Chapter 7 – Tequila, Trouble, and a Rabbit Mask

Beth

By the time I wrapped the campaign, it was a week later and my shoulders ached like I’d been hauling bricks, not branding toothpaste. I’d approved final edits, sent off polished image assets, triple-checked copy, and hit “send” on the client deliverables with a sigh that rattled my spine.

Now, finally, I was free.

I flopped back on the couch, one sock half-off, phone in hand.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. Celebrate. You earned it. Drinks, dessert, a little tongue action if the universe is kind.

I tapped Tommy’s contact and hit call.

“Hey, beautiful,” his voice answered, smooth and warm. “Perfect timing.”

“You busy?”

“Just landed. I’m in L.A. for the night—had to finalize a deal. Up-and-coming tight end, plays like a tank, talks like a monk.”

“Oh.” I sat up. “Didn’t know you were leaving town.”

“I didn’t want to distract you—you’ve been in war zone mode.”

“You’re not wrong.” I smiled. “But I was hoping to celebrate. I finally finished it.”

“Wish I could be there. How about tomorrow night? Dinner’s on me. Fancy or filthy—you pick.”

“Okay. Tomorrow sounds great.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Get some rest tonight, superstar.”

When the line went quiet, I just stared at the screen.

No buzz. No follow-up message.

Which was fine.

Totally fine.

We weren’t official. He didn’t owe me his itinerary. If anything, it was sweet that he didn’t interrupt me during crunch time.

Still… I wanted to celebrate.

So I did something unexpected.

I called Rachel.

She answered on the third ring. “If this is about retouching Kyle’s toothpaste shot, I swear to God—”

“Wanna go out?”

A pause. “Wait. What?”

“I need to blow off steam. Campaign’s done, Tommy’s out of town, and I don’t feel like drinking wine alone like a rom-com cliché.”

“You’re initiating a night out?” She gasped. “Hold on, I need to log this moment for history.”

“You in or not?”

“Hell yes. Since it’s a rare Beth Goes Out night, we’re doing it right. There’s a new club downtown—Masquerade. You have to wear a mask to get in.”

“A mask?”

“Sexy. Mysterious. Eyes Wide Shut but less culty. I’ll bring options. Black dress. No questions.”

She hung up.

I stared at my reflection in the dark screen.

Something about the spontaneity felt good—like I was reclaiming a part of myself I’d buried under meetings and perfectionism.

Tonight, there were no pitches. No edits. No expectations.

Just me, Rachel, a dance floor, and whatever kind of trouble we could get into wearing masks.

⸻

Masquerade looked like a fever dream.

Velvet ropes. Gold-plated trim. A bouncer who looked carved from granite stood guard.

Except us.

“Hey, Mikey,” Rachel purred, lifting her fox mask just enough to flash a smile.

“Rachel,” he grinned. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably.” She winked.

He unhooked the rope and waved us in.

“Of course you know the bouncer,” I muttered.

“I know everyone.”

Inside, the bass dropped like a heartbeat. Music wrapped around us in thick, heady waves. Strobe lights sliced through glitter-soaked air. Everyone shimmered with sweat and anonymity.

And I loved it.

I wasn’t Beth Monroe, Marketing Director. I was a masked woman in a black silk dress with a drink in hand and no expectations.

Rachel ordered tequila shots before I could protest.

We downed them. We danced.

God, we danced.

Sweat. Laughs. A stranger tried to twirl me—Rachel hip-checked him out of orbit. Another round appeared. I didn’t ask how. Rachel was magic.

And then… I felt him.

Heat at my back. A body in sync with mine like he’d already studied my rhythm.

I turned my head.

A man. Tall. Shirt half-unbuttoned, chest sculpted like sin. A tattoo peeked from beneath his collar.

But his face?

Covered completely by a sleek leather rabbit mask. Full face. Long ears. The kind you see in kink catalogs or edgy music videos.

Odd. But hot as hell.

He said nothing. Just moved with me. His hands slid to my hips, then lower—fingers pressing against the tops of my thighs.

Every touch was confident. Restrained. Like he could break me but chose not to.

I let go.

Head back against his chest. Arms trailing up his sides. Then—down.

Found him. Hard. Thick. Straining beneath his pants like he’d been holding back for hours.

I gave him a playful squeeze and rolled my hips—

“Beth!”

Rachel’s voice sliced through the haze.

I blinked. Turned.

She was there, grabbing my arm.

“What?” I half-laughed. “I was just—”

“It’s time to go,” she said, tight and urgent.

