Dom’s stomach twisted.
“Yes. Fuck me, Dom.”
“Fuck.”
The words on the video were muffled and hard to make out, but Dom remembered them with crystal clarity.
Struggling to remain calm under a blaze of so much fury, Dom waved the phone in the air with a sneer. “Okay, you got me. I had sex with someone. Big deal.”
“Maybe not to you,” the guy said, “but the kid from Fading Daze is supposedly straight.”
“You’re assuming a lot, guy.”
“And you’re doing a nice song and dance to avoid denying it. But it doesn’t take much for me to hit Delete. Or to erase my backup copy.”
A creeper vibe was rolling off the guy now, and Dom hated thinking that he’d watched him and Trey have sex. What if he’d eavesdropped on their conversations, too?
Didn’t seem likely, since the guy wasn’t bringing up any of the promises he and Trey had made to each other. But it was still skeevy as all hell that he’d perved on them. And recorded it.
“I don’t know what you think I can do for you, man,” Dom said. He shoved the phone back at him. “I don’t have connections, and we’re not looking at taking on any new band members.”
Pervy Guy smiled. “All I want is an hour of your time.”
“For what? Need me to kick your ass onFortnite?”
“You wish. No, all I want is you.”
Dom’s skin crawled. “I don’t do private performances.”
“My video says otherwise. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never fucked a fan.”
He had, and by his own choice. No fucking way was he giving in to blackmail. “Leave me alone, guy.”
“That your final answer?”
Dom crossed his arms. “Actually no. Go fuck yourself and leave me alone.”
He turned neatly, proud of himself for not stumbling, and strode away. Calm and collected on the outside, while his insides were shaking all over the place. There was absolutely no way to prove that Trey was in that video. And except for Trey saying his name once—and he couldn’t possibly be the only Dominic around—it didn’t really prove Dom was in it, either. The light and angles were terrible.
Dom shot off a quick text to Trey.Call me as soon as you can. Urgent.
He got back to his group’s tent without a reply from Trey. No one was at the tent, so he cracked a bottle of water and guzzled it down. It sloshed around in his unhappy stomach. He paced between the tent and the van, giving serious thought to hunting Trey down so Pervy Guy couldn’t blindside him.
His phone rang.
“What’s wrong?” Trey asked. No muffled music sounds, so he was probably inside the camper.
“Some jizz bucket recorded us having sex.”
“What?”
“It was dark, and you can’t see either of our faces but in one of the recordings he caught us talking. You saying my name.”
“One of the recordings? Fuck.” Trey’s voice got higher-pitched, but also lower in volume.
“He has no proof it was either of us, much less you.”
“What did you tell him?”
