Taking thirty pictures to get a single good shot while trying not to overcook eggs was a challenge, but one I’d mastered years ago.
I posted a flirty image of me in sunglasses and nothing but an apron followed by a shot of four hearty slices of avocado toast with over easy eggs and various garnishes. Crumbled bacon, homemade salsa, Tabasco sauce, and one with shredded cheese. Val ate one thick slice in two bites, and I snapped a picture just as he bit into his second. It was a perfect candid—him sitting at the bar shirtless and still beaded with water from the shower, dark eyes closed and lashes incredibly long, as his large hand dwarfed the bread.
It took fifteen seconds to upload with a caption.
Best friend enjoying my culinary efforts! xoxo #SingleLife #GetHimLadies
“The comments are pouring in,” I said, spinning in the barstool with my knees drawn up to my chin. “Both ladies and gents would like to hump you.”
Val licked his fingers and snatched my phone, frowning down at my Instagram. “Why did you mention I’m single?”
“Because you are.”
“Who says? We haven’t even been hanging out regularly these days.”
“But—” I cut off the plaintive protest and took my phone back. Skepticism piled atop my brief, and unwelcome, moment of panic. “Who?”
“A girl at the gym,” he said vaguely.
“A fighter?” When Val nodded, I pressed on. “When did you meet her?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Ha! Bullshit. You would never date anyone you’ve just met. Besides, you would have mentioned it last night when I was interrogating you about sex.”
Val started to reach for a third slice but withdrew his hand and snagged one of the fruit cups I’d made. “You think you know everything about me,” he said around a strawberry. “I spend a lot of time at the gym with people a lot like me. It’s not impossible that I’d meet someone there.”
My chest twinged at the pointed reminder that he and I were nothing alike, so I went back to my phone. “Well, you’re a bad liar for one. And two, forty-six percent of my followers think I should fuck you.”
“One point eight million people did not comment, liar.”
“Stop doing math in your head. It’s creepy.”
Val pushed his chair back and dropped to his feet. He came around the bar and stood in front of me, hands on my knees, which meant he was trying to catch my attention. It also meant he was going to give me a lecture. I welcomed his concerned rants the same way I welcomed him in my bed and at my table after a night of sleeping while wrapped in each other’s arms. If I could wake up that way every day, I’d take multiple lectures a week.
I smiled up at him, wondering about a life where he was always in it. Was it needy and pathetic for me to fantasize about that so often? Meredith might say . . . yes. But the only time I felt complete was when Val and I were together, and having that feeling of wholeness all the time seemed like a dream.
Instead of smiling back at me, and appreciating me for how lovely of a cook I was, Val gave me a shrewd glare. “You mentioned me being single on purpose. So that asshole from the other night won’t think you slept with me.”
“You think you know everything about me,” I mimicked, making my voice go two pitches lower.
Val wasn’t amused. “Don’t see him again.”
“I have to.”
“No. You don’t.”
Sighing, I tried to spin away from him, but his palms were glued to my knees. There was no escape from this inquisition, or from the jumbled lies that were going to plop messily out of my mouth. Even telling Val half-truths was difficult. Outright making up a story would be impossible. Things were easier when he was clutching my shoulder and shooting his brain cells out of his dick while releasing mouthwatering moans.
“Listen, my darling, Brett Decker is an important guy. I can’t just go pissing him off.”
“How is he important?”
“He’s the director of sales and marketing for a major airline.”
Val’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re the heir to the most-used phone and wireless company in the country. Why do we care about some airline guy?”
“We don’t,” I said. “I do.”
“Why?” he challenged. “Are you trying to piss off his wife?”
The knife of anger sliced through me again, and I shoved him backward with force. He didn’t stumble as much as I’d have liked, but his hands slid off my knees.
“Why do you keep saying that? I only slept with a married guy one time, and I was a teenager. It was a mistake, okay?” At Val’s skeptical stare, I jumped off the barstool. “Fine, I knew he was married and I didn’t care. But he was the only person who’d bothered to be nice to me when I was modeling, and I didn’t want him to stop.” It sounded even more desperate out loud. I stalked from the kitchen before I could see the inevitably stricken expression that would cross his handsome face. “I know I’m pathetic and a disgrace. You don’t have to keep talking about it.”
