Act Twenty-Three
Baylee Wright
Stuck in an agonizingly slow cab, I check the time on my phone again. Two minutes past 10 p.m.—casually late.
That’s not bad, right? I’ll start panicking when it hits fifteen minutes.
My curls hang loosely against my chest, and I fix the buckle to my red high heels that match the prettiest and newest dress I own: a rose-red strapless cocktail number. The fabric hugs my hips and pushes up what little cleavage I have.
Luka never said if this was fancy or a really laidback outing, but we can barely find a moment to spare outside of the Masquerade together. At least not without being interrupted. So I’m taking advantage of the moment and dressing up for once.
The cab halts by a curb, and the rich, glittering purple words 2 Kings stands out amongst surrounding neon signage and flashing billboards. I’ve never been here, but I’m sure Luka has casino-hopped with Timo before.
10:12 p.m.
I pay my fare, exit the cab, and carry my silver clutch as I push through the revolving doors. The lobby is the casino floor, boisterous with multicolored slots and gamblers. Packed tight.
I’m not out of place. The average age is young. About twenties to mid-thirties, and most are dressed like they’re ready to hit the nightclubs.
I look up as I walk further inside, thousands of crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Modern with a regal touch—it’s breathtaking.
“Baylee.”
My gaze falls, straight ahead, just as Luka rises off a velvet bar stool. My lips part at how utterly gorgeous he is in formalwear.
Black slacks fit him perfectly, and his white button-down contrasts his dark hair but brings out his emotive gray eyes. His hair is slightly wet. Like he didn’t have time to dry the strands.
His hot gaze travels down my body in an intoxicating once-over, his desire so apparent. My neck instantly heats.
I can’t contain a smile as we near one another, my pulse pounding. “Hey,” I say, my voice more breathy than I intend.
He clutches my hip and whispers, “You look gorgeous.”
Butterflies. I feel them tenfold. “Funny,” I say seriously, “I was going to say the same about you.”
“Gorgeous?” His lips stretch.
I go off of impulse. Feeling. I touch his cheek with a tender hand, and our gazes devour one another. My fingers trace the hard, dominant line of his shaven jaw, and I intake the soft, virtuousness around his eyes.
“Yeah,” I breathe, “gorgeous.”
Luka shifts my hand towards his lips, places a warm kiss on my palm, and then threads our fingers together. He nods towards the elevators. “You can say no, but I got us a room for the night.”
My new overwhelming smile, I try to tame a bit more. “I’m not going to say no.” There’s no practice tomorrow. It’s our one free day this week, and I already texted Brenden I was going to Netflix and chill alone tonight.
I’m ready for Luka to really touch me. So ready that I’m wearing pink lacy underwear instead of my usual cotton.
Luka smiles a captivating, panty-dropping smile. “This way.” He takes charge, guiding me to the elevators, our hands never separating.
We slide into an elevator that quickly compacts with other twenty-somethings, chatting loudly. He pushes the 25 button and slips further back with me. As the doors shut, I scoot closer to Luka, and he leans his arm against the wall-mirror.
He catches me staring at him, and the corners of his lips lift again.
“Your hair is wet,” I say. “Did you leave fast?”
He sighs at a recent memory. “You don’t want to know.”
“Now I really do.” The elevator jerks to a stop, letting off only one person on the fourth floor. This may take a while. Now that I’m with him, I don’t mind at all.
“I couldn’t get in the bathroom until ten minutes before I left.”
“Why?”
He lowers his voice. “Dimitri was jerking off.”
I cringe, not wanting to picture Dimitri masturbating.
“Exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“You didn’t see him, did you?” I wonder, too curious not to ask.
“No. I have seen too much of my cousins, but that’s not something I’ve ever stumbled in on.”
Tenth floor. His hand slips around my waist, to my lower back. I’m nervously stiff, so I try to bring up casual conversation again. “Have you ever walked in on someone having sex?”
“Oh yeah.”
