“You talk to her about me?”
“Of course. She’s my best friend.”
I knew Wes and Chastity were “best friends” because he had a picture of them as his screensaver on his phone. When I’d asked him about the girl whom I had purposely called his sister, Wes snorted and admitted they’d become close since their breakup nearly six months ago. He then patted my hand and told me I had nothing to worry about as long as I didn’t have a problem with him being friends with a girl.
I was fairly certain Wes was delusional because, based on my understanding of the situation, Chastity was the girl stringing him along, and he’d resorted to calling her his best friend because she was no longer spreading her legs for him. Or so he said.
If I had a jealous bone in my body, perhaps I would’ve been worried about her. Chastity was one of those little blonde tarts. Petite, bouncy, with big tits and a tiny ass. We had absolutely nothing in common. I was tall to her short. Dark to her light. And though I wasn’t overweight—although I had been prior to my time with Diggy—I would never have the ideal female form by Hollywood’s standards. According to my mother, my forced diet had been a good thing (yes, sheactuallysaid that), but now she insisted I needed breast and butt implants—neither of which I would be getting—and I could use a nose job when I was ready to go under the knife.
I happened to like my nose, and I didn’t have a problem with my tits or my ass—or my narrow hips, for that matter—but I wasn’t sure Wes was on board. I was having no problem keeping the weight off, especially in the two months since I started seeing him because all the dates we went on consisted of some sort of cardiovascular activity.
Everything except for sex, that was.
We had yet to consummate our relationship, and for the life of me, I didn’t know why. He said he wanted to take things slow and get to know me before we moved things to the next level. I respected that. Mostly. I hadn’t been raised to see sex as something sacred shared between two people who would spend the rest of their lives together. From my experience, it had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with a physiological response to stimuli. I wasn’t sure why Wes was making a big deal out of it, but I was hanging around to see if I could unravel him.
My abstinence was made a little more difficult when so many things sparked that dry kindling deep inside me. How long I could hold out was yet to be determined. For the time being, my vibrator was getting a good workout.
“And how did Chastity learn about this party?” I asked, dragging my thoughts back before they face-planted in the gutter.
Wes frowned. “This is her dad’s house.”
Well, that was definitely news to me. “Her dad? The doctor?”
“Yes.”
Based on Wes’s stories, Chastity’s dad wanted her to follow in his footsteps. Evidently, she fainted at the sight of blood, so she opted for the next best thing: pharmaceutical sales. According to Wes, that was the be-all, end-all of careers. A far cry from my desire to pursue my passion for art in place of a dollar. According to Wes, I didn’t understand what it meant to have to work for a living since I came from Hollywood royalty.
Did I mention his father was a high-profile defense attorney, his mother one of the most sought-after plastic surgeons in the country? Yeah. Like he knew what it meant to work for a fucking dollar.
“Did she warn you it was a fucking orgy?” I asked, unable to stop staring at the partially naked bodies moving through the room.
“Language, Laikyn,” he mumbled.
Right. Wes didn’t like foul language. Or meat. He lived on vodka and fruit—he was a self-proclaimed fruitarian who liked salmon on occasion and refused to believe me when I told him the vodka he preferred was made from potatoes. While he would never win any awards for dedication to one diet, he was pretty consistent, and I wasn’t dating him for his common sense.
I didn’t bother apologizing for the F-word because I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little. I’d spent my entire life being judged by others. From the first pictures of me, people felt it was their due to share their opinions of my clothes or my haircuts, what toys I was photographed playing with, the people I chose to talk to. I’d long ago stopped giving a shit what people thought I should be doing and decided to live my life how I wanted.
Truth be told, I didn’t care to be at this party, yet here I was, mixing it up with the Gen Z-ers looking to progress themselves socially by recording their daring acts of debauchery for their TikTok followers to rave about. Everyone here was donning a designer label, whether in T-shirts and jeans or short skirts and skimpy tops. There was no theme, but they likely claimed thatwasthe theme.
Wes nudged my shoulder to get my attention. I followed his gaze to a guy finger-banging some girl in the corner.
“She said it would be eye-opening,” Wes said with a chuckle.
If he considered that “eye-opening,” perhaps someone needed to sit him down and have a conversation about birds and bees. That someone wasnotgoing to be me.
He grabbed my hand and tugged. “Come on. Let’s go talk to her.”
Sometimes, I wondered if he was helping himself to whatever drugs Chastity was hawking because his idea of a good time was having me and her hang out together.
“Chastity? You found her?”
I didn’t hear his response because he was moving at a fast clip, weaving between bodies. I did my best not to dig my heels in and refuse. I didn’t want to see the girl who was stringing Wes along to the point he’d become abstinent. I’d already had the displeasure of being in her company more than I ever cared to be.
And no, I wasn’t obtuse. I knew Wes wasn’t embracing abstinence to build a stronger relationship with me. He was saving himself for the woman who had stomped all over his heart while at the same time giving her the illusion that he was moving on. I would almost say that was sweet if I weren’t the one suffering from his no-sex rule.
“Well, hello, handsome,” Chastity greeted Wes when she spotted him.
Wes dragged me to his side before releasing my hand and accepting Chastity’s hug. I watched, wondering if this was the moment the green-eyed monster was supposed to make an appearance. After all, the man I was dating just had his chin nipped and his dick rubbed by the flouncy blonde whose tits were about to fall out of her barely-there tank top.
