“Did you collect checks for that? And if I remember correctly, I paid you rent from the time I was old enough to mow lawns. And you only let me stay because I threatened to report you.”
Don scoffs and looks down at his fingers, rubbing them together as if there’s something caught between them. He sucks his teeth. “Always did have a mouth on ya. Both of you did. Ungrateful brats. And that little—” he waves his hand dismissively, “What do they call them now? Twinkies? In my day we called them what they were, f?—”
My vision blurs white at the edges. Don was always an asshole, but he was cruel to Ari in a way I could never stomach. “Finish that sentence, old man. I never was afraid of you and I’m certainly not now.”
He chuckles. “Still got you wrapped around his little finger, eh?” He steps forward. “I bet that’s not all he’s got you wrapped around.”
“Careful,” I warn quietly.
“Or what? Gonna hit me? That’d look real good for you. Bet the papers would eat that up. I know I’m not the only one that sees the way you look at Ari, either. Always fawning over each other. Wouldn’t be a far-fetched story to sell about catching you two fucking.”
I roll my eyes and try to play it cool. “No one would believe an abusive, manipulating piece of trash like you, Don. You don’t scare me.”
“Maybe not you…”
That does it. Rage rushes through me from my face to my feet, and it takes everything in me not to beat his face in. But I don’t swing, and I don’t shout.
I reach into my wallet, pull out a thin stack of bills, and slap it into his chest hard enough that it knocks him back a few steps.
“That,” I seethe, my voice barely above a growl, “is the last thing you will ever get out of me. If I ever see your face again, if you come near Ari or so much as breathe his name, I will come after you with everything I’ve got.”
His laugh is thinner this time.
“I will fucking end you,” I hiss with finality. Then I step back and walk away, not looking back when I hear his low chuckle.
I have a feeling this isn’t over, but hopefully I’ve bought myself some time to make a plan to deal with him without getting Ari involved.
We’re able to get everything set up pretty quickly—the benefits of fame and fortune. We jam for a while, playing around with old stuff and favorite covers. I put the encounter with Don in the far recesses of my mind and focus on the harder thing to avoid.
Every hour that passes is another excuse, delaying the time I need to go home and confront Ari. I tell myself I’m giving him space, like everyone says he needs, but I know better. I’m a fucking coward.
By the time I leave, Jesse is more animated than he’s been in months. His smile gives me a little hope for the future.
Up until I’m pulling onto the street where our shared rental is and all the breath is sucked from my lungs.
Ari is getting into a car with a glowing rideshare logo in the front windshield. It’s not even one of our car services, and it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t have anyone from the security team with him. He never thinks he’ll be recognized, but dressed like that, he’s bound to be noticed.
He’s wearing low-cut, dark skinny jeans that hug every curve, a thick studded belt that accentuates his waist, and a black cropped tank top I recognize. I can’t read it from here, but I’m pretty sure it says “fuck toy” in holographic script. His hair is down and styled, and I’m pretty sure his eyes and lips are done too.
I love it when he wears makeup. He’s beautiful every day, but the way his eyes pop with just the slightest bit of smoky eyeliner and the sinful pout of his lips with a touch of color is flat-out seductive. Tantalizing. Dangerous, even.
It’s got my blood pressure up from here. Though I can’t really say if it’s from the way he looks tonight or the fact that he’s clearly going out somewhere.
Without me.
SIX
ARI
The building the driver drops me off at is unfamiliar, but that was the point. I don’t want to go anywhere Will and I have been before.
I chose a club that I’ve never heard of, something unassuming and normal. No velvet ropes. No carefully curated debauchery. No familiar faces or staff trained to recognize us and cater to us while looking the other way. Just a faded neon sign and bass heavy enough to lose myself in.
The place isn’t big. It’s more of a bar than a club, but it’s clean and fairly busy for a weeknight. I bet it’s packed on the weekends. There’s a long, curved bar along one side of the room, a few tall cocktail tables dotted around, and on the other side of the room is a large dance floor. There’s a stage and several floating platforms with poles, suggesting performance nights and maybe professional dancers on the weekends to pump up the crowd. Directly across from the entrance, farther back near the beginning of the bar area, is a curtained area that is either restrooms, or quiet rooms, or both. Both are likely used for thesame thing anyway—a slightly less public area to touch and be touched.
It’s perfect.
I feel a little exposed walking in and showing my ID to the bouncer, feeling eyes track me the second I step inside. I feel them skim over my bare arms and midriff, linger on my chest where the words “fuck toy” are catching the flashing lights from the dance floor.