Val’s bare feet slapped against the floor behind me. “You’re not pathetic or a disgrace, Ashton. You’re just . . .”
“What am I?” I spun around and pointed in his face. “Go ahead and spend more time analyzing me. It’s not like you’ve not been doing it for the past fifteen years in order to justify being friends with a huge slut.”
“That’s complete bullshit.” He took a step closer to me, started to touch me, but stopped himself at the last moment. “And you know it.”
“Then why do you always do this?” I cried. “There’s always a reason why I went to a sex party, or screwed a guy I met while running, or why I’ve blown mostly all of my friends. Or why I like watching you get off. You can never just accept that I like to fuck.” This time he did touch me. Just a brief curve of his fingers around my wrist to stop me waving my hands as I raged. He dragged the pad of his thumb along my vein, and all of the anger siphoned out of me. I sighed. “Stop trying to figure me out, Val. I’m not a specimen.”
“I don’t think you’re a specimen, but you put on a show for everyone because you think it’s the only way they’ll pay attention to you.” Val’s thumb pressed deeper into my pulse point. “Your entire Instagram is manufactured bullshit. Fake happiness, fake relationships, fake dates—and then you put on this breathless brainless bullshit for men like ‘Brett Decker.’”
I snatched my hand away. “Only assholes use air quotes, just for your information. I read it in a self-help book.”
Val barked out a laugh. “See? Why can’t you be this Ashton for everyone?”
“The Ashton that argues with you and pisses you off?”
“Yes!” he said. “The Ashton who’s sarcastic and cynical and funny and intelligent. The Ashton I used to stay up talking about the future with before he mastered his bombshell routine and started seducing every rich motherfucker on the Upper East Side. And before you get started—I don’t care that you like to fuck.” Valdrin took a deep breath and searched my face. “Ashton, I care that you stopped enjoying all this shit a long time ago and yet you keep doing it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and arched a brow. “Maybe that’s your fault.”
Val threw his arms up in exasperation. “How the fuck is that my fault?”
“If you’d fallen in love with me as I’d planned, I would have never looked twice at anyone else. Instead I just get your hard-up jerk-off sessions followed closely by warnings about us not making things complicated or weird.”
A range of emotions drifted across Val’s face—surprise, confusion, and something a lot like fear—before he scoffed. “Shut up, Ashton.”
Huffing, I turned on my heel and began stripping on my way to the bathroom. “I’m just saying, if you wanted to spend all this time trying to save me from myself, you could have at least tried sweeping me off my feet like a fairy princess instead of yelling at me after eating my avocado toast. Kissing me while we were getting off together would have been a nice start.”
“Does everything have to be a joke?”
“I thought you liked it when I was like this.” I turned on the hot water in the claw-footed bathtub. “Said it was better than when I was flirting and being silly. Because real men do nothing without being jerks who use lots of sarcasm.” I tossed in a bath bomb and watched the color turn pink and purple with little petals floating everywhere. It was gorgeous and distracting, but far too pretty for this awful conversation. Especially since Val was now frowning at me as if reevaluating everything he’d just said to make sure it hadn’t come out the way I’d taken it. “Don’t you have a punching bag to go beat up?”
“Yes.” Val was leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, frowning at me. “Don’t be pissed at me, Ashton. I just think you look for love in the wrong ways.”
I sent him a lethal glare. “You think I’m in love with Brett?”
“Don’t know. You must feel some type of way to let him drag you around and treat you like a blowup doll.”
The familiar burn of humiliation flooded me. “I’m not in love with him. If it wasn’t for the deal—” The words dried up in my mouth as realization dawned on me. Goddamn Valdrin. “You bastard. You did that on purpose.”
This was usually the point when he’d shake his head and drop the conversation before he heard more than he wanted to know, but this time was different. His lips had flattened into a line, and his powerful hands had curled into fists at his sides. For as frustrated as Val often got with me, he was rarely enraged enough for it to explode out of him in the surge of negative energy currently crackling in the air.
“This is a TTC thing,” he said. “You’re banging him to sweeten a deal.”
“I’m not banging him yet,” I muttered, sliding into the tub. The smell of jasmine surrounded me, but it did nothing to soothe my battered nerves. “Can we stop talking about this now? Pretty please?”