My mouth falls. This must be a Vegas thing because it never happened to him in New York. “Who?”
“Erik, Robby, Timofei. All different occasions. I didn’t mean to see them. They were fucking in the living room of their suite, and I wasn’t always alone when I went inside.”
“What did you do?”
“I walked right out.”
I nod. “Smart.”
He starts laughing.
“What?” My smile grows.
Sixteenth floor. “That’s literally the first time I’ve been called smart with zero sarcasm. Thank you, Bay.”
“Anytime.” I smooth my lips together, restraining my smile some.
Nineteenth floor, the elevator almost empties. We’re left with two couples in matching tuxes and shimmery gold gowns.
We go silent, but his eyes practically undress me. I breathe shallowly, and his hand descends to my ass. My body curves towards him, wanting his whole build to press up against me. I imagine the power, the strength and force—and my knees feel weak and my skin bare.
His other hand travels discreetly up my hip. Then he brings me close, pretending to hug me, but really his hand is making a scorching trail up to my chest.
“One,” he whispers against my ear. One: over-the-clothes touching.
He memorized my list.
I feel wet and hot all over. But I’m more rigid than I want to be. “I’m nervous,” I admit in a soft breath.
He draws back, just to study my expression, and I have trouble making direct eye contact. I watch the two couples leave on the twenty-second floor.
The doors close.
We’re alone, and the elevator ascends.
“I’ll take care of you,” he assures me. “You tell me to stop, at any point, and I’ll stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop. I’m just overwhelmed.” I haven’t been this consumed by someone. It’s more than just being physically attracted to each other. It’s knowing him. Loving who he is.
And him loving who I am.
He nods. “Just remember to breathe, and you’ll be fine.”
“Planning to steal my breath away?”
His hands return to my hips as he whispers, “Caught me.”
I grip his button-down. Our bodies aching to meld together, but we wait. And the elevators spring open. Our floor.
Luka walks me backwards. His large hands sear through my dress. We enter the empty carpeted hallway, chandeliers dangling in a long row.
I pop a button of his shirt. His palm runs up the curve of my body, veering to my boobs again. No bra, his thumb skims my hardened nipple, fabric of my dress keeping his skin from my skin.
I quiver from the drawn-out sexual tension, my lips parting in a heady breath. I undo his shirt halfway.
His clutch strengthens on my body, and his left hand descends my hipbone…lower and lower. Reaching the hem of my dress, he pulls the fabric up, just slightly and his hand moves to my bare, inner-thigh.
Oh God. I have to hang onto his biceps, throbbing. I’m throbbing for him to push his cock hard inside of me and pump and pump.
And Luka says, “I’m going to kiss the fuck out of you.”
I almost fall against him, but he has me. Pulls me against his body. Seizes me completely. His hand to the back of my head, he kisses me so passionately that a noise catches my throat. I grasp his neck for support as the kiss drives deeper.
He cups my heat—and I’m so soaked. His fingers skim my panties between my legs. I shudder against him. Where the hell are we?
I’m barely coherent to see.
A hallway.
An empty hallway, thankfully.
I kiss back. Just as hungrily. Our tongues dancing together. My hips arch towards his cock.
“Up,” he says in one breath. He hoists me, my legs wrapping around his waist. One hand on my ass, the other free, he takes out his keycard while we’re lip-locked.
Door open.
He carries me inside and kicks the door closed.
Then Luka sets me on my feet and spins me around, seamlessly pulling my back to his chest.
I catch my breath and digest my new surroundings: a king-sized bed with a wine-red comforter, a sleek dresser with a TV on top, a sultry velvet chaise, and drawn curtains to reveal tinted glass and a view of gleaming sin city.
While I lean against him, Luka kisses the base of my neck, and as he hits a bundle of nerves, a gasp breaches my lips, my hand searches for support. I end up clutching his muscular thigh.
His other palm roams my body, toying with my sensitive nipples. It feels amazing. I’m lit up, and we’re just on number one of my list.
