Keanu
The girl with the purple hair and “fuck me” eyes has finished explaining the setup and confirmed my times, and I finally escape to the safety of the changing area.
I didn’t want to be in New York this weekend, but that asshole Frankie booked this show against my wishes. I know it’s one of the busiest weeks in the fashion industry and me being here boosts my visibility and strengthens my brand. I know he thinks he’s helping, but he’s just getting on my every last nerve. Or maybe it’s just I’m getting sick of the whole scene.
Perhaps I’ll do what Selena does: just focus on photoshoots and refuse the catwalk. It would mean less trips to New York, which would give me more time to focus on my studies. Sophomore year is already kicking my butt, and it’s only week three.
Or maybe I’ll just retire completely. Honestly, I don’t get much of a kick out of modeling anymore. Not when I’m no longer modeling with Sel.
“Sup, man.” Travis Kenna raises his fist for a knuckle touch, and I reluctantly oblige even though the guy is a class-A douche. Courting enemies within the industry is a surefire way of invoking drama, which I like to avoid like the plague. So, I usually keep my head down and focus on the work. “Didn’t know you were booked for this show.”
“Me either,” I say, walking in the direction of the petite girl with the clipboard, snapping at some poor sap cowering in the corner. The noise levels in the room are almost deafening, as staff with fixed earpieces rushes around the space barking out orders and models gossip as they rotate between the myriad of stylists lined up to prep us for the show. My nostrils twitch as the overpowering scent of cologne, perfume, and hairspray swirls through the air, aggravating all my senses.
“Kennedy can give you the lowdown,” Travis says to Ren Rivera as clipboard girl glares at me while pointing toward a rack of clothes.
“Lowdown on what?” I ask as I head toward the clothing assigned to me.
“Selena Douglas,” Ren coolly replies, sniffing audibly.
I slam to a halt mid-step, grinding my teeth to my molars, silently urging myself to calm the fuck down before I turn to face the two douches. “Why do you want to know?” I inquire even though I can guess.
“I want to take her out, but she keeps shooting me down.”
That’s my girl.
Except she isn’t.
Not anymore.
The only place where that still holds court is in the fantasy land in my head.
Rivera rubs at his nostrils, sniffing again, and it’s so fucking obvious he’s just done a line or two. Asshole still has a spot of white powder under his nose. Not that anyone will care. Cocaine use is rampant within the industry, and it’s not unusual for models to abuse it before a runway walk.
I’ve never touched the stuff, and what happened to Sel is a big part of the reason why. For years, she was forcibly drugged, and she told me it was hell detoxing. But she did it. And she hasn’t touched any illegal substances since. That takes iron-strong willpower, and I figured the least I could do was support her by never touching the stuff either. So, even on my darkest days, after we first broke up, when I inhaled JD as if it was oxygen, I was never tempted to turn to drugs.
Travis chuckles, raking a hand through his jet-black hair. “Say what you mean, man.” A malicious glint flares to life in his eyes as he looks to Rivera. “You want to fuck her until she can’t walk straight.” He smirks, and my fists clench into balls at my side.
The rumor mill has plenty to say about my ex, and speculation has been intense over what went down between us, something these fuckwits know.
It’s common knowledge that Selena is guarded and private, and I’ve heard all manner of shit spoken about her. Hearing some sleazeball say he wants to fuck her is nothing new, but Travis Kenna speaking about her like that has blood rushing to my ears and adrenaline spiking in my veins.
He put his hands on her at a Kennedy Apparel party one time, and Selena had a full-blown panic attack. Since then, he’s gone out of his way to spread shit about her, and he never loses an opportunity to wind me up.
“Stay away from Selena.” I drill a warning look at Rivera. “She doesn’t date within the industry.” I’d like to think she doesn’t date, period, but I still have nightmares about that nerd Todd she was with last year when Kent and I bumped into her at Torment. Seeing her in a nightclub was already a shock to my system, but seeing her with another guy leveled me, and I haven’t been the same since.
“She dated you.” Rivera is fishing. But I’m giving him jack.
“Leave her alone,” I warn before turning my back on him.
“Kennedy’s just jealous he never got to sample that virgin pussy. Wasn’t for lack of trying,” Travis sneers.
My jaw tightens, and every muscle in my body locks up tight. Travis is talking out of his ass, and he has no clue what he’s saying. I turn around slowly, putting myself all up in his face. “You still sore over the fact she rejected you years ago? Because that’s fucking pathetic. As is your need to badmouth her any chance you get. Get over it already.”
Heat flashes behind his retinas. “I always thought she was a stuck-up prissy bitch, but it’s more than that. She’s a fucking nutjob. She proved it that night.”
He smirks, and I’ve never wanted to punch the fuck out of someone as badly as I want to punch Travis right now. “You know nothing, asshole.” My fists clench and unclench at my side, and I’m conscious we’re drawing attention from other parts of the room. “And I’m sick of your bullshit. For the last time, leave Selena alone.” I put my face right up in his. “If I have to warn you again, I won’t be using words to do it.”
He pushes me in the chest. “You think you’re so fucking hard, but everyone knows you’re just a sad little mommy’s boy who couldn’t even nail the broken bitch he was dating.”