“No fucking way.” Val crossed the bathroom, a muscular streak of rage who did not match the white porcelain and delicate fixtures. “You don’t even care about TTC.”
“That’s not true. I care about it as long as I don’t have to actively take part in it. And my father practically banned me from the building after the sex tape got out.”
“Right. You own a share like your siblings, but that’s it. Why would you care about some stupid airline deal?” I could tell he knew the answer before he finished asking. After all my family had done, the dismissing and the slut shaming and forcing me into modeling as a kid to “make use” of my appearance, I would still do anything to feel . . . like part of their family. “Does Dylan know you’re doing this?”
I snorted and sank deeper into the tub. “My sweet Valdrin. It was my brother who asked me to do it. He basically said my father was an idiot for hating my bombshell routine since they could have been putting it to use for years.” When Val stared at me, aghast, I flicked water at him. “It’s just one time. Don’t worry and don’t get involved. Okay? This is the first time Dylan has asked me for help.”
Judging by the murderous expression on Val’s face, it wasn’t okay.
“Promise me you won’t get involved.”
“No,” he growled. “This is sick.”
“It’s the oldest strategy in the book. So old it’s nearly boring.” I tried to smile, but the rage radiating out of him was making me antsy. “Besides, I already fuck mostly everyone. I may as well do it for a good cause.”
I’d meant the words to be light, teasing, and just annoying enough to prompt him into changing the subject, but he turned away. No more frustration. Just slumping shoulders and silence.
“Hey,” I said softly, sitting up in the tub. “It’s complicated, Val. You know? Dylan just took over for my dad last year, and he’s already made a mess of things. This deal can help. And . . . and maybe I could help him for once in my life.”
“Ashton . . .” Val kept his back to me, but I watched him press the heels of his hands to his eyes. “When did Dylan ask you to do this?”
“He invited me to the dinner with Brett a few weeks ago, but he didn’t outright tell me what was going on until the other night.”
“The night when I picked you up. When you were calling me.”
Oh fuck.
I sat up on my knees, water sluicing off me. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Valdrin. It’s my decision.”
“You called me to ask for advice. That was what you said. And I didn’t pick up.”
My lips moved, but no words came out. I couldn’t think of what to say. “I . . . Val, don’t start this. You can’t always protect me.”
Val shook his head again, and this time frustration was swelling inside me instead of him. For so long, Val had made it his mission to be my body guard. Protect me from others and myself. It was why I knew my late-night pleas for rescuing guaranteed he would come to me. And when I was drunk and lonely and falling apart, Valdrin was the only one I needed. The only one I wanted. In the darkest part of the night, when I was raw and on edge, after the parties wound down and everyone else went home with a partner, that reality hit me hard.
But him acting like it was his job, like he failed when I did something risky or ill-advised, made me feel like his primary goal was keeping me safe. And I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him being afraid for me, or being afraid to touch me.
“Val . . .”
“I have to go.”
“Wait!” I grabbed the sides of the tub to push myself up, but he was already out of the bathroom. “Damn it!”
It took a portion of an eternity to climb out of the tub without breaking my neck, and by the time I got to the living room, he was gone.
“Are we really having drinks in your bathroom?” Charles perched on a tiny white stool, long dancer’s legs crossed at the knee with his multiple scarves dangling around them like decorations. “Because there’s a whole lotta gorgeous condo I could be drooling over right now. Out-of-my-league real estate gives me a hard-on.”
“I don’t mind if you explore,” I muttered.
“You sure? I kinda feel like I’m gonna get something dirty just by walking around. Everything is white.”
I tried to smile, but it was wobbly. “It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want.”
“Mm-hmm.” Charles arched an eyebrow and stared at me expectantly. When I said nothing else, he sighed. “Where’s Jace and Steph? We’re half a squad down.”
“Jace went to Vermont with Aiden for the weekend to go skiing. They left this morning.”
“Aww!” Charles clasped his hands together. “I wish I had a man who would whisk me away when I’m sad or anxious.”
I smiled faintly. I just wanted a man who actually liked spending time with me and liked fucking me, but that was . . . clearly too much.
“Why’s he sad?”
Charles sighed. “I think our polyamorous duo is looking to become a throuple, and the object of their desires is playing hard to get.”
