I woke up with a raging erection and was immediately aware of where I was and that I needed to get my dick the hell away from Ashton.
Making a sudden movement out of the bed was not going to happen. Not only was I sore from the previous night’s half-assed fight, but there was a hundred and sixty pounds of willowy blond clinging to me. Ashton was curled on his side with one thigh shoved between my own, and an arm thrown over my chest. His fingers had wrapped possessively around my biceps. A mess of hair covered most of his face except for the tip of his nose and his wide pouty lips.
I’d intended to make tracks so he wouldn’t feel my wood digging into him, but his mouth had my attention now. It brought the incident from the night before charging to the forefront of my brain—him running his hands and lips all over me while I tried not to react and failed just as badly as I’d failed at everything else these days.
Much to the consternation of my Orthodox Christian mother, Ashton had been over-the-top touchy-feely with me since childhood. After a while, she’d realized he was just hungry for affection, and most people, his family included, rejected his hugs and kisses. That was why I’d stopped pushing him away after the first few times he’d cast his eyes down to hide his dejected expression. Even as a boy, he’d tried to mask his pain with silly grins and wide-eyed expressions. So I’d let him hug me because seeing his face fall had broken my fucking heart. Eventually it had turned into . . . other things.
Him demanding I practice kissing with him as a preteen, and me complying for reasons I’d never been too clear on. Then that escalating into mutual masturbation as hard-core porn played in the background. He’d always put on hetero videos even though he was gay and had zero interest in the woman, and I figured he’d been doing it for my benefit seeing as how I never went near actual women. Getting laid was something that had not happened to me until after high school, and even then it had been rare. My sexual interest in other people was usually close to nonexistent. With Ashton, I was horny all the time. And he knew it but gave me the out of being “hard up” whenever we “platonically” fooled around. He even continuously called me straight, as if that label, or any other label, fit me at all.
Regardless of the past, I’d tried to put a sharp stop to all our not-so-platonic interactions after we’d slept together. I wouldn’t touch him. I wouldn’t fall for him. Even if he was the only person who could make my heart beat faster with nothing more than a sideways glance and a teasing smile.
Maybe one day his effect on me would fade, and I’d actually be able to keep my hands off him, but that time hadn’t come yet. It was as impossible as ever. As soon as I was around him, as soon as he touched me and grazed his mouth to mine . . . I wanted him. Which was exactly why my previous night’s resolve had collapsed.
Shit.
Why couldn’t I control myself when it came to him? I had no desire to have casual sex. Between my various odd jobs and fighting, I rarely dated. The thought never crossed my mind unless someone asked me out, and even then I was rarely interested in attempting romantic involvement with someone I barely knew. My friends didn’t get it, and the women who’d invited me out over the years didn’t get it, but I was more than happy with porn and my hand to satisfy any middle-of-the-night urges.
But once I was around Ashton frequently enough, I went from completely apathetic about getting laid to constantly turned on. I hated myself for it, because that was everyone’s reaction to Ashton. It was part of the reason he was so messed up—he thought the only way to keep someone’s attention was to play the wanton-and-willing card.
I didn’t judge him for his various sexcapades. I just hated the fact that he thought he needed them to make people like him.
“Ashton, get off me.”
“Mmm.” He clung harder, managing to press his knee lightly against my bulge. “It’s more fun if I get you off.”
Recoiling, I shoved him away and practically threw myself out of the bed. He opened one heavy-lidded eye to gaze up at me before burrowing deeper into the blanket and falling back asleep. Within seconds, his deep breathing was once again filling the room, and I had to stop and wonder whether he’d even been conscious while propositioning me. Not that a pesky thing like being awake had stopped him before.
Shaking myself, I stumbled into his bathroom to do a quick washup and gargle. Sleeping in his comfortable bed hadn’t put me back to rights, and I knew I needed another solid few hours of sleep before I could go to the gym for a good workout. If not, next time it would be Luis knocking me on my ass. Especially since we had a tournament coming up where I’d most likely be fighting him.
I was dressed by the time Ashton roused enough to notice I was halfway out the door.
“Wait,” he called after me in a voice still rough from sleep. “When will we see each other again?”
My hand was wrapped around the doorknob, but I hesitated. “I don’t know.” A glance over my shoulder showed he was giving me that look—dejected and heartbroken while sitting in the ruins of his expensive bedsheets with a million thread count. “Ashton, it’s not what you think, okay? You didn’t do nothing wrong.”
The hangdog expression flickered, and some fire flashed in those silvery-blue eyes. “Then why are you avoiding me? You dodged the question last night, but I have a right to know.”
