There were tears flowing from his eyes, and the sounds he was making…
“Dude, you never had a girl choke on your dick? Likereallychoke on it?” He snorts. “Maybe you should try getting head from a dude, because that shit is where it’s at.”
“You volunteering?” I ask flatly.
“You fucking wish,” he says, laughing.
I try to think about any woman I’ve ever had go to town on me like that, and yeah, okay, I see his point. But then the woman from my memory blurs and becomes Ari, and suddenly it’shimlooking up at me with streaming eyes, throat contracting around me, spit everywhere.
My cock twitches.
Fuck.Would I feel differently if it were my dick he was choking on? Is that my problem?
I sigh heavily and pull out my phone. My apology feels thin even to me, but it’s all I have at the moment.
Me: I’m sorry I overreacted.
The text is read, but he doesn’t respond.
Naz thumps me on the shoulder before taking the last swallow of his drink and heading off. I stay for a while longer, waiting for a response that never comes.
On my way up to our penthouse, Cory lets me know that Ari is staying in Jesse’s room. He says something about making sure Jesse doesn’t get sick, but I know it’s bullshit. He doesn’t want to be around me.
After years on the road together, everyone close to us knows that Ari and I share a room. They probably don’t know that we share a bed most nights, but they know enough. They’re aware that we didn’t have a normal home life growing up, and that Ari has nightmares. They don’t happen near as often as they used to, but they happen now and again. When he’s particularly tired or stressed, they’re more likely to occur. I hope I haven’t triggered one.
I go to bed half expecting Ari to come back, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t crawl into his own bed, or next to me in mine. He doesn’t steal my blankets or press his back against my chest like he does when he needs me. The space beside me stays cold.
Our interviews the next morning are thankfully all radio and nothing on camera. Francis assured us that nothing came of lastnight, but I’m still half expecting them to ask about a brawl at a sex club or ask why some random bear-looking guy is talking shit about me on social media. But they don’t.
“The ironclad NDAs are why you go there in the first place,” Francis reminds me. “Besides, you’re fucking rockstars. You can do whatever you want. Bad behavior just makes people want you more.”
I scoff, but he’s probably right. When we first started, the label tried to get us to lay low about our sexualities. Jesse tended to be a bit more obvious with his exploits, and caught eyes wherever he went. But the more trouble Jesse got into, and the more scandals he’s been caught up in over the years, the bigger the crowds get. He makes people feral. And while Ari has never quite gotten up to Jesse-level antics, he’s not quiet about what he likes, either. Just look at the rhinestone collar he wore to the AMAs last year, it had the words “good boy” bedazzled across his throat. Then again, I was the one who agreed to hold the leash. To be fair, I know he meant it as a joke to poke fun at the wild fan theories that “ship” Ari and Jesse together and suggest that it’s Ari’sscary big brotherthat keeps them apart or some shit.Ridiculous.
Still, I tense when one of the radio hosts asks Ari about the bruise on his cheek that makeup can’t quite hide. He laughs them off and makes up a story about having a wild night and being a little extra clumsy on his walk of shame. I keep my sunglasses on and feel even more like a piece of shit because, unlike his cheek, my eye is barely bruised.
On our way out, I try to corner Ari to apologize again, but he’s not having it. He lashes out and tells me that he’s going out with Jesse tonight, and I’m not invited.
“So when I find someone that’ll use me the way I want them to, you can’t interrupt with your protective big brother bullshit,” he says.
“It’s not bullshit.”
“If it’s keeping me from living my life, it is. I don’t need you hovering over me all the time.”
I don’t tell him he’s wrong. That he’s always needed me and always will. There’s never been more than a handful of nights that go by without him crawling into my bed because he needs me to chase away the bad things. I don’t point out that I’ve been protecting him since he was eight years old. I don’t bring up all the times I’ve covered for him, or stood in front of him, made sure he ate or dressed warmly enough because without me he never does it himself.
I don’t say it. But he can see it in my eyes.
Determined to prove me wrong, Ari goes out with Jesse that night. And the next. I hear them come home safely just after one in the morning, but he doesn’t come back to our room.
On the third night, Jesse busts into my room. I wasn’t sleeping, but I’m still startled.
“What’s wrong?”
Jesse stands in my doorway, pale and exhausted. “He’s having a nightmare,” he says. “I don't know what to do.”
I’m moving before he finishes his sentence. Ari is curled in on himself at the very edge of the king-size bed, shaking and panting through whatever is playing out on the other side of his tightly clenched eyes. Peeling the sheets back, I pick him up andcradle him against my bare chest. He melts into me, settling almost immediately.
Jesse watches, bleary eyed and silent, as I lift Ari into my arms and carry him back to my room.
