Page 83 of Sharing Shadow Secrets
I pivot fast. “Cowboys,” I say to the guys. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago,” the shorter one answers.
Too curious, I ask, “How did you hear about this party?”
“TikTok.”
Marketing.It works.I laugh to myself. “Can I take a quick video for the recap?”
They glance at each other then nod. I raise my phone. “Okay—pretend to pull out guns and go back to back. Ready? Three. Two. One. Go.”
They ham it up, and I instantly love them.
“Well, show my friends a good time and keep them out late,” I say, smacking Gwen and Morgan on the butt.
Go home with the cowboys!I internally scream, trying to will it into existence.
“Have you seen Patrick and Rachel?” I ask casually.
“They left before that guy proposed,” Gwen says, already blinking back up at the cowboy.
Even better. If they’re asleep already, maybe I can sneak Kyle in without a single follow-up question. I’m barely processing that this is even happening—talking about it would make it too real. I don’t want to jinx it.
“Taylor,” a familiar voice calls, and I turn toward it. Nicholas is at the bar, Aaron behind it. My cue, thank God. I back away with a wave.
I walk over, and Nicholas greets me with a smile. “You don’t have to work anymore. Grab a drink. Enjoy yourself.”
“But the costume contest?—”
“I’ll announce the winners,” he says, cutting me off gently. “Aaron just told me where sales are for tonight.” He holds up a fist. “Another successful event.”
I bump knuckles with him, smiling.
Aaron leans forward. “What can I make you?”
“Mocktail. Dealer’s choice.”
Nicholas tilts his head. “You’re not driving back to the city tonight, are you?”
“Nope. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s lake house.”
The word leaves my mouth without hesitation, and I blink.
Boyfriend.It rolls off the tongue so easily.
Nicholas raises a brow. “Very nice. Is he here? I’d love to meet him.”
I scan the crowd but don’t see Brandon. “Somewhere around here.”
58
Pacing outside High Five, I pull down my face mask, wondering if I’m about to do something stupid—or something epic. I glance at my phone, debating whether to call my therapist. Part of why I work with him is for the high-touch, low client load. If I call, he answers. But it’s late, and he also has a life. Check your privilege. It’s not like this is an emergency. I’m not thinking about ordering a drink or buying drugs.
I deeply inhale, centering myself. The air smells like fall—dry leaves and the cigarette smoke from a cluster of people outside. I’ve been here before—too many nights chasing highs I pretended were just fun. Now I’m flirting with Kyle, suggesting a threesome, and trying to convince myself it’s about Taylor’s fantasy, not my own craving.
Am I slipping?Am I using sex as a vice? Is this relapse-adjacent?
But Idowant it. I want to give her something wild. I want their hands on me. I want to feel wanted. Desired.
