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Actually, it’s scarred and grotesque.

“Hmph.”

“You do that a lot.” He lifts a hand and boops my nose over my mask. Literally makes the booping sound and everything. “You grunt and grumble when you don’t like what I have to say or when you don’t want to answer a question.”

I shrug, my heart rate picking up when his hand dances along the column of my throat. “You see me as something I’m not. You haven’t seen all of me, Tate.”

Great.

Kill the mood, asshole.

Tate’s lip juts out, pouty and adorable. I want to bite it. Of course I fucking can’t.

“I’ve seen enough,” he argues, scrunching his nose. “Enough to know I’m really liking the guy hiding beneath the mask.”

So he says.

I know better.

I still have nightmares of my reflection after Mom died. No matter how hard I try to forget the person staring back at me, I can’t. It forever haunts me.

“I like touching you.” He grins beautifully at me. “Do you like touching me?”

Fuck.

Why is he so irresistible?

He makes it insanely impossible to stay away.

“You’re drunk,” I state, scowling, though he can’t see.

His eyes roll and he playfully smacks my stomach. “Tipsy. It’s called liquid courage.”

“What do you need courage for?” My rough voice is barely audible as my mind zings with possibilities.

“I wanted to do something nice for you, but I didn’t want you to hate it.”

He cooked for me to do something nice. My chest tightens with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Why?” I growl, hating how grumpy I sound.

His eyes drop to my chest and he shrugs. “I just wanted to show my appreciation.”

I’m already missing his adoring gaze, which explains why I reach up and hook a finger under his chin. I tilt his head up so I can admire all the lovely things about him, starting with his unsure expression.

“This is very nice. Thank you.”

He beams at me, sending bursts of sunshine slicing through dark, dusty parts of me. “I know of a way you could thank me.” He nibbles on his bottom lip. “It would mean the world to me.”

I frown and shake my head. “I-I can’t take off my mask.”

Please don’t make me.

I can’t ruin this moment with you seeing the real me.

Fucking please, Tate.

His eyes grow watery and he also shakes his head. “Never, Jude. Not until you’re ready to show me.”