My eyebrows hiked up a bit. “The object of their desires being . . . the open-to-experimentation straight boy they scooped up after the QFindr photoshoot?”
“Mm-hmm. Christopher Mendez. Who definitely isn’t straight given the gossip I’ve heard since then.”
All I knew about Chris was that he had adorable dimples, a great sense of humor, and a mythically large cock. I needed to meet the guy and have a full conversation. At the moment, I only had stories of a threesome that was approaching urban-legend status.
“Which is totally fucking unfair,” Charles complained with a pout. “I’ve been friends with Michael Rodriguez for years, and somehow all these new bitches are the ones hooking up with fine-ass members of his Queens squad.”
Charles looked so indignant that I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, who else has hooked up?”
“David’s preppy butt snagged Raymond,” Charles said, holding up a finger. “Then Jace and Aiden homed in on Chris, although at least they have the decency to be from Queens.” He held up two fingers. “Little Miss Mere tried to charm Stephanie as soon as Steph came out as pan, got rejected, and somehow still managed to hook up with Tonya? It’s just not right.”
Okay, maybe I wasn’t the only one with problems. Charles was clearly down in the relationship dumps if he was in a complicated on-again, off-again with his own boyfriend while daydreaming about others.
“I guess I see your point.”
“Right?” Charles hummed. “Speaking of Stephanie, she’s working.”
“Oh. I forgot other people . . . have real jobs.”
Charles smirked. “I tried to get her to take a day off, but her work ethic is magnificently more impressive than mine”
“I know. She must be disgusted by me half the time since my job is literally . . . being paid to do product placement on Instagram or to make appearances at hot spots.”
“Plus writing for Vogue and ELLE sometimes,” Mere shouted from the kitchen. “Stop downplaying your awesomeness, Ashton!”
I shrugged and kicked at the cold water. “Meh. It’s not like anyone will remember me for any of that when I’m dead. I’m not exactly making a difference in anyone’s life. I just wear clothes, go to parties, and infrequently write about being a rich white queer. Who cares?”
After giving me a searching stare, Charles took off his battered fedora, sending cascades of shiny dark hair around his face. “What’s got you all in a funk, sugarplum?”
“I can take a guess.” Mere came into the bathroom carrying a tray of undoubtedly too-strong mimosas. She was dressed similarly to Charles—tattered and distressed clothing offset by expensive shoes and artfully tousled hair. “Is it the hunky boxer with the bruised knuckles? Val’s was the last face on your Insta this morning.”
Sighing, I wrapped my arms around my knees and pressed my chin against them. “He’s going to start avoiding me again. I know it.”
“There’s no way a living, breathing human would avoid you,” Mere said. “I’m sad when I don’t see you at least three times a week.”
Charles snagged one of the champagne flutes, sipped, and scrunched his face. “Let me make them next time, girl.”
“I fucking told you!” she said, laughing. “I don’t normally do mixed drinks. There’s a dash of OJ in there. For color.”
“Um, yeah, that ain’t how it works.”
“Sounds good to me.” I snagged one and took a deep gulp, enjoying it fizzing down my throat. “I plan to be drunk by noon.”
Charles and Mere exchanged looks. They seemed to have some sort of nonverbal argument, judging by the wrinkled noses and furrowed brows, but it was Mere who wound up kneeling next to the tub.
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe you and Val have outgrown your friendship?”
Mere raised her hands in surrender when my eyes narrowed in a lethal glare. It was probably more fire than she’d ever seen from me, given my two defaults with her and Charles were drunk-and-dancing or sober-but-getting-drunk.
“It’s never occurred to me because it isn’t a possibility.”
“Every time you mention him, it’s because you’re fretting about something.” She pressed her own glass to her lips, watching me carefully. “Your running questions tend to be: is Val mad at you, why is he avoiding you, is he still upset about Michael and Nunzio’s wedding . . .”
“He is!” I sat up in the tub, sending waves of pink and purple water crashing over delicate flower petals. “He mentioned it earlier.”
“Don’t be blaming me for your hot-mess friendship,” Charles said. “I didn’t even know you were there with some guy. And you kissed me.”
“Out of pity,” I said. “Because I don’t know how to comfort like normals.”
Charles snickered.
