Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
We do a couple laps around the club, and a few guys eye us, but we don’t give them a chance to approach. The club is filled with various shades of black and grey with a hint of red throughout, giving it a mysterious yet sensual vibe. There are lounge chairs and couches in various locations, making the area feel spacious yet intimate. Everyone is wearing masks, but a lot of them are only covering the minimum, so you can sort of see what their face looks like. Raelyn and I both went simple in little black dresses, unsure what the vibe would be, and I’m glad we did, because while a few went for a dramatic vibe, most are dressed in various sexy dresses—the men sporting suits.
I check the main area, then walk down a few hallways that are open and lead to different rooms and a couple of small bars. I’m about to suggest we get a drink at the main bar and wait, when I spot Lincoln strolling through, wearing the silver mask I saw—his tie matching.
“That’s him,” I murmur to Raelyn, nodding toward Lincoln. Even if I hadn’t seen what his mask looked like earlier, I’d still be able to recognize him. I spent years watching him, crushing on him. And even with me away, Sienna posts pictures of him all the time when they’re at family functions that I miss. “He’s heading toward the bar.”
“Good luck,” she whispers over the music. “And remember, I’ll be close by. If anything changes and you can’t do it, I’ve got your back.”
I wait for Lincoln to have a seat at the bar and order a drink before I sidle up next to him, having a seat and playing it off like I don’t notice him.
When the bartender asks what I’d like, I debate whether I should order something alcoholic, but figure one drink won’t hurt and will hopefully lessen my nerves a bit.
“A mojito,” I tell her, going with a drink I normally wouldn’t choose just in case. Lincoln and I have never hung out where there’s alcohol involved, but I’m not chancing ordering my usual—whiskey sour—since Sienna is the one who put me on to it.
While I wait for my drink, I focus on calming my heart rate. With Lincoln next to me, I’m suddenly having a “what the fuck am I doing?” moment.
There’s a part of me that feels guilty for concealing my identity from Lincoln and seeking him out for anonymous sex, but the other part of me justifies it because, if by some miracle I pull this off, it will be completely consensual. Still, it feels deceitful.
It’ll just be one time and then we’ll go our separate ways, I tell myself.
“A duck?” a masculine voice asks, forcing me out of my thoughts.
I glance at Lincoln, who’s looking at me. “Huh?” I say dumbly, mesmerized by his hazel eyes that are shining bright against the silver mask that covers the top half of his face, exposing his full lips and clean-shaven jawline.
“A duck,” he repeats, nodding toward where I was absentmindedly creating an origami duck out of my napkin, a nervous habit I picked up when I was younger.
“Quack, quack,” I say, pretending the duck is real because apparently, I’ve lost my damn mind.
Lincoln eyes me for a moment and I worry I’ve already fucked up—I’m attempting to talk lower to disguise my voice without sounding like an idiot, but I have no clue how intuitive he is—when a smile spreads across his face, his eyes light up with mirth, and he throws his head back in laughter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before,” he says once he’s stopped laughing.
“How would you know?” I shrug. “I’m wearing a mask.” It’s a black and gold gorgeous Venetian cat mask. It hides most of my face, leaving only my eyes and lips on display. I’ve given myself smoky eyes to blend with the mask, creating a dark, mysterious feel, and my lips are painted a dark red matte, outlined to look plumper than what they are. On top of that, when I went in for a haircut yesterday, I added caramel highlights to my hair, something I’ve never done before. As long as Lincoln’s known me, my hair has always been one color—brown—and I almost never wear makeup, especially lipstick as bold as what I’m wearing tonight.
“Very true,” he says, “but as the owner of this establishment, I make it a point to get to know my guests, and I would’ve remembered that duck...and those green eyes.”
My eyes. Oh, shit. I should’ve worn colored contacts. What the fuck was I thinking? Luckily, based on the way he’s running his gaze over my body—his eyes that were just filled with laughter, now full of desire—he must not recognize me. Because if he knew these green eyes belonged to his much younger sister-in-law, he wouldn’t be checking me out the way he is.