I ache for more. I’m so afraid that we’ll be cut off and interrupted again. Yet, I like each lengthy step, the moment stretched like a taut rubber band, readying to snap into a body-shaking climax.
While my back is right up against his chest, he does something that he knows I love. Luka wraps both of his arms around me. One snakes around my collarbones, the other around my abdomen. His embrace firm and incredibly loving. I’m vulnerable as he clutches me this strongly, but I still have control—and I trust him entirely.
Wholeheartedly.
“Tighter,” I whisper.
He strengthens the force of his hold on me. The muscles of his biceps cut in sharp lines, and my head lolls back while his lips burn hot trails up my neck.
His mouth finds mine, kissing me upside-down, and I feel his smile.
In a short breath, he whispers, “Two.”
Two: all kissing.
I reach up and run my fingers through the back of his hair. Especially as he dips his head down again and kisses me languidly, extending the force. I grind my ass, my body digging deeper against his body, even if there’s no more space. So close.
His lips break from mine, a grunt in his throat. He starts walking forward, and of course, I go with him. Not detaching. He guides us to the window, and my palms hit the glass.
“Three,” he says deeply.
Three: skin-to-skin contact.
I tremble in anticipation of what’s to come. OhGod. “Luka,” I cry out his name, and I don’t wait for him to unzip me. I spin around on him and fist his shirt.
Luka kisses me roughly, full-forced again. I kiss back. Feverishly, he rolls up the bottom of my dress to my hipbones. Exposing my panties.
I bite his lip.
He nips mine, and I finish unbuttoning his shirt. He tosses it aside, bare-chested—his sculpted abs in direct view, and then he undoes his slacks. Stepping out of them, I see the outline of his cock in his dark-blue boxer-briefs, rock hard and long.
Swiftly and skillfully, he unzips me in one quick stroke, and my dress falls to the floor. Luka draws me against his chest like a dance move, and he murmurs, “Three, again.”
A sheen of sweat already coats our skin, and even more heat gathers. My flesh tingles, and my hands explore his body as vigorously as he rediscovers mine. Practically naked, my laced panties leave nothing to the imagination.
His forehead touches mine, staring deep into me. “You’re going up again.”
“Why?” I breathe, wanting to hear him say it.
His lip almost quirks. “I want to feel your pussy against me.”
I pulse and pulse, and without falter, he lifts me up, my legs spreading open and then gripping tight around his waist. He pushes me closer, and I arch towards him, gasping aloud.
Luka holds my ass but his other hand strikes the window. Pressed there. “Bay,” he nearly groans out. My limbs shake.
“Luka.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders, eye-level with him.
He seizes my gaze, staring straight into me again, and he rubs the inside of my thigh, inching to my panties.
Instead of letting my shoulders touch the window to brace me, he uses the strength of his left arm to keep me hoisted around him. He still cups my ass, and his more dominant hand—his right hand—finds the most sensitive place.
His fingers graze my swollen clit through my panties, and I curse beneath my breath, my veins on fire—the feeling incredible. Mind-numbing. And I never tear from his gaze.
Luka shifts the fabric of my panties so he meets flesh. Our eye-contact is just as intense, and I inhale a sharp breath as he adds friction, rubbing—OhGod.
OhGod.
He’s a statue that I tremble against, and he only clutches stronger. I can’t imagine breaking off the way he’s looking at me. It fuels me. Lights my core in a thousand extraordinary colors.
He pushes two fingers into me, and I can’t pick my mouth up, too overcome. I blaze head-to-toe from the force between my legs. Feeling full.
Luka speeds up.
High-pitched noises fly out of my mouth—I almost shut my eyes. Look at him. I stare right at him. God, look at him.
His gaze consumes me whole.
I hit a peak, pulsing around his fingers, and I buck against Luka. He retracts his hand and holds me so tight to his body. I moan softly into his neck. Hands in his hair.
Don’t let me go.
Don’t let me go.
And then my phone rings.