“And Val isn’t just some guy. He’s been my friend forever. We practically grew up in the same house because his mother—” I halted, biting my lower lip and feeling a rush of shame. Val had told me many times over the years that how I’d viewed him and his mother as a child had been very different from how they’d initially viewed me—someone they’d taken care of to ensure her livelihood. I’d become endeared to them over time, mostly because I’d always been the black sheep of the Townsend family, but . . . it didn’t change that she’d been my father’s employee. It didn’t change the fucked-up dynamics of our relationship, even now. And it didn’t change how much I hated that people as good as the Lekas had ever been forced to cater to people like me and my family. “His mother worked for my parents . . .”
“Holy shit. Was she your cleaning lady?” Charles cocked his head. “Housekeeper? What do stuck-up rich people say?”
“She was my nanny.” I put my mimosa on the edge of the tub and sunk lower, until the water was up over my chin. The cooling water had nothing to do with the heat wanting to rise to my cheeks, but Charles’s scornful stare did. “I know. I’m a spoiled piece of shit.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Mere grimaced. “I can’t say anything. I’m also a spoiled piece of shit. Caleb and I had nannies.”
Charles was still doing his slow head shake, the one that made it clear he was in a state of incredulous awe. “Is he close with your brothers?”
“No. He was never as close to them as he was to me.” When Mere offered me a wicked smile, I heaved a long sigh. “He wasn’t in love with me or anything, guys. He and his mother felt sorry for me, and took care of me, and I latched on.” I laughed dryly. “When I was ten, I did all of this research on Korçë, the city his parents moved from in Albania, to make a case for Mrs. Leka adopting me and telling everyone I was her son. I think that won me an award for most naively privileged child on the planet.”
“Uh, yeah, most likely.” Charles managed to keep back any other scathing comments and slumped against the wall, his legs sprawling in front of him. “But enough of your rich people’s tears. I don’t see why Val the boxer gives a damn what you do with your body if he’s just a friend.”
“He tries to protect me all the time because he thinks I make bad choices,” I said miserably. “And I do. He’s right. I just . . . hate when he acts like it’s his duty to save me or something.”
“Save you from having sex?” Mere demanded. “Ashton . . .”
“No, it’s not that. It’s—” I tilted my head back, closing my eyes as I replayed our argument. “He knows me really well, and he knows I don’t always do things for the right reasons. He wants to help.”
“Help you . . . not have so much sex?” Mere’s tone had an edge of outrage to it. “Sweetheart, if I told you how many times I had this conversation with passive-aggressive friends, you’d not be angsting over it anymore. As long as you’re having fun—”
“That’s just it, Meredith. I’m not always having fun. In fact, I’m rarely ever having fun. And Val knows that. He can tell.”
Silence fell in the bathroom except for the distant honking of a horn on the street down below. Charles was gazing down at his nails, but Mere was still considering me thoughtfully, lips pursed, probably sifting through all of the nights we’d gone out since latching on to each other at the first QFindr event. A tableau of those same images filled my mind, and I saw myself clearly through her eyes—rich and glamorous like her, no inhibitions, no filter, and no desire to be told what to do or how to behave. Partying in private clubs until five in the morning, drinks at secret speakeasies, sex parties on rooftops, and gossip sessions during Sunday brunch, but never talking about the fact that I felt like I was wasting away. Spending my time living a life that looked great on Instagram, even as I rotted from the inside out since it gave me nothing of substance.
All my antics meant nothing. I meant nothing. And I didn’t mean anything to anyone else either. Even to Val, I was nothing more than the troubled childhood friend he looked out for. One that he was occasionally desperate enough to fool around with.
My throat closed, and my fingers clamped around the sides of the tub.
“Subject change,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s talk about the QFindr campaign.”
“We can . . . later.” Mere drained her mimosa and tapped a finger to her chin. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to be mad?”
“Ummm. No.”
She laughed softly. “Okay, well, I’m telling you anyway. When I started hanging out with you, my brother asked me if you acted the same way with friends as you acted with him.”
I recoiled. “Caleb asked that? I thought he liked me.”
“He does! That’s why he asked. He’s a worrier, and he was worried that you felt the need to put on a front around him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were a lot different once I got to know you.”
I sank even lower into the bathtub. Great. Now everyone knew I was a huge fake.
