Elizabeth talks a big game, but she's not nearly the whore she pretends to be. She's only been with three or four different people, but to hear her talk, you'd almost think she would take any guy at any time. She doesn't. That's just her persona.
For whatever reason, she wants to be known as the wild, bad-girl type. It probably has something to do with the fact that her dad is the town's sheriff and she's gotten crap for it her entire life from our group of friends and classmates. Maybe she feels like she has something to prove, I don't know. It's just part of who Elizabeth is.
I'm not saying I'm an angel. Not by any means. But, I'm not quite as open and expressive about my sexuality and desire as Elizabeth is. Especially around my parents, who have this antiquated, Victorian view of sex and sexuality. Although, I notice those old-fashioned ideals don't extend to my brother.
Sexist much?
“What about that guy, though?” she asks.
“Do you know who he is?”
She shakes her head. “No idea,” she says. “He's not somebody who goes to school with us. Believe me, I'd remember someone like that roaming the halls.”
“Well, duh,” I say, drawing a giggle from her. “
I laugh again. Given the fact that we go to the Wellbrook Academy for Girls, a man – any man – would stand out in the halls of our school. Even if Wellbrook was a co-ed school, I think this guy would stand out. He's that striking.
“He's been following me around all night,” I say. “Everywhere I go, he's there. Always in the background, just – watching me.”
A grin touches Elizabeth's lips. “He totally wants you.”
I scoff. “Please,” I say. “I doubt that. I just don't know what his deal is. Or, for the matter, who he is”
“There’s only one way to find out,” she says. “Go talk to him.”
“I can't,” I reply, feeling the heat rush to my face at the mere thought of it.
“Why not?”
“I – I just can't,” I say.
“Oh please,” Elizabeth says, smiling. “You're not going to play into that whole shy, proper, Southern belle stereotype now, are you?”
I laugh. “In fact, I am.”
“Yeah, well you need to cut that shit out, babe” she says with a grin. “Especially if you want to land a hot guy like that.”
“Who says I want to land him?”
“Well, you should at least bang him,” she says. “At least once. He's hot.”
I doubt Elizabeth would do any such thing, but I laugh anyway.
“Seriously, babe,” she says. “Talk to him. At the very least.”
Elizabeth waves at somebody over my shoulder and then turns back to me, giving me a wide smile.
“Tommy Rutledge?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, God no,” she says. “He is like so two weeks ago. No, I came to the party with Andy.”
I feel my eyes widen. “Andy Wiggins?” I ask. “Tommy's best friend?”
Her flirty little grin only gets wider. “That would be him,” she says. “The fine piece of meat that he is.”
“You know you're playing with fire,” I say.
She shrugs. “At least I'm playing with something, babe,” she says. “Now, go talk to the mystery stalker.”
She flounces off and I see her grab Andy's hand, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He leans in for a real kiss, but she brushes him off, laughing the whole time. She's not going to make this easy on him. The poor guy. I almost feel sorry for him. He has no idea that he is only a pawn in her game.
I have a feeling that given the reputation she's nurtured over the years, Andy figured he was going to have an easy score tonight. But, I also know that Elizabeth is trying to get back at Tommy for cheating on her – and what better way to do that than date his best friend?
Yeah, this isn't going to end well for anybody.
I cut a quick glance over at the man in the red-and-black mask. He's still standing there, sipping from a cup, staring at me. It's a little frustrating, honestly. If he's this interested, why hasn't he made a move to come talk to me?
I move to the next room over – the formal dining room. It's huge and paneled in dark wood – and filled with the painted portraits of our various ancestors. The most prominent portrait among them, that of James Longstreet, the famous – or perhaps notorious, depending on your point of view – Confederate General. Though I personally find it a little appalling, my family is proud of being related to the long dead war hero.
Like I said before, my family takes great pride in our Southern roots and heritage.
I talk to a few of my friends, accepting their birthday wishes, but my eyes are on the door. And, it's not long before I see the familiar red-and-black masked man step into the room. He sees me watching the door, sees me watching him, and smiles.
And I swear to God, that smile is so electric and has such a weight to it that I feel my breath catch in my throat – and about melts my panties off on the spot.
“You okay, Bree?”
I turn and look at the face of my friend Mike. He's looking at me like I've just had a stroke or something, and I can only imagine what kind of expression is on my face.
“Yeah, fine,” I say, trying to put a smile on my face that I hope doesn't look forced. “Sorry, just distracted, I guess.”
Mike follows my gaze over to the man in the red-and-black mask. He's leaning against the door frame, sipping his drink, his eyes riveted to mine. Try as I might, I can't take my eyes off him. There's just something about him I find so mysteriously intoxicating. Compelling. It's horribly cliché, but like a moth to a flame, I feel drawn to him.
“Is that guy bothering you?” Mike asks, puffing himself up.
I put a hand on his arm. “No, not at all,” I say. “He's fine.”
Mike looks at the man and then at me, obviously not buying it. I force another smile onto my face, hoping this one is more convincing than the last.
“Seriously,” I say, “It's nothing. He's not bothering me.”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” I say. “Now, come on, this is a party. Go, have fun. Go get a drink. I think somebody spiked the sparkling cider fountain.”
Mike gives me a smile and casts the mystery man a threatening look, before turning and heading off to grab a drink. If there's one thing I know about my friends, it's that they like to drink. And although my parents said that alcohol wasn't allowed at the party, there wasn’t a way they could really stop it. I figure they probably knew that, though.
My breathing is a little ragged and my heart thunders in my chest as I look at my mystery admirer. I can't stop the small smile that touches my lips. I'm half-tempted to do what Elizabeth said – go up and talk to him – but I have a better idea.
If he's going to play games, so will I.
I give him a little smile before I turn and head out the door opposite of the one he's standing next to. I make my way through the crowd, smiling and waving to the friends trying to catch my attention as I pass.
I walk through the other dozen or so rooms on the ground floor, all decorated extravagantly for the party, completely filled with people. Turning around, I see the man weaving his way through the crowd, slipping around people and the elaborate decorations. All the while, there's an unfathomable smile on his face.
I push through the doors and walk into the kitchen. The wait staff that's assembled in there give me a questioning look, but I ignore them. A couple of moments later, the man comes through the door, his eyes glued on me.
I stand not even ten feet away from him, captivated by the icy blue eyes I see behind the mask. I catch the scent of an expensive cologne and know that this man – whoever he is – isn't one of my guests. He's older than me by a few years at least– and is probably not a high school student at all.
“Who brought you here? I ask.
“Who said anybody brought me?”