Nothing.
Not even a fundraising campaign when they were all freshman at Beverly High.
Zip.
Instead, they were a crew of young, sexy, and privileged white guys whose good looks and connections—and sure they had some talent—got them onto our screens. And when they weren’t on their daytime drama/recurring series/B Grade movie/streaming service original/token hot guy in the blockbuster, they traveled in packs, drinking and partying. Posting pictures on their social media and living their best lives. Guys would give their right arm to trade places, while hordes of women wanted to fuck them. And for someone like me, they were an easy mark.
They only bought top shelf or exclusive, not even bothering to check the amount on their tab before closing it out with a thick black Amex. Their tags and check-ins provided advertising that money couldn’t buy, and for the most part they were harmless. Sure, there was the sex in the bathrooms, but they kept it to the VIP area so other than their “own kind” no one else had a clue. And there was the occasional drug use that needed to be dealt with as well. We had a zero-tolerance rule on the floor, not willing to lose my liquor license because some asshole needed to get high. Which meant they were kindly—making a scene didn’t serve a purpose for any of us—asked to leave and not return.
But other than that, it was all good.
We each had our part and we both did it so well. You made them feel special, stroked their ego and it was easy money in the cash drawer.
So why they wanted to screw with the system and get their hands dirty was beyond me. But apparently that was exactly what they had planned, Scott spearheading the movement which was probably why he was all dick-in-his-hand at Diablo the other night propositioning me. I had a hunch I knew what he wanted; the lack of experience, savvy, or even just knowledge, a clue as to why someone like me was needed.
I groaned as I entered my apartment, tossing my keys onto my sideboard and locking the door behind me. Raelle had given me a ride again, but she didn’t come up, me convincing her it was all good. It still sent a shiver down my spine when I opened the door and checked everything was as I left it. But surely Lewis wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back after he knew the police had been called.
Thankfully, the apartment was empty. Nothing out of place, the soft smell of lemon floor cleaner still lingering in the air from my aggressive mopping before I’d left. I’d been excessively cleaning, hoping to cleanse the feeling of his invasion. But other than a super clean apartment, it hadn’t really helped.
The tension in my shoulders relaxed, the air in my lungs coming out a little slower as I took a moment to stand in my entrance way and assure myself I was fine. I was home, safe, and I was going to be horizontal and asleep very soon.
Before I could settle into my soft sheets and hopefully peaceful dreams, I needed to shower. The smell of the club got into your skin and hair and there was nothing more therapeutic than washing it all off after a long day. I undressed in my bathroom, dropping my clothes to the floor while the hot water kicked in, the room filling with steam shortly after. My hand instinctively reached out, testing the water and adjusting the faucets before I got in, an audible groan of relief pushing past my lips as the water cascaded down.
It was quick, my nightly/early morning ritual so ingrained that I did it with my eyes mostly shut. And then when I was clean, my body and hair smelling fresh and floral, I shut off the water and stepped out. I didn’t even bother getting into my pjs, towel drying my hair as best I could and then slipping into my bed, naked.
I wasn’t sure if the exhaustion of my mind or body was responsible, sleep coming quickly as I shut my eyes. I didn’t even think, my brain hitting a flatline the minute my head hit the pillow.
It had to be hours later before I moved for the first time, my body stretching out in my king-sized bed as I rolled onto my side, my eyes slightly opening as I repositioned.
My apartment was kept dark. Given my nocturnal hours weren’t conventional, I didn’t need a cheerful sunrise ruining what should be my nighttime. Which was why I had blackout drapes, the heavy folds of fabric so thick they’d probably withstand a nuclear blast.
The only exception was a small essential oil diffuser, the soft glow of blue light piercing the darkness as the water gently bubbled. Which was how I knew it was still early, my hand hitting the timer for five hours, set just before crawling into my bed at four. And that dim blue glow was just enough for me to see the dark shadowy figure, slumped on my couch.
My body held in a breath, my pulse kicking up speed as I willed my eyes to focus. I wouldn’t panic just yet, giving my mind a chance to assess the situation before I totally freaked out. My phone was right beside me, and the figure wasn’t moving, so if nothing else, I had options. The open plan didn’t give me a lot of places to hide, the thing I loved most about my apartment also the most dangerous.
Oh.
Hell.
I hadn’t even fully debated whether I should go lock myself in my bathroom and call 9-1-1 when I remembered exactly who that figure was. And had yesterday not been such a shitshow between Scott’s early morning wake-up, Lorena’s follow-up and then an intense night at Diablo, I’d have remembered I was expecting a house guest. Might have reminded myself to put on pajamas as well.
Jared. Leighton.
My body flushed hot without even saying it out loud, the idea that the only thing between us was a couple of feet, making my pulse race again.
I’ll admit, the thought of sliding out from my covers and confronting him naked, was appealing. Wondering if he’d push aside that duty/honor bullshit and cave like he did the other night in his car. Or if he’d think it was some tragic and desperate attempt at attention.
And he probably wouldn’t be wrong.
No.
No, I wasn’t tragic or desperate, and there was nothing wrong with having a healthy sexual desire. No one made my brother feel like a freak when he couldn’t keep a steady girlfriend, or when he was dry humping random women in the corner of Diablo.
Deciding to compromise—rejection when you were naked would sting like no other—I slithered silently from my sheets and grabbed the nightie I hadn’t put on after my shower. It was still hanging off a chair where I’d left it, the pale pink satin more like a slip than sleepwear, pulled over my head and smoothed down my body.
Underwear was an issue, my collection of panties sitting in a dresser drawer I didn’t open as I crept on my toes out to the living area. Sneaking around in my own apartment was ridiculous, and yet, there I was, doing my best not to make any noise so I maintained the element of surprise. It reminded me of being sixteen again, cracking the door open early in the morning when he’d sleep over, his big, sexy passed out figure sprawled over the spare mattress in my brother’s room. I fantasized about crawling under those covers more than just a few times, my brother being less than two feet away in his own bed stopping me every single time I wanted to be brave.
My feet hadn’t even made it all the way to the couch when his eyes cracked open, and then went wide.
“Fuck,” he coughed out shifting himself back up the couch.
His long legs had hung over the edges, my generous three-seater comfortable, but still not big enough for his large frame.
“You look pathetic on that couch.” My hand anchored on my hip as I switched on a small table lamp. “You should make it a point not to piss off your future wife, I’m almost positive you wouldn’t be able to afford the back care.” I pointed to his hand which was rubbing the back of his neck.