I lift my head slightly. Dazed. Luka glances around, but I pant, “It sounds like…my ringtone.”
He brings me to the bed and sets me on the edge. “Do you want me to—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Just…leave it.” If I answer the phone or look at the caller, this could end. I don’t want reality to catch up to us yet.
Luka listens, but he does return to his slacks. He digs in his pocket and procures a condom. I swallow, realizing that this is happening.
Tonight.
As he approaches the bed, he assesses my rigid posture and expression. “If you want to go slower—”
“It’s been four years—”
“Five.”
“I don’t think it can go slower than that,” I finish my thought. “I want this. I want you. I’m just kind of nervous because I haven’t had sex in a long time.” Unlike you.
He understands. “That’s the point of all of this, right? The list.”
“Yeah,” I nod, but we both go quiet, heaviness tensing the air. If we could, we’d be together. I think we’re both well aware of this fact by now. I scoot towards the headboard, my cell ringing out to silence.
Luka bends down and picks up his own fallen phone. He puts on a playlist of music, and the old song “Stand By Me” by Ben E. King starts playing.
I immediately smile. “You’re too much.”
He laughs. “Compliments from Baylee Wright. I’ll take them all.”
My heart is full.
As Luka towers at the edge of the bed, I eye the tattoos that cover his right leg, disappearing up the hem of his boxer-briefs. I spot a tiny river otter from afar. It’s random.
All random.
Unabashed, he lowers his boxer-briefs and frees his erection. Stepping out of his underwear, he opens the condom package and then effortlessly slides it on.
I was with him when he actually struggled at that, and now he does it easily. And his dick is bigger, which shouldn’t be surprising that he hit a growth spurt. It’s been obvious that he’s not a fifteen-year-old boy anymore.
I just soak in the differences. The similarities.
And I’m more satisfied with this new chapter of our lives. If I could rewind time, I’d be with him in that gap of separation, but since I can’t, I hang onto the present.
I crawl beneath the red covers, and the mattress undulates with his weight. Right beside me, he slips under them too, and I peel my panties off my ankles.
Naked.
We’re both naked.
I lie down, head on the pillow. I feel like this is my first time again. I’m just as nervous. It really is a giant redo of our last experience together. Caught behind a costume rack. Horrible.
We ended things one-hundred percent terribly.
Bracing his hand beside my head—and keeping his weight off of me—Luka is above my body, and he uses his knee to break apart my locked legs. Spreading them wide open.
Then he kisses my nose, causing me to smile.
“What are you scared of?” he asks quietly.
I think. And I realize that I don’t have the same fears as I did years ago. “I’m afraid of loving it too much,” I tell him.
His brows furrow. “Why?”
“Because it’s going to end. Someday. One day.”
Luka can’t promise that it won’t end, but his lips meet mine in a full-bodied kiss that lifts my chest up against his. Breathing life into me.
I clutch his biceps, my body reawakening. My ankle rubs his leg, and our tongues tangle. He clasps my cheek with one hand, and when he edges back, our eyes possess each other.
Very tenderly, Luka says, “All I know is what I feel. And I’m in love with you, Bay. Right now. Not just five years ago—but here, today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. It’s forever kind of love, and I’m not letting go. I can’t let go.”
Tears crease the corners of my eyes, and I nod in affirmation, in agreement. Too overcome to speak aloud. I touch my eyes with my finger, and he rubs an escaped tear with his thumb.
I love him beyond recognition. Beyond perception. I love him so fully that it hurts.
I mouth, I love you, and he soaks up the words before he kisses me again. And again. Deeper. Stronger. We wrap up in each other’s limbs, heat brewing.
He pulls me further beneath him so we’re in perfect alignment, and he whispers, “Five.”
Five: sex. He skips number four on my list. Maybe purposefully leaving oral for another time. Because once we do everything on the list, we’re over.