“Ha.” I fully turned with my shoulders squared and arms crossed over my chest. “What makes you think you have a right to know anything about what I do or why I do it?”
“Because we’re friends. And we care about each other.”
Well, fuck. What an answer. There was no way I could be dismissive now, but there was a zero percent possibility of me telling him the truth. Having a crush on a billionaire’s kid who’d turned into a pseudo-celebrity model had been okay as a teenager, but having it continue into adulthood was pathetic.
“I’m just busy.” The words rang hollow even in my own ears. “I work a lot, I try to see Hana when I can, and I have a tournament coming up.”
“But you had fights and jobs before, and you still found time for me.” Ashton sat up on his knee and managed to look like some kind of seductive nymph with his hair everywhere and leanly muscled body awash in golden light streaming from the window. His lips parted as he stared at me from beneath his long lashes, so goddamn sexy without even trying. Without even knowing. Unless he did. And unless he knew how much this was getting to me. “Just tell me the truth, Val. I don’t like liars.”
“I’m not lying. If you want to imagine there’s more to it, that’s on you, but I recommend finding a new hobby.”
“And I recommend being more creative when you’re trying to evade me if you don’t want to be called out on your crap.” Ashton raised his chin. “But fine. Be that way. Go. I won’t beg you.”
He was giving me an opening, but I was still hesitating even as I reached behind me to grab the doorknob. “There’s nothing wrong, Ashton.”
“Then tell me when we’re going to see each other next.”
“For fuck’s sake, man. I got no clue. When’s the next time you want to see me?”
“Tonight,” he said quickly. “You can meet me for drinks after I go to this party.”
I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. “Why is there always a party?”
“One, I promised I’d take Mere. Two, there’s someone at the party I need to talk to.”
“Who?” I asked sharply. “That douche bag from last night? Because—”
“No, this party is Brett-free. Promise.” Ashton knee-walked to the edge of the bed. “But anyway, I won’t make you go to that. Just meet me at the door and we’ll leave. It’s in the city this time.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll go after the gym.”
“Awesome!” Ashton gave me a huge smile. “See you later, my darling.”
“Whatever.”
I turned and strode through the apartment. I’d really set myself up for failure by continuing that conversation. Should have known my ability to say no to him was right up there with my ability to knock out Mayweather in a fight. Irritation worked its way through me, but Ashton’s faint shout of “Love you!” put the brakes on it before it could build into something that felt more like regret.
After pausing at the front door, I said loud enough for him to hear, “Love you too.”
I drove back to the Bronx in a daze, stumbled to my building, and slept like the dead as soon as my head hit the pillow. After a solid four hours, I woke to pound back a protein shake and text my sister about whether or not we were really going to attend a family function for someone on our father’s side. She shot me back a fuck no and asked after Matt. I had no idea what that was all about, but Matt and Hana potentially dating was one of the best things I’d heard all day, so I agreed to let him know that she still owed him dinner.
I got my run in on the way to Cadet’s, and arrived there energized and ready to put in some serious work. Tony had me doing suspension training that shredded my core until everything was burning and my body was screaming, but the pain felt good. After that, I focused on my footwork and combos while he faced off with the pads. I lived for his nods of approval and the gleam of pride in his eyes, and was on a complete high by the time I went to shower.
My face was turned up to the spray of the water with my eyes closed by the time I realized I’d missed Matt. Hana would never let me forget it if I didn’t follow through on one of the rare favors she asked, so I sent him a quick text after drying off. Right after it sent, I got a notification from Instagram.
Ashton had posted a selfie of himself and Meredith Stone at some place called Liberty X. They were smiling at each other and hugged up like lovers, but he did that with all his friends. It had been her brother in the picture on Valentine’s Day, and I shook my head at the memory of how frustrated I’d been that night. Not just frustrated—I’d been jealous. Heartbroken. Scared.
It had been that moment, that fucking picture, that had prompted me to call him again. To stop running away from what had happened between us and allow myself to be his friend again. Not just due to jealousy, but because I’d missed him.
It had turned out that he hadn’t been dating Caleb after all. I’d been relieved, just like I was now relieved that he was going out with Meredith and not some guy.
Some of my trepidation about meeting him in the city faded, and I went home to make a quick dinner—high protein and no carbs. Just as I yanked on a pair of dark jeans and black sweater, Ashton texted.
Ashton: Still training?
Valdrin: omw
Ashton: Okay. FYI I may be tipsy. Let’s do a late dinner instead of drinks :-)
Valdrin: Sounds good since I don’t drink. Which you keep fucking ignoring for our entire lives.
Ashton: I heart you. Anyway, doorman knows you’re coming. ;)
Valdrin: I thought we were meeting outside?
