“August,” I helpfully finish for him.
August’s eyes flare at me, but I’m ignoring him in preference of unseating this dick.
That’s right, motherfucker. Same name, same face, same sexual preferences.
Probably.
Beat that.
“Jon,” he introduces himself, and now I’m the one looking to August for an explanation. This cannot be real. I am not dating Jon Bon Jovi in this reality.
Although I am really fucking hot in this reality. And irresistible even to myself, apparently. So why not?
But more pressingly, Jon Bon fucking Jovi is actually probably quite difficult to compete with, all things being considered. I bet he has a dumb mansion and everything. Not good news.
“Hasn’t…” Jon Bon fucking Jovi turns to August and lowers his voice. “You haven’t mentioned me to him?”
“No.” The word comes out short and tight, and it carries some weight I don’t understand.
Not until the atmosphere spins again, and before I can tell him we’re busy right now and to go away, Jon says to August, “Can I talk to you?”
August fixes his eyes on me. It’s like he doesn’t know what to do. There’s nowhere to go. It’s a studio apartment. And I’m certainly not leaving.
It’s a long look between us, and Jon Bon Jovi notices.
He slips his jacket off and drops it on the couch, like a cat spraying urine on the furniture. And my heart stops right about then.
He’s wearing a tank top, and his arms are so fucking beautiful. He has half a dozen bracelets on his dumb sexy wrists, and he’s got a goddamn superman tattoo.Thegoddamn superman tattoo.
He’s actually Jon Bon fucking Jovi, and he’s dating the guy I want.
I am going to be sick.
He’s taking him by the arm, walking him over to the bed, and all I can think about is how many times he’s pushed him down onto that bed. What they’ve done there. What he’s going to say to him, and if this is my one chance with August about to be blown.
I walk over to the kitchenette, very casually of course, and get my thwarted Coke out of the fridge, just to be close enough to hear them. They’re paying no attention to me anyway.
Straining to listen, I get snippets from Jon. “All those years.” “I never meant to hurt you.” “Baby.”
Don’t call him that.
I’m about to fucking explode.
August’s even quieter, like he doesn’t want me to hear any of it.
“Please,” Jon begs him.
“I can’t. I’m busy. With August.”
The place goes silent, then I have just seconds to rip open a cupboard and pretend I’m looking for mugs before those stupid cowboy boots tap down on the linoleum right behind me.
“August?” I turn around, as though I wasn’t expecting him, just to be greeted by that huge, white smile of his. I hate that he’s so much better looking than me. Him and August, both so handsome together. I bet they look amazing when they fuck.
I can’t even form an answer between my anger and this vicious jealousy, but I don’t need to. He goes ahead with his announcement: “You’re on the door for my show tonight. VIP room. Free drinks. Full backstage pass. Everything you want. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Jon!” August snaps from over his shoulder.
With a flash of bleached teeth, he spins around. “What? Your cousin’s in town, let’s show him a good time. Whatever else you had planned won’t be as good as that, will it?
