Page 49 of Wristlocked
She’s right. Even Lyot can’t pretend not to know what’s going on when Gale taunts him at every opportunity. I don’t know why I thought he’d be the easy one simply because he’s slept with other guys. I do know he thinks Gale’s hot, but I’m realizing that the only one he’s ever been submissive with in bed before is me, and on top of their recent history, Gale’s alpha-hole persona scares the shit out of him.
As for Gale, he’s been increasingly on edge these last few weeks leading up to the showcase. Our act is stronger than ever,but the hints of vulnerability he was starting to show have all but disappeared. I don’t know if it’s increasing pressure from Celeste, who he refuses to talk about, or because now he can send me to Lyot to lick my wounds.
But every once in a while, I’ll catch a look in his eyes, like I’m something it terrifies him to want, and it makes me wonder. I know he told Lyot about the night in the alley. Was he really only trying to cause pain? Or did he know what would follow and, in his own broken way, was trying to make me whole?
When I tried to confront him about it, examining his swollen lip the morning after the climactic reunion, he brushed my hand away with a scoff.
“It was worth it,” my perfect asshole had said, tonguing the scab.
“Worth what?”
“Worth getting to fuck you while you’re still sore from his cock.” And then he bent me over the back of his couch and did exactly that.
At this point, I’m no longer sure what will happen if Lyot ever does give in.
I glance at my phone while Vaya puts the finishing touches on my heavy eyeliner. Still no response from Gale. We don’t go on for another few hours, but we’re supposed to be at the warm-up call at six, and it’s almost five now.
“I gotta go,” I tell the girls, rising from my perch on the bed and throwing a quick look at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. They’ve done an amazing job. Vaya’s expert smoky eye gives me a sultry look that perfectly complements the loose, upswept braid Jules has crafted in my hair. The glittering crystals accent my bone structure, making me look older and startlingly sophisticated. A thrill runs through me imagining Gale’s reaction and all the ways he’ll try to destroy me later.
If he’s still alive. I always get at least an eggplant, or sometimes a peach, when I text him.
“We’ll leave your costume in your room,” Jules assures me, gathering the armful of filmy gray chiffon that drips from my glittering leotard. “Go see what’s going on with boy toy number two.”
“Thank you.” I blow each of them a kiss, not wanting to fuck up my dark lipstick, and head for the elevator.
Gale
I’m staring at the blank phone screen in my hand when Gia lets herself into my bedroom. I look up, and for a second, the world tilts on its axis. She looks deadly gorgeous in her show makeup, with her hair pulled up off her face, and the contrast between that and her tight faded jeans and white tank top, straight out of a Hanes three-pack, might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I have to remember to tell her she’s beautiful if she’s still speaking to me after tonight.
“What is it?” Whatever she sees in my expression has her crossing the room in an instant, reaching up to touch my face. “What happened?”
“Jamie FaceTimed. He’s here. I gotta go.” I haven’t told her everything about my little brother, but she knows enough to understand.
“Hold on, what do you mean he’s here? At ACCA?”
“In Vegas. Somewhere off the strip, I couldn’t tell. Fuck. I need to find him before he—fuck.” I pull away from her hands and turn in a helpless circle.Where the fuck are my shoes?
“Did you try calling him back?”
“Of course. I think his phone died. He cut off, and when I called back, it went straight to voicemail.”
“You said he’s near the strip. What could you see?”
“I don’t know. He couldn’t hold the fucking phone still. Lights. That huge Ferris wheel.”
“The High Roller. By the Flamingo. Okay, that’s something. Was he alone?”
“No. With some guy.” They’re under the bed. I shove my feet into them without sitting down and grab a hoodie from the closet.
“Did he say his name?”
“I heard someone off-screen say Tyler? Maybe Trevor? I don’t fucking know. It could have been some tourist talking to anyone.”
“We need Lyot.”
“Chace? Why?” Somewhat to my own surprise, I am glad he stepped up for her, but the last thing I need is him getting any closer to my fucked-up shit. I can barely keep it together around him as it is.
“We just do, trust me.” Something in her tone cuts through my panic as a new thought hits me.