He didn’t answer. Shaking my head, I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed out.
Driving through Manhattan at night was always a little distracting. Besides the swoosh of cars flying by at too-high speeds and the constant honks of horns, my eyes always found their way to the city’s lights. It was almost like New York City came alive once the sun set, and the contrast of street lights and glass skyscrapers fascinated me as I sped down pothole-filled streets. Once I got on the FDR Drive, the beauty of the city magnified. You couldn’t see how dirty the water of the East River was at night, and the lit bridges and stretch of Brooklyn on the opposite side of the water always caught my attention. After all these years, it shouldn’t have been this intriguing to me, but it wasn’t something I’d ever managed to shake.
I’d gone to Manhattan the first time the year I’d turned ten, after my mother had started working for the Townsends, and it had felt like another world. So different from the aggressive thrum of the South Bronx, and yet so much less welcoming compared to the borough that had birthed me and my sister. I hadn’t realized the South Bronx had a bad reputation until the first time I’d met Ashton’s parents, which was also the first time I’d learned about things like classism. They’d felt sorry that I had to live in such a terrible place, and only seemed to know it for the arsons and fires that had plagued it two decades before I’d been born. They blamed it on the people from the neighborhood, but now I was old enough to know the Bronx had burned because of budget cuts and firehouse closures. But that fact hadn’t mattered then, and it barely mattered now. The misconception still pissed me off, though.
Even as a kid, I’d wanted to square off with Ashton’s parents for coming out their faces about my home. Who the hell were they to act like the Bronx was a nightmare? Who were they to think they were better than people who lived in the real world, as they looked down from their shining glass towers? There was no denying the pulse of my neighborhood sometimes beat wild with adrenaline that tended to have its residents on the defensive, but the dozens of different cultures living in the brick buildings along the Grand Concourse, the blast of salsa or hip-hop with too much bass from open windows and car radios, and the smell of Dominican food from the five solid spots in a six-block radius, was more welcome than this island of stuck-up people who did things like pay a lady to stay away from her own kids.
I’d hated Ashton’s parents from the start.
So how was it possible that I’d fallen for their son? Despite my resentment and my need to hate him the way I hated the rest of his family, my heart had always pounded for the androgynous boy with the false smile and sad eyes. Still did.
Instead of being a lounge or club, Liberty X was housed within a fancy-ass apartment building. Baffled, I parked my car near First Street and First Avenue and returned to the spot. The doors were locked, but I slipped in after someone came out of the building and took the elevator to the top floor. My confusion grew after I approached the only door on the floor and realized it was a private penthouse. I’d heard of traveling parties in the past, but I’d never considered trying to get into one of them. It was pretty fucking embarrassing to tell the dude at the door that I was here on someone else’s dime. Damn Ashton. So much for meeting me outside.
“What is this place?” I asked the doorman, a silver fox in a three-piece suit who looked like James Bond. “Private party or what?”
His brows rose. “Yes. Did Ashton tell you the rules?”
“Rules?” My gaze swung back to the door but I couldn’t hear anything on the other side. “What rules?”
“Usually individuals can’t attend alone and it’s invite only, but Mr. Townsend has special privileges.”
“Why?” I asked, butting in. “Because he’s rich?”
The guy stared at me and had the decency to not look condescending. Just blank. “Most people who come to Liberty X are like the Townsends,” he said, probably because that sounded better than, This place is for the one-percenters of the city. “Other rules—overindulging in alcohol will resort in clients being escorted out. Drugs are prohibited. Play areas are open—”
“‘Play areas’?”
“—but all and any touching is consensual. If someone asks you to stop watching, respect their request. This is a safe space. Security guards roam during the party to ensure everyone is following our code of conduct, but we don’t generally have any issues.”
Security guards, play areas, touching and watching . . . All of it was painting a picture that made me want to back away from 007 and return to my Camry. Part of my brain was screaming, This isn’t you, These aren’t your people, and Get the fuck out of here, while another part of me was going into warp-drive adrenaline at the idea of Ashton attending a sex party and inviting me. Why would he do it? Why had he brought me here? He knew me. He knew I didn’t do this type of thing.
So maybe I had it wrong.
“Can I go in?” I asked. “I’m not staying long. Just finding Ashton.”
The guy inclined his head, opened the door, and let me into Liberty X.
It was a penthouse with two floors, a bar, and an actual DJ, lounge spaces, and several different colored gauzy tents—something out of a movie and definitely not a place that should exist in real life. Half-dressed people stood beside dudes in suits and women in dresses, all congregating or talking casually while pairs or groups kissed and groped and fucked all out in the open for everyone to see. Over the music, I could hear someone moaning repeatedly—their voice coming from one of the tents. The phrase play area now made sense.
