“A sex room?” I ask, sounding unimpressed. I’m not surprised Brock has a sex room. He seems like the type. Creative. Free spirt. An actor who likes to pretend.
“You ever seen one before?” Trystan asks.
“No, but I know they exist. A lot of people in New York have them, or so I’ve been told. How’d you get the code to open it?”
“Heard him telling the maid. She has to clean it when he’s done.”
“Gross. Hope he pays her extra.” I look around the room. “Why so many chairs?”
“He has parties in here.”
I nod, not wanting to know any more. I’m not naive. I know this stuff goes on. I’d just rather not think about it with my uncle.
“You ever use it?” I ask, noticing the row of whips hanging on the wall.
“Not yet,” he says with a smile.
I leave the room.
Trystan comes out and resets the lock. “He also keeps his guns in there.”
“Guns? Like handguns?”
“He’s got all kinds. You want to see them?”
“No. I don’t like guns.”
“You afraid?” he says with a laugh.
“If someone’s shooting at me, then yeah.”
“He has them in case some psycho fan tries to break into the house.”
We walk through the bedroom and back to the hall.
“My room’s down here.”
I follow Trystan to another room that faces the ocean. It’s big, but much smaller than his dad’s room. There’s nothing special about it. It has a king-sized bed, dresser, and nightstand, and sports trophies lined up on a shelf. There’s a desk with a laptop and big speakers on the floor in the corner.
“Not much to see,” he says. “Braden’s is next to mine. It’s basically the same.” He leaves his room and goes back down the hall to the stairs.
“Wait — what aboutmyroom?”
“Downstairs. The other rooms up here are just guest rooms. They’re small and have a shitty view. My dad gave you the room by the pool. We use it for parties. Or, we did until my dad turned it into your room.”
We go down the stairs and through the living room. He heads to the right and stops in front of a closed door.
“This is it,” he says, opening the door.
I go inside the room. It’s big and open, with a king-sized bed topped with a crisp white comforter and gray and pink accentpillows. On the floor next to the bed is a round, fluffy white rug. There are two dressers, a long, short one and a tall narrow one — both white. Directly behind the bed is a wall of windows that look out at the pool. Beyond that is the ocean.
“Still thinking foster care’s the better option?” Trystan asks, joining me in the room.
“Versus living with three guys with guns and a sex room?”
He laughs. “Sound like every girl’s dream.”
I sit down on the bed and look out at the ocean. “I guess it’ll work. It’s only for a year.”
