I’m even considering this. If it had just been about scratching an itch, I could’ve gone to Con. But it was more than that. It was something unique to Simon—he exuded this innate confidence, this I’m strong enough to handle anything you can throw at me vibe—and it drew me in.

Finding the crumpled piece of white cardstock, I scanned it for what seemed like the millionth time. I punched his cell number into my prepaid phone and buried a hand in Huck’s fur as it rang. I hadn’t been this nervous to call a guy since middle school. My stomach churned as it rang a second time, then a third, and a fourth. And then, Simon’s voice asked me to leave a message. Shit. I didn’t know what to say, but for some stupid reason I didn’t hang up. I mumbled something about being Charlie from Voodoo wanting to take him up on his offer and rattled off my number. I dropped my phone on the kitchen counter and scrubbed both hands over my face. How very anti-climactic.