“Okay, back to the boxer.” Charles seemed to notice the conversation was getting heavier than I could deal with in front of them. He shot Mere a warning glare. “We’ve established he isn’t a slut-shaming scumbag. What’s up his butt about the wedding? Jealousy?”
“No. I told you he doesn’t have feelings for me that way,” I said. “I think he identifies as . . . some kind of straight person.”
“‘Some kind of straight person,’” Mere repeated. “What the fuck does that mean? Like a heteroflexible person like Chris?”
“Kinda. He doesn’t really talk about it, but he’s also never said he identifies as anything else whenever I’ve gone on rants about my own queerness. I’ve only ever seen him date women, but there’ve been nonstraight . . . happenings.” I stared into the depths of the shimmering bath water once again. How could I explain Valdrin to people who didn’t know him? There were so many tiny moments over the history of our friendship that I’d formulated a theory that had yet to completely crystallize. “He doesn’t show interest in a person, romantically or sexually, unless he’s . . . really into them. You know?” I flicked a rose petal across the tub. “He’s never had a one-night stand and rarely dates. He’s just not into it.”
“Maybe it’s a boxer thing,” Charles mused. “I knew this guy who wouldn’t fuck when he was hard-core training. Is he pro or amateur?”
“If he wins this upcoming tournament, I bet he’ll go pro this year,” I said, not mentioning my wish for him to never fight again. “He’s really good, but he doesn’t like me to come to his fights.”
Mere scowled. “Why?”
“I dunno.” Probably because I’d stand out like a sore thumb, and he’d spend the whole time being paranoid that I’d get into trouble. Or make out with the other guys on his team. “Anyway, Val has been this way forever. His horny chip doesn’t activate unless he’s emotionally invested. I don’t think gender matters to him so much as his connection with a person, but I don’t know.”
“Aw,” Mere said. “That’s sweet.”
I wanted to tell her it had nothing to do with being sweet or a gentleman, it was just the way he was wired, but I didn’t correct her. I didn’t even know if my hypothesis about his demisexuality was correct, even though I strongly suspected it was. The last girl he’d dated had been two years ago, and they’d broken up after only a few months because she’d moved away. Then he’d gone right back to his solo status. It was clear he craved sexual intimacy at times, but only with someone he was close to. Someone he cared about.
“So, what are the nonstraight happenings?” Charles crossed his legs at the knee and leaned forward. “With you?”
I tilted my head back again, the porcelain cool against my neck. “Yes. When we were kids, we’d make out and jerk off together.” I left out the part that he’d been desperate enough to revisit that hobby the night before.
Charles smirked. “Doesn’t everyone do that? What’s the point of having queer friends if you can’t play with them? Although it doesn’t work out for me since all my friends get paired off.”
“Ha.” I sent him a wan smile. “No idea what other people do. I used to write it off as him doing the young-straight-boy thing of fooling around because deniability is super easy. But last year we . . .”
“You guys fucked?” Mere demanded. “You’ve never told me that.”
I fought the inevitable flood of memories of the night of his mother’s funeral. Val’s grief transforming to rage as he’d destroyed my father’s empty penthouse. Him screaming his hatred for my family, and me kneeling before him and begging him to let me help. Let me make him forget. Make him feel good . . .
Then the feel of his stubble against my cheeks as I’d kissed him, softly, then hungrily, and whispered for him to take his anger out on my body. And he had. He’d taken me so hard my limbs had turned to jelly, and I’d been unable to stop him from running out of the penthouse afterward. He’d disappeared from my life for three months after.
When we’d found our way back together, he’d been very careful with how he touched me, and had stopped returning my flirtatious banter. Or he’d tried to. Except our relationship almost always shifted back to its natural state—us acting more like lovers than friends, even if there was usually no sexual activity involved. We had an intimacy that longtime couples probably yearned for, until he seemed to realize it and became avoidant. It messed with my head. It always had. He’d give me just enough for my brain to trick me into believing I had a chance to be his, really be his, until he noticed and backed away.
Swallowing thickly, I ran a hand through my wet hair. “We never talked about it again. He hates it when I even allude to it.”
“So allude to it more,” Charles advised. “Wear that fucker down.”
You had to love Charles’s determination. When he wanted someone, he went after them.
“No, that doesn’t work.”
