Page 20 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)

I rise from the bench, the faint whispers of my song playing in the back of my mind on a loop.

The song I made on the drums still feels like it’s missing something and so does the mixture of beats I created on the piano.

I start to go down a rabbit hole in my head of just what could be missing as I march up the stairs and to the kitchen.

The entire time I walk, the drum song and the piano song play in my head simultaneously.

I stop a couple of steps away from the top as my eyes land on Harvey who’s standing at the door just watching me with an amused expression on his face.

The music dies in my head. “What?” I ask.

He shakes his head and forces a tiny smile away. “Nothing. You’ve been down there all day; you need to eat something.”

I quirk a brow, “All day?”

Harvey nods, “It’s dinner time, Little Rockstar. You lost track of time. Again. ” He emphasizes the last word but not with disdain or irritation. It sounds almost like he’s fascinated or impressed. There’s also a very small note of pride in his voice and in his eyes but I can’t imagine why.

A flicker of a smile tries to worm its way onto my face, but I force it away, completely confused as to why anything this man says would elicit a smile from me, though I can’t deny.

The way the nickname “Little Rockstar” rolls off his tongue has a certain allure to it.

It comes out of his mouth coated in honey and poison.

I take another step towards the top and he moves to the side, giving me room to slip past him.

We walk silently to the kitchen and seat ourselves next to each other at the island.

There are two plates of food for each of us and I know from the plating alone that my chef made it. “Chef was here?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes. She was here for hours but you didn’t notice because you were in your own little world.” Again, it doesn’t come out mocking.

“Is that a bad thing?” I raise a brow as I stab a piece of chicken with my fork and bring it to my mouth.

He shakes his head as he tears into his own dinner. “Not at all. It just fascinates me. I don’t know how you do it.”

I cock my head, “How I make music?”

He turns his head to meet my gaze, his onyx-colored eyes peering right into my soul. “No, how you lose yourself in it. It consumes you completely and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I smirk, “Well, when you’re passionate about something and you love it with every ounce of your being, work doesn’t feel like work.

I love music so much I never feel like I’m working when I’m actually working if that makes sense.

It’s easy to lose track of time, the notes just start playing in my head and it’s like a big puzzle I have to solve.

I always have a few pieces but there’s always so much missing and I can’t stop until I find them all and put them together.

” I ramble on and feel the tips of my ears turn red with my embarrassment once I stop speaking.

He could probably care less about anything I just said.

But when I look at him, it doesn’t look like disinterest on his face. It looks like intrigue, curiosity. “It must be nice to have something that makes you feel that way.” He says as he forces his gaze back to his plate.

I furrow my brows as a frown takes over my face.

“You don’t have any passions? Hobbies?” I question.

I can’t imagine not having music. What must it feel like to not have anything at all?

A cold feeling washes over me and I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise with the thought.

Harvey must have something that makes him feel the way music makes me feel.

He shakes his head, “No. Hobbies are a waste of time. There isn’t much room for passions and hobbies in my line of work.”

I feel a crack in my chest at how lonely that must make him feel.

I never feel alone even when I am alone because I always have my music to comfort me.

I can’t imagine not having anything and that must be what it’s like for him all the time.

As much as I’d hate to admit it, I feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

“They aren’t a waste of time if they’re something you love.

You just haven’t found a true passion yet. ”

He snorts a laugh, “Since when are you in the business of lecturing me? That’s my job, remember?”

I can’t help but laugh even though I know he’s only trying to change the subject.

“I think I’ve spent too much time around you.

Pretty soon I’ll start waking up at the crack ass of dawn every morning and then showing my face in the same white button down and black slacks every day, scolding you and demanding you pee in a cup for me. ”

The roar of laughter that escapes his throat is completely unexpected and almost stuns me for a second.

I grin at the sound. It’s so pure and melodic, I find that I want to hear it again.

His smile is so genuine I almost convince myself I’m dreaming because Harvey Taylor would never look at me and laugh, let alone smile.

I’m so lost in the sight of his flawless smile that I almost forget about my earlier phone call with Beatrix and the absolute shit show that my relationship with my friends has become.

Once the high of his smile vanishes, the after high sadness comes back and I remember just how messy my life has gotten.

I look down, my smile only a faded memory as I focus on my food.

Everything starts to taste like cardboard and gets harder and harder to force down.

I feel Harvey’s eyes on my face as I chew but don’t look at him.

I just keep my head down and my eyes forward.

We finish the meal in silence, and I leave my plate in the sink and start walking up to my room to change and go to bed.

I know it’s early, it’s only eight thirty, but my brain hurts and my eyes are starting to burn.