Luka seizes my gaze while he lifts up my hips, just slightly, and inch-by-inch, he slowly fills me. The hairs rise on my arms, his unhurried, agonizing pace striking all of my nerves. I shudder and my legs unconsciously twitch.
I clutch his toned ass that flexes as he thrusts harder into me. OhGod. He starts rocking in and out, and I swear, I see stars. My eyes nearly roll back, breath lodged in my throat.
Luka cups my face and kisses me, forcing me to breathe properly. It’s one of the kindest efforts ever given to me in bed.
I appreciate it, so much so that I grind forward. He meets me, pushing deeper. I moan against his lips, and he smiles—before a grunt catches his throat, aroused. So aroused.
I try to hang onto his body, my limbs tensing up and aching to hit a climax and fall slack. I’m so full. Luka never stops the momentum. Our friction builds more sweat, and he suddenly lifts me up in his arms.
I’m on his lap, my arms draped around his shoulders. Our eyes lock, and gripping my hips, he moves me up and down his shaft.
“Luka,” I cry out, the feelings in my body and heart welling my eyes.
His glass, too, and he presses his forehead to mine, holding the back of my neck with one hand.
My nails dig into his shoulder. “I don’t want to come. Not yet, not yet,” I say in rapid breaths.
Luka kisses me and whispers, “You’re going to come, and it won’t be the last time, Bay.” But he doesn’t specify whether it’ll be from him or someone else.
One more push in and out, and my vision blackens, my body shaking, and my lips part for the millionth time, no noise able to escape. I clench around him, and he reaches an orgasm just as powerful, his body rocking forward. He holds me.
He’s always holding me.
As light returns, I blink—slowly descending this high. We both breathe heavily, and I rest my forehead on his shoulder, my body weakening to mush. I have no energy to lift myself off his cock.
And then my phone rings again.
I stiffen.
He glances over his shoulder, my cell vibrating on the carpet.
Do we look? Do we ruin this? I hesitate. “If it’s serious, your phone would be going off too, right?” I ask him.
“Yeah.” He nods, combing back his damp hair. I feel like he’s trying to assure himself. “We’re good.” No sooner does he finish, and his phone pings with a notification, either text or email or social media. I don’t know which.
I freeze more.
“Ignore that,” he tells me, but my ringer dies out only to start up again. He sighs, resigned and frustrated.
We both know we can’t really ignore it any longer. I rise to my knees, and Luka pulls out.
I slide off the bed, cold air chilling my bare skin. I shiver but hurry to find my phone, buried in my clutch.
The moment I clasp my cell, the ring ends.
Three missed calls from… “It’s my aunt,” I tell Luka and immediately return her call, worried that something happened to the baby. Her due date is still far away.
I press my phone to my ear, shivering more.
Luka tosses me a hotel robe and adjusts the air conditioner. I watch him also simultaneously slip on boxer-briefs and check his phone—multitasking too well. We both have good hand-eye coordination, but he can’t juggle more than four balls at once.
I like having a leg up on him somewhere.
He also can’t spin a basketball on his finger for more than two seconds. That, I won’t ever let him live down.
I put on the soft cotton robe, knotting the ties around my waist, and then the phone line clicks.
“There you are,” Aunt Lucy says, voice more tight than usual.
“Is everything okay?” I sit on the edge of the bed.
“You tell me.”
I don’t understand her vagueness at all. “What do you mean?” I look up as Luka flashes me his cellphone screen.
Are you with my sister? Be honest. – Brenden
Luka shakes his head like he has no clue what to say, and he takes a seat next to me, hunched forward, hand on his mouth in thought.
Why wouldn’t Brenden just text me?
Maybe he’s afraid I’ll lie to him. I don’t want that type of relationship with my brother, but I feel boxed in. I’m barred from giving him the truth by Aerial Ethereal, so I have to lie.
“How are you doing?” Aunt Lucy clarifies. It must be hellishly late on the east coast, so I don’t know why this question would warrant multiple late-night calls.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, trying to make sure of this. “The baby—”
“Is fine. I called about you.” She must shift her phone because her voice is muffled and I hear chatter in the background. Clearer, she says, “Devon says hello.”