“But, wait, I thought you said he had to be emotionally invested to want to sleep with someone,” Mere said. “Yet you’re saying he’s not interested in you.”
“He’s more emotionally invested in me than anyone,” I said bluntly. “It’s just . . . not the romantic kind of emotional investment. Or something . . .”
Neither Mere or Charles looked convinced. I didn’t blame them for the confusion. My relationship with Val barely made sense to me.
“Anyway,” I said, once again trying to steer them away from the topic. “Enough about me. Can I see the pictures from the QFindr shoot?”
Mere sighed and pushed herself to her feet, reluctance evident in her slow movements. “Sweetie, we don’t always have to talk about the fun stuff. It’s okay to not be happy all the time.”
Charles nodded his agreement, but he fortunately chose not to chime in. The idea of both of them, Mere especially, giving me another of these lectures on realness made me want to drown myself in a tub full of pink, glittery water.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said, opening my eyes wider and smiling bigger. “I just don’t want to be weighed down by all of this heavy stuff anymore. Whip out those magazines and make more drinks, darlings. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”
“Fine,” Charles said, drawing out the syllable. “Maybe you’ll cheer up when you see the picture of Mere and Tonya Maldonado eye-fucking each other. That actually made it into the spread.”
Mere’s eyes lit up even as a rosy flush covered her face. She wasn’t one to get embarrassed, so there had to be an interesting story to go along with that particular picture. Not only was the idea of Meredith Stone, constant topic of tabloid gossip and mega party girl socialite, hooking up with a lesbian Marine good gossip, but it would also distract them from the Ashton only Val ever got to see. The fact that I’d already shown so much was starting to make my skin crawl.
“Judging by your red-cheeked response, I think there’s more to this story than I’ve heard,” I said suspiciously. “If so, you’ve been holding out on me. That shoot was in, like, June. This is four-month-old gossip.”
“All you need to know is that we hooked up,” Mere said, face ruddier by the moment. “That’s all that happened.”
“Yeah, you don’t need the gory details,” Charles said, smirking. “If you’d stuck around after the set, you’d have heard the sounds coming out of their dressing room. It was very National Geographic. One of Stephanie’s cute little friends was mortified. The straight one.”
I arched an eyebrow. “They have a straight friend? Last I checked, that squad fits fully into the spectrum, Steph included. Still shocked she didn’t fall for your charms, Meredith. You’ve been a serious heartthrob since you became the brand ambassador for QFindr.”
“Because I’m surrounded by beautiful queer girls all day.” Mere winked. “But besides that, Steph’s boy, Angel, is the straight one. Also . . .” She shook her head. “Stephanie is beautiful, but after my initial oohing and ahhing, I stopped flirting with her. For one, she’s totally infatuated with Angel even though she plays coy. And two, I’m trying to have friends I haven’t fucked.”
“Good luck with that,” Charles said into his drink. “Didn’t work out too well with Tonya.”
“Shut up, Charles,” Mere said, laughing. “I barely knew her, and it doesn’t look like I’ll ever get to know her, since she didn’t bother to get my number after fingerbanging me to kingdom come.”
“I feel sorry for the staff members who had to clean up all your kingdom’s come.”
Mere flipped him off and left the room, mumbling something about Charles being mad he hadn’t gotten the same opportunity as Jace and Aiden. There had recently been a lot of glorious co-mingling between the Liberty X Crew and the Queens Squad, as Stephanie called them. I loved it. I loved being surrounded by queer people. It was like being in a safe bubble that could only be burst by our own drama and neurosis. Which we all did without any effort.
I found myself smiling as their voices trailed into the other room. If there was anyone who could distract me from the plague of my misery, it was Charles and Mere, and I refused to bring down their good time with the facts of my pitiful existence. That they went out of their way to spend time with me was a lot more than I could say about the hundreds of other people who called me for the sole purpose of attending one of their parties in the hopes that pictures, with them tagged, would end up on my popular Instagram. Or that I’d end up footing the entire bill. Or getting drunk enough to spring for an off-the-cuff group vacation with ninety percent of the guests being people who trash-talked me once I wasn’t around . . .
A shudder ripped through me, so I used my big toe to push the button that would empty the tub. With any luck, my bad mood and negativity would drain with the cold water.