He's not my dad

part 17

Friday night arrived far too quickly—and Bree and I still weren’t speaking.
The silence had started to feel heavier than the argument itself, so instead of spending the evening pacing and overthinking, I made a decision: I was going out. No sulking. No spiraling. Just one night where I didn’t dwell on cracked friendships or complicated men.

The new masquerade bar around the corner had been all over social media all week—dark, decadent, dramatic. Exactly the kind of place you could disappear into for a few hours.

I slipped into a black latex dress that hugged me in all the right places and curled my hair into loose waves that tumbled over my shoulders. I kept my makeup smoky but understated—letting the dress do the talking. I hesitated briefly, scanning my reflection

Bold. Confident. Unapologetic.
I liked her.

I realized only when I arrived that I didn’t actually own a mask. Rookie mistake. Thankfully, the entrance was lined with a small display of them—black lace, feathers, sequins. I bought a simple black lace one and tied it on, the fabric cool against my skin.

The bar itself was stunning. Candlelight flickered everywhere, casting shadows across velvet booths and dark wood floors. Music thumped low and seductive, and the air buzzed with mystery—everyone half-hidden, half-exposed.

Kate arrived not long after me with her friend Stacy, both of them already in full masquerade glory. Their masks were intricate and dramatic—gold detailing, delicate chains, the kind of thing you planned outfits around.

“Show-offs,” I laughed as I hugged them.

Kate grinned. “Preparation is key.”

We grabbed champagne from the bar—cold, crisp, and dangerously easy to drink—and clinked glasses before weaving into the crowd. The anonymity of the masks loosened everyone up. Conversations flowed easily. Laughter came quicker. No one was exactly who they seemed, and that felt strangely freeing.
As we drifted from group to group, I caught myself smiling more than I had in days.
For tonight, at least, I wasn’t the girl with a fractured friendship or unanswered questions.
I was just another woman in a mask—anonymous, confident, and ready to let the night unfold.

....

The crowd pressed close, the music thumping like a heartbeat through the floor, and I was lost in the anonymity of the masks. People laughed, whispered, danced, and disappeared into shadowed corners, their identities hidden—but the thrill of it only made me feel more alive.

That’s when I noticed him. Leaning casually against the bar, salt-and-pepper hair catching the dim light, eyes dark and watchful. He wasn’t loud or flashy; he just was. The kind of man who didn’t need to shout to be noticed.

Our eyes met, and there was an instant spark. I raised an eyebrow, playful, and he smiled—a slow, knowing smile that made me melt without a word being exchanged.
He sidled closer, and I realized he had an effortless charm about him. The way he moved, the tilt of his head, even the slight curl of his lips—it all drew me in.

“Quite the party, isn’t it?” he said finally, his voice low, rich, and resonant.

I almost swallowed my tongue. “It’s… intense,” I managed to say, trying to sound casual while my pulse doubled.

“I like it,” he replied, eyes glinting. “The masks. The secrecy. Makes conversation… interesting.”

We lingered by the bar, talking and laughing, our words weaving in and out of the music. Every laugh, every glance sent heat crawling over my skin. When he brushed my hand lightly, I shivered.

“Dance?” he asked after a moment, nodding toward the crowd.

I barely hesitated. The music was calling, and so was he.
The dance floor swallowed us, bodies moving closer with each beat. Our masks hid our faces, but nothing could hide the chemistry between us. Every touch, every brush of skin, set off sparks. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and I felt completely weightless, completely consumed.
Finally, it happened. Our lips met. The kiss was slow, deep, and consuming. His warmth pressed into me, his hands roaming in a way that made me forget the world outside this room. I felt dizzy, flushed, every nerve on fire.
And then—suddenly, his phone rang. He sighed, a regretful sound, and pulled back slightly. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I have to take this.”

Before I could even get a good look at him, he stepped back, answered the call, and disappeared from the dance floor.
I stood there, my heart still racing, lips tingling, and a delicious heat lingering across my skin. I didn’t even know his name. I didn’t know anything about him—except that his voice, that deep, magnetic voice, had set me on fire.
And somehow, I was already wanting more.

...

The night was starting to blur. I searched the crowd, scanning every masked face, but he was gone—vanished into the chaos of the masquerade. I felt a small pang of disappointment. Part of me wanted to chase, to find him, to see if that spark had been real. But another part knew better. I already had one casual relationship in play. Adding another would only complicate things—and I wasn’t sure I was ready to handle that kind of mess.

Shoving the thought aside, I let myself get lost in the party again. I drank, I danced, I laughed, and soon I was drunk enough to feel that familiar reckless confidence—horny, bold, untouchable. Without overthinking, I pulled out my phone and called Chuck.

“Hey,” I slurred slightly, biting my lip, “want to… meet me for a quickie?”

There was a pause. Then his voice, calm and low: “Taylor… I’d be there in a heartbeat, but there’s been a family emergency. I have to stay here tonight.”

My stomach dropped. I had expected a polite refusal, a casual brush-off, but hearing the sincerity in his tone made the disappointment sting more than I anticipated. “I hope everything’s okay,” I said softly, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Thanks,” he replied. “It’ll be fine. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up, letting the phone slip back into my bag, and tried to shake off the ache. I said goodbye to Kate and Stacy, laughing through the last few sips of champagne, and made my way back to the hotel.
The lobby was almost empty, and I was grateful for the quiet. That’s when I saw him.

Chuck. Standing there.

My chest tightened. The elevator doors were closing behind me, separating me from him just as I realized what I was seeing. He had told me he was with his family, yet here he was, casually waiting in the hotel lobby. A surge of jealousy hit me like a slap. Probably with another woman. Probably already moved on.

I shouldn’t be upset. I had kissed another man tonight, and yet here I was, seething at the thought of Chuck being with someone else.

Crazy, I thought, my cheeks heating, how someone can make you feel so attached when they’re supposed to be casual.
I stepped into the elevator, forcing myself to breathe slowly, trying to shove down the mix of lust, confusion, and frustration that had taken hold.
For the first time, I wasn’t sure if “casual” was ever going to feel easy.