“Hi, Devon.” I swallow. “I’m fine too.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Because your brother thinks you’re using cocaine again, and between you and me—we both know that you never started, so tell me what’s really going on.”
My face falls. “Why would he think that?”
Next to me, Luka flashes his cell again.
I’m not trying to grill you. I’m worried about Bay. She’s been acting off lately. Text me back. – Brenden
“Apparently you’ve been standoffish at work towards him,” Aunt Lucy says, “and every time he asks if you’d like to hang out, you say you’d rather be alone.”
I pause and decide to tell a partial truth. “I’m just stressed out. Infini’s new choreographer is really demanding, and I haven’t felt social lately. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll talk to Brenden tomorrow and tell him that.”
Aunt Lucy is quiet.
My stomach is in my throat.
Luka is typing on his phone, forming a response to Brenden.
“Aunt Lucy?” I say.
“Are you still taking your antidepressants?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I haven’t had a really bad low in a while.”
Luka’s eyes flit to me for the briefest second. His concern is noted, too.
She lets out a strained breath. “You’re not skirting around the truth because I’m pregnant, right? Because that’s not right. I’m able to handle your emotions and mine because I care about you. And you’re my responsibility. Understand?”
I smile faintly. “You’re going to be a great mom.”
Her voice softens. “Thank you, but talk to me.”
“I’ve been honest,” I say.
“Will you FaceTime me?”
Right now? My eyes widen as I look around the hotel room. Sheets tangled, covers askew, and clothes litter the floor. “I’ll FaceTime tomorrow,” I say. “I promise.”
Aunt Lucy hesitates but then says, “Tomorrow. I’m setting a reminder on my phone.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I almost smile as we hang up, but Luka presses send on a text that I start reading.
I don’t know anything. Sorry, dude. – Luka
I give him a look. “That’s your response?”
“We literally exchanged numbers two days ago, only because I left my keycard and got locked out of the suite. I’m not exactly your brother’s best friend.”
Correction: they’ve never been friends. Friendly, maybe. But in New York, all invites from both sides were rejected.
“He’s going to text you back,” I tell him.
Luka rereads the text and shakes his head.
“If you read your message a certain way, it comes across dry and rude.”
Luka laughs.
“I’m not kidding.” I groan because now I’m smiling. “Luka.”
He extends his arm. “I’m not sarcastic.” His humored smile shouldn’t be that beautiful or contagious, but it is. A hundred percent.
“Brenden doesn’t know you that well.”
On cue, Luka’s phone pings in his palm.
Are you fucking with me? – Brenden
Luka hands me the phone. “You text him back.”
“As you?” This is a bad idea. But we’re full of those.
“Yeah.”
I start typing, trying to figure out what to say to my older brother as Luka. This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. “We’re going to hell for this,” I tell Luka.
His lips stretch. “At least we’ll be together.”
I lean into him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head like usual. The tension lessens in my limbs, and I breathe easier. “There.” Pressing send, I flash the phone at him.
Luka reads my message.
I’m being truthful. I really have no idea where she is. If I hear from her, I’ll let you know. Thanks :)
Luka tilts his head at a me. “A smiley face?”
“What? It’s nice and a tone indicator.”
He shakes his head again and starts laughing, which causes me to laugh just as much. The noises cease the moment another ping resounds, his phone in my hand.
The text isn’t from Brenden.
Come dance with me at Hex!! I’ll be there at 1 :DD – Timo
I wonder how many people have been texting Luka tonight.
Luka sees the message from his little brother. “I’ll reply back later.”
Another text.
Ok – Brenden
That’s better than before, at least.
Luka stands and gestures to the bathroom, where he’s headed, but before he leaves, he says, “You can look at my messages.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can tell you’re curious.”
I am curious, but I’m afraid I’ll see something I won’t want to know.
