Page 20 of Over You
My ears perked up, and I peered over my shades. Danté was a complete sycophant. A fame-hungry, trust-fund baby. The problem was, Danté was completely without talent. Tone deaf with an upturned nose and bulging eyes that made him look like a pug. The only hope he had for notoriety was rubbing elbows with celebrities. Which was what he did. And since he was the heir to billions—thanks to his dad developing some tech shit for cell phones—he had no problem buying his way into our graces with drugs.
The lounge creaked under my weight when I snatched up the shirt from the deck and tugged it over my head. “Spa day it is.”
Lotus Day Spasat off Rodeo Drive. A typical white building with gold lettering. The luxurious interior had been modeled after the Roman baths, complete with intricate columns and floor-to-ceiling marble. I could practically taste the lavender and vanilla scent puffed out by diffusers. Not a single thing about this place was masculine, which made sense. It catered to the Beverly Hills housewives who had nothing better to do than chase their Vicodin with over-priced champagne before they let Julio rub them down.
Danté sat all straight-backed with prim posture like the caterpillar fromAlice in Wonderland. He’d already changed into a fluffy white robe and the terry-cloth slippers the spa provided.
“Slackers.” His high-pitched voice echoed through the vaulted atrium, catching the attention of several women. He stood and tapped his watchless wrist. “Veronica’s shift is gonna be over in an hour. And she gives the bestunder the tablemassages.” His thin lips quirked into a sleazy grin before he grabbed at the sleeve of Nash’s shirt. “Pussy Master,” he chuckled. “Killer shirt, bro.”
Nash gave him a fist bump, but I shoved my hands into my pockets. I tried to avoid skin-to-skin contact with Danté at all costs. He looked like the type of guy who would take a steamer, and forego washing his hands because he thought his shit didn’t stink.
“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the pussy this morning.” Danté gripped my shoulder and squeezed.
“Man,” I swatted him away. “Don’t touch me.”
Nash leaned in. “He’s a little testy. I think it’s a back-up of jizz.”
“That shit’ll kill you.” Danté cocked a brow on his way past me.
Nash and I followed him across the lobby and into the men’s locker room where he grabbed his gym bag from a locker. He rummaged around for a second, then pulled out a baggie of powder. “I call it Danté’s Inferno.” His bug-eyes gleamed.
Nash snatched it from him and held it up to the light, inspecting it. “What’s in it?”
Danté waved his hand around like a magician preparing to pull a rabbit from a shiny top hat. “Magic.”
That was enough for me. I took the bag, dumped some of the contents out, and got my fix before changing into one of the robes. Minutes ticked by, and I hadn’t experienced the first muscle twitch or the slightest increase in heart rate. So I did another line.
“Take it easy, bro. That’s hard stuff.”
I flipped Danté the bird and took one more hit. “I’m seasoned at this.”
“Whatever, man.”
Ten minutes later,my sweaty balls were plastered to a massage table while a blonde named Natalie rubbed my shoulders.
New Age music played in the background. Incense swirled around the open room, and I still didn’t feel the least bit high. Danté laid across his massage table, eyes glazed over, tongue hanging out while a girl kneaded his meaty back. He was half-baked, and I was stone-cold sober. “Danté, I think your inferno crap is bunk.”
“Give it time. Give it time. I’m feeling it right now.”
“Dude,” Nash said. “How are younotfeeling this?”
“It’s gonna hit bro-man like a freight train.” Danté laughed. “Choo-motherfucking-choo.”
The masseuse moved her hands right above my ass, kneading in a way that forced out a guttural grunt.
“Oh yeah. That one’s really sore.” Nash groaned, and I glanced to my right. He’d flipped onto his back and struck a Hugh-Hefner pose with one arm behind his head. “You can work that one as hard as you need.” The sheet bopped up and down in a slow, rhythmic motion while the pretty redhead who tended to him grinned.
“Seriously, man?”
He shrugged. “I told you. It’s dangerous to let jizz backup.”
Then the inferno hit. An iridescent aura filled my vision, and I melted into the cold table. The New Age music in the background seemed to infiltrate my mind, sucking me right inside its tantric wave, pulsing my vision with swimming colors. “Oh. Man. . . Oh man. Oh man. . .” I literallyfeltmy pupils dilate.
“The inferno hit. Didn’t it?” Danté’s chuckle ricocheted through my head.
That high was transcendentally epic. Each swipe of the masseuses’ hand was orgasmic. I was laughing. Danté was laughing. Nash was groaning while that redhead beat him off.
That high was on a level like none other until my body temperature shot up like I’d been thrown into a fire. My heart raced. My mouth went as dry as the Gobi Desert. No wonder he called it an inferno. Fight or flight alarms went off inside my head like air raid sirens. I shot off the table and grabbed the sheet before I bolted toward the door.