Tension lanced through me and, again, I wondered why he’d brought me here. Had he actually expected me to participate in casual sex with randoms? Or maybe he didn’t think I’d care about seeing him with someone else. Like he’d thought I wouldn’t care about him dragging me to the Rodriguez wedding this past summer, and then making out with his friend Charles while I’d stood there like an asshole. Because he didn’t know how it had turned me inside out with jealousy and impotent rage.
After all, how could I be angry when he wasn’t mine? After my emotional explosion of lust, I’d yanked on my clothes and told him I would never touch him that way again. That I’d never treat him like—
“Hi there.”
My eyes snapped away from the tent to focus on a tall man with thick brown hair, low slung jeans, and an intricate tattoo that slid over his entire torso. He had the features, demeanor, and accent of every other WASP I’d ever met at one of Ashton’s parties. With that tattoo covered up, I’d probably assume he worked in stocks. He probably did.
“’Sup?” I said.
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Uh, yeah. First time.” I swept the room for Ashton again but didn’t see my towheaded friend anywhere, which added to the sinking feeling in my gut that he was in one of those tents. “I’m just looking for a friend and then I’m out.”
The guy’s eyes were doing a slow circuit of me, taking in every detail of my body despite it being entirely covered by denim and cotton. “What’s your name?”
“Valdrin.”
Surprise crossed his face too slow for him to cover it up with the placid neutrality the doorman had possessed. “Valdrin what?”
“What does it matter? You haven’t even told me your name yet, man.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Heath Mortimer.”
Of fucking course that was his name. And of course it vaguely registered as familiar because I’d grown up side by side with this world even though people had constantly reminded me that I needed to stay in my lane. Which I’d never had any problem doing.
“Yeah? Well, I’m Valdrin Leka of the South Bronx Lekas, and no, you don’t know my mommy or my daddy.”
His tiny lip twitch turned into a smirk. “Who are you here with, Mr. South Bronx?”
“Ashton Townsend.”
The smirk turned into a full-on leering grin. He did another of those once-overs. “Makes sense.”
“Why does that make sense?”
“Because Ashton likes to be ridden hard, and you probably fuck like a beast.”
If he was going for complimentary, it left me cold. I stared at him the way I stared at my opponent before a fight—sizing him up and wondering how long it would take me to knock him out. In those cases, I had a real shot at it. But here and now, I couldn’t do anything about a rich douche bag who thought he could say whatever the hell he wanted to me because I wasn’t on his level of the food chain.
“I’m not fucking Ashton,” I said. “And I’m not fucking you.”
“Then why are you here?”
Good question. I had no answer because I’d blindly shown up here at the word of Ashton, as usual.
Heath moved closer to me, just a small step that still allowed me my personal space. “Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t drink. I’m just here to find Ashton.”
“Find him and not fuck him.”
“Yes,” I said impatiently. “Why is that such a shock to you?”
Heath’s amusement seemed to grow. “I just don’t see why you’d be looking for him unless you’re sleeping together.”
I couldn’t tell if I should be offended on Ashton’s behalf—because it was yet another implication that he was only good for being someone’s fuck toy—or my own—because maybe this was a class thing instead and this stuck-up bastard didn’t know why Ashton was hanging out with an Albanian dude from the Bronx.
“Right.” I looked away. “Nice to meet you, Heath.”
I was surprised that he didn’t follow me when I turned, but then again the doorman had seemed serious about the rules. The need to get the hell out of here was strong, and I abandoned my decision to confront Ashton and strode to the door. I’d send him a text, because fuck this. Fuck all of this. This wasn’t me, and I was past the point where I had to pretend I didn’t mind and put up with it.
In the seconds it took me to backtrack, I heard someone whisper something that sounded like A-Town—Ashton’s gossip column name—and glanced up to find multiple people dotted throughout the room looking in the same direction. I followed their collective gazes to see Ashton coming down a spiral staircase accompanied by a tall, statuesque woman with long, dark hair. They appeared to be having a serious conversation and were both fully clothed, which unwound the cold knot of jealous rage that had formed in my gut. My heart rate slowed, and I exhaled.
Even amid other rich folks and socialites, Ashton stole all the attention in the room. Elegant, and gorgeous, and so damn unique that people had paused in their own conversations to watch him approach. His presence was magnetic, and people were helplessly drawn to him. Myself included.
But then he looked up and his gaze immediately fell on me. Surprise crossed his face, then dismay, and when I just stared up at him, he gave me the biggest smile. Even though he lit up the room for everyone else, he only saw me.