I looked back.

The man in the rabbit mask was gone.

Vanished.

“Wait—”

“Come on. Trust me.”

The tequila was buzzing. My heels were biting.

I followed her into the night.

And tried not to wonder why it felt like I’d just danced with a secret I wasn’t meant to meet.

⸻

The next morning, I woke up with my face stuck to the pillow and my soul halfway out of my body.

Everything hurt.

My head pulsed. My mouth was dust. And my eyeballs? Definitely being stabbed by a tiny goblin.

I shuffled to the kitchen like a dying raccoon.

Rachel stood at the stove, barefoot, wearing one of my oversized t-shirts and flipping pancakes like she lived here.

Which, apparently, she did now?

“What… are you doing?” I croaked.

“Making you pancakes. Duh.”

“No, yeah, I got that. I mean… why are you here?”

“You were way too drunk to leave alone. I needed to make sure you didn’t puke and die. Which, by the way, you almost did. Twice.”

I winced. “Oh God.”

“Also? You forgot that you can’t go shot for shot with an Irish woman who outweighs you and has the liver of a Celtic warlord.”

“That seems like a warning you could’ve given before the tequila.”

“I did. You saluted me and yelled something about national pride, then knocked back two lemon drops and a Cosmo.”

I groaned.

Rachel slid a coffee mug toward me. “Caffeine first. Pancakes second. Regret third.”

I took the mug like it was holy.

“You’re an angel. A sarcastic, unsupervised angel.”

She grinned. “You love it.”

I moaned through the first bite. “God. Marry me.”

“You said that to the bartender. And the DJ. And a woman in the bathroom line who had glitter boobs.”

“Okay… but I didn’t end up in jail, right?”

“Nope. But you were definitely making out with a masked stranger on the dance floor.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Oh, yeah. You don’t remember that?”

“Not even a little.”

Rachel sipped her coffee. “Huh. You seemed pretty into it.”

“Like… how into it?”

“There was grinding. Heavy petting. Possibly an orgasm.”

I choked. “WHAT?”

“I said possibly,” she laughed. “Your dress was riding up, his hands were very thigh-adjacent, and your face was doing things I can’t unsee.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Kill me.”

“No can do. You owe me brunch and a debrief.”

I peeked between my fingers. “I don’t even know who he was.”

Rachel shrugged. “Welcome to Masquerade, babe. Sin and satin. That’s the brand.”

“I’m never drinking again.”

“You say that every time.”

“No, I mean it. I’m entering my herbal tea era.”

Rachel snorted. “Now hurry up. I have questions.”

“Wait—I have questions!”

“Fine. I’ll go first.”

I braced myself.

“You didn’t just make out with a masked hottie…”

“God, don’t say it like that—”

“You made out with a guy wearing a leather rabbit mask.”

I froze. “What.”

“Full-face. Long ears. Looked like Donnie Darko went to Pilates.”

My jaw dropped.

“Also, you definitely grabbed his dick.”

I glared at her. “I did not.”

“You did,” she sing-songed. “With both hands. Like you were testing the density of a water balloon.”

I dropped my face to the table. “I’m never leaving the house again.”

Rachel shrugged. “What’s wild? He didn’t try anything. Not even a kiss after that.”

I lifted my head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, after you grabbed him, he leaned down—very calm—and told me you needed water and should probably go home.”

I blinked.

“He could’ve taken advantage. But he didn’t. He handed you off and vanished.”

Something flipped in my stomach. Guilt? Curiosity?

Rachel nudged a fresh pancake onto my plate. “You were lucky.”

I stared at the syrup swirl. “Lucky,” I echoed.

She kicked my shin. “Eat. Hydrate. We’ll unpack your masked mystery man later.”

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Rachel tossed it to me.

Tommy:

Just landed. Can’t wait to see you tonight. 7pm. Wear something sexy. I’ll text you details later.

I gasped. “Oh shit—I have a date tonight!”

Rachel grinned. “Don’t worry. Your hangover will be gone by then.”

She stabbed her fork into her pancake and added casually,

“Maybe tonight you can put that smooth pussy on his face.”

I choked. “Rachel!”

“What? Think he’s into that?”

I launched my napkin at her.

She dodged, cackling. “Men who respect the kitty, worship the kitty.”

I shook my head, laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“Correction.” She raised her fork. “I’m the best. And you’re welcome for the pancakes, the rescue, and the vagina pep talk.”

She’s not wrong.