I’ve spent hours and hours thinking and exhausting myself mentally with making music, my brain could use some rest. I also don’t have anything else to do.

I’m sure right now, Aria and Ivory are out at some club without me, high as kites, and drunk off their asses.

“Brody,” Harvey calls from the foot of the stairs.

I stop moving and turn to face him. I’m almost all the way upstairs, my room and cozy pajamas just around the bend, please don’t let this be a dignity thieving, surprise drug test. “What?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets uncomfortably and asks awkwardly, “Do you want to watch one of those mafia movies you like?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Did Harvey Taylor just ask me to watch a movie with him?

First a laugh, then a smile, and now he wants to watch a movie.

Where is the real Harvey Taylor who hates me and who is this strange man looking up at me from the foot of the stairs?

He looks uncomfortable like he almost wishes he didn’t ask but he waits to hear my response.

This is so out of character for him I speak before he can change his mind, “Sure. I’ll be right down. ”

He nods, “I’ll put it on the TV. Do you want popcorn?”

“Sure,” my lips twitch into a smile.

He turns on his heel and hurries out of the room as if he’s been dying to get away this whole time.

I can tell it makes him extremely uncomfortable to be kind to me but let’s keep it real here, I’m growing on him and he doesn’t want to admit it.

That’s why it bothers him so much to offer me anything but furrowed brows and frowns.

I hurry up the last few stairs and into my room, quickly changing into a cozy pair of gray sweatpants and a matching gray crew neck.

I march back down the stairs and into the theater, the whole time still in complete shock and disarray that Harvey initiated the movie watching.

I know he enjoys the movies or at least enjoys not being alone and sitting in the theater with me when I watch them, but he never initiates it on his own and we never speak about it during or after the movies end.

When I enter the theater, I find him seated in his usual spot at the end of the couch.

The TV shows the title scene for “Goodfellas,” my all-time favorite and I notice the bowl of popcorn placed on the further end of the couch on a tray.

I take up my usual spot at the opposite end from him and wrap myself in a fluffy red blanket.

Harvey presses play and the movie starts, but the whole time, I can’t focus on anything aside from the man seated at the other end of the couch.

The characters in the movie speak and key plot information happens but still, I can’t focus on anything but Harvey’s presence and the heat I feel between my legs at the mere thought of him.

“Why do you keep squirming?” He asks, a brow raised and a note of irritation in his voice.

I thank God silently that the room is dark, and he can’t see how red my face has gotten. “It’s hot in here.” I toss the blanket off me and grab the bowl of popcorn just to have something to do with my hands.

Neither of us continues the conversation as the movie continues and for the first time in my life, I’m peeved by the length of my favorite movie.

I have to sit in Harvey’s presence for two hours with my legs crossed at the ankles when I’d rather be anywhere else doing anything else. Fuck, why did I agree to this?

––––––––

THE TORTURERS OF THE medieval times used some of the most gruesome and most wicked torture methods of all time.

From hanging to boiling people alive, they left no tortuous stone unturned.

But they could’ve saved themselves the trouble of all that work and could’ve instead placed the person they were torturing in a room alone with a very handsome and very attractive Harvey Taylor who’s just trying to watch a movie while you ogle him and mentally picture him doing very wicked and devious things to you with little to absolutely no fucking clothing on. There is no torture worse than that!

When the movie ended, I bolted from the room with a quickly muttered “goodnight” and raced to my room and closed the door behind me.

That was about two hours ago and while my racing pulse has calmed down, my ability to sleep has escaped me.

I’ve been tossing and turning for what feels like forever but every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is Harvey.

It’s a curse. A terrible, horrible curse.

This has to be karma for something, but what?

I mean, I’ve been on my best behavior lately, what did I do to deserve this?

Unless it was before the good behavior…Oh God, this must be my karma for putting hot dogs on that old lady’s car in New Jersey.

I told Aria and Ivory it was probably not a good idea, yet I was the one who opened the sealed package of raw hot dogs and put them all over her car and in her exhaust pipes.

This is totally my karma for that. Dear Karma, I really didn’t mean it and I was under the influence of a lot of drugs and alcohol.

Please forgive me and let me sleep. P.S.

please stop making Harvey Taylor look so damn fine.

Thank you 3. I think mentally and send it up to karma if she’s real.

Another hour and a half later, I still can’t sleep.

My brain feels too awake and energized as if I already got a full twelve hours.

Frustrated, I sit up and let my legs hang off the side of my bed.

I accept that I won’t be getting any sleep tonight right before I push myself off the bed and start walking towards my bedroom door.