“Okay,” is all I say before he disappears. I waver but then tap into his feed of text messages from the top senders.
Timo’s going to Hex tonight. Can you keep an eye on him? – Nik
How do you have a fake ID and I don’t have one? :( -- Katya
The next thread is from earlier tonight, so Luka has already replied.
Send me a pic of your blind date – Dimitri
No. – Luka
She that ugly? – Dimitri
stfu – Luka
Someone needs to get laid. – Dimitri
It’s normal. Nik being concerned and asking Luka for help. Katya getting older. Dimitri being crude. I like that he let me see his family-life.
When Luka returns, I use the bathroom and then we order room service: creamy pasta, which I only eat when I don’t have practice the next day, and a bottle of whiskey.
I curl up against him on the bed, and we spend the next couple of hours eating, drinking (a lot), laughing (even more), and watching old reruns of Princesses of Philly.
“Wait, shh,” I say as one of the most climactic scenes of PoPhilly appears on screen. I lie against Luka’s chest, and he leans against the headboard, his arm draped over my shoulder, and we both sip our fourth—fifth or sixth glass of whiskey?
I don’t know.
Maybe less, maybe more. Who’s counting?
Luka is smiling, near-laughter. Where I’m a passionate-talker drunk, he’s a happy drunk.
On-screen, an altercation breaks out between Loren Hale’s half-brother and the youngest Calloway sister’s model boyfriend.
Punches are thrown, and then Julian, the boyfriend, touches his swollen eye and glares at Daisy Calloway, his young teenage girlfriend. But Julian and Daisy are no longer together, for obvious reasons.
“You’re just going to f**king stand there?!” Julian yells at her.
“What do you want from me?” Daisy Calloway looks petrified of her own boyfriend.
Watching the show, Luka grows more serious, his lips down-turning. “I really hope this is all staged.”
I know what he means. I want to reach through the television and protect Daisy Calloway.
Julian retorts, “For you to give me back months of my life that I wasted with you, you stupid c**t.”
“Jesus,” Luka mutters like he’s never seen the episode before, but this scene is still hard to watch the tenth time. I lower the volume. And he suddenly says, “I’m terrified of my sister growing up.”
“Technically she’s already grown up.”
Luka looks down at me. “You know she’s been saving up her money for something—and I don’t even know what it is.”
“Makeup,” I say.
“What?” He scrunches his face, but smiles wide.
I sip my whiskey and laugh off his smile. “You know makeup is really expensive.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I kind of slur. I can’t believe I’m slurring, but then I can. “I guess it costs a lot to produce and package eye shadow and lipstick—”
He laughs. “No, Bay, why is she spending all this money on makeup?”
I shrug. “She’s figuring out who she is, and she wants to be more Posh-like.”
Luka nods, comprehending it now. “I guess it’s better than what I thought.”
“Which was?”
“She was saving up for a plane ticket to see our parents.”
I don’t see why that’s bad, and he must read my expression because he adds, “According to Nik, they really don’t want to see any of us since we’d have to take days off work. Be professional.”
The way he says be professional, I have a feeling he’s mimicking his father.
His phone suddenly chimes. Mine buzzes.
We search in the depths of the twisted sheets and covers, and I finally find my phone the same time as him.
Email notification.
We both read silently.
Date: February 28th
Subject: MANDATORY PRACTICE TOMORROW
From: GeoffreyLesage, Choreographer
Bcc: Baylee Wright, and other undisclosed recipients
Infini Artists:
I was not impressed by your clear lack of motivation today. No more lunch breaks. You don’t have tomorrow off. In fact, there are no free days from here on out. Be on Infini’s stage at 5 a.m. sharp tomorrow.
No exceptions.
Geoffrey Lesage
Infini Choreographer
Holy shit.
It’s already 3 a.m.
We have practice in two hours.
“Fuck,” Luka curses. Fuck feels like an understatement. I’m drunk. I ate heavy food, and chances are, more than half of Infini’s cast is completely and totally wasted.