Peyton
Jet’s apartmentwas in a building that looked like a warehouse, tucked into a hilly backstreet that was bookended by a little bar on one end and a boxing gym on the other. I stood outside, dressed in one of the nicer suits I’d purchased for the kinds of business meetings that involved overpriced bottles of wine. The white shirt was freshly pressed, crisp beneath the charcoal suit, but I’d skipped the tie.
Didn’t want to seem too formal at this sex masquerade, or whatever the hell it was I’d agreed to attend.
I buzzed Jet’s number, then wound my way through the long, tunnel-like hallways of the complex. It was one of those former industrial buildings that had been converted to condos, and I made a note of some of the design choices until I found 3B.
Jet pulled the door open before I could knock, then cocked a half a smile my way. He was dressed in a snug pair of jeans with a looser T-shirt, worn thin and sporting the name of a record label, extremely casual but somehow, perfectly stylish. “Damn, Peyton,” he growled. “Someone cleans up nice.”
I adjusted my glasses, already flustered by his flirty ass, and certain he could see it. With a chuckle, I tugged on the suit jacket. “Too much? You said this party was sophisticated.”
Jet gestured for me to come in, and I tried not to be disappointed that our banter had somehow skipped the hug. “I think I said it was classy,” he told me, “but either way, you nailed it. You look sexy.”
I paused, caught by the condo that stretched out in front. It was a one-bedroom railroad, everything set in a line that started in the kitchen where we stood, with fairly minimal wood furniture and a big stack of weights against the living room wall. Jet had a few different stations set up for his musical equipment, which appeared carefully organized, while shelves of records sat on display. The door to the bedroom was halfway open, and I recognized Jet’s musky scent in the air, which distracted me.
“Sexy,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “If you say so.”
“We’ve got some time. You want a drink or something?”
“What are you having?”
Jet turned to the cupboard. “Just green tea. I always caffeinate before a set.”
“Green tea sounds good.”
He grunted as he worked to prepare it. “You added a little honey, when you had tea in your office. Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” I answered, tickled that he remembered. “Oh, I picked up a mask, by the way.” I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket, then carefully unfolded the cloth mask. “Is this right?”
Jet turned as I removed my glasses and slipped the mask over my head. Once it settled, he blurted out a laugh. “Peyton,” he said, his voice dripping with sympathy. “No.”
I laughed as I pulled it off. The mask was a deep purple color and made of a fabric that clung to my face, from the crown of my head to my neck. “Is it really that bad?”
“Unless you’re looking for someone to role play being gay superheroes together or maybe to take up professional wrestling. No, that’s not it.” He tossed a kettle on the stove and flicked on the flame. “You’re lucky I saw this coming. Give me a minute.”
Jet walked off into his bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Naturally, I’d been so nervous about this party over the week, I’d nearly given myself a few anxiety attacks. Even after making Jet explain it to me a few times, I still wasn’t entirely sure what I was getting into. This whole evening was so far out of my league and beyond my experience, it was practically absurd.
I’d never even hear about a thing like this, if it weren’t for Jet. If I knew anyone who went to masquerade sex parties, they sure as hell never invited me along. But now that I was invited, I couldn’t deny how much it excited me.
Anything could happen. That scared me and enticed me and made my skin tingle. It was the opposite of how I was used to feeling with sex, where I knew exactly what would happen every time. I used to think that was comforting, knowing what to expect, but standing on the edge of something so different, I suddenly wanted to jump.
“This might suit you better,” Jet said, returning to the kitchen with a mask in his hand.
My heart tightened. Jet was my invitation to the party, but I kind of hated that he wasn’t the one jumping off the edge with me.
He lifted the mask, and my eyes caught on the tiny crystals, framed along the edges. It was a boxy, prominent design that would cover my eyes, made of some kind black velvet fabric, and with an elegant black strap to hold it in place. “It should fit over your glasses,” he said, handing it to me. “I ended up with this thing in my luggage after a party in LA last year. Thought it was kind of attractive.”
“Wow.” I took it, surprised at how well constructed the simple mask was. “Thanks, Jet.”
The tea kettle whistled, and next thing I knew, we were lost in the conversation. He showed me some of his equipment and happily answered all my technical questions. I’d already pieced together that he was successful at what he did, but when I spotted the framed posters for events that featured DJ Jettt and the intricacy of his expert setup, I really understood that he’d accomplished something significant with his career.
Hell, in some worlds, Jet was a celebrity.
Shit. This was supposed to be about Jet helping me find ways to explore my sexuality. I justified doing this without telling Noah because it was private. It was fine for me to come out on my own terms and at my own time. And strangely, Jet was the only person who I’d been able to share this with, so he was the one person Icouldtalk to.
But bonding over our shared passions and geeking out about the technical aspects of his craft, laughing together, that was something else. I couldn’t deny how good it felt to just be with Jet, fielding his quick wit and glowing with his energy. He kept me on my toes, and I really liked that.
I took a quick sip of my tea. We sat on the couch, only a few inches apart from each other, and I wondered if Jet was thinking about me at all like I was thinking about him.
