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His starving, approving gaze is worth the risk.
I’m working on the last of the drape ties when Gus clears his throat. Without a word, he raises his chin, directing me to look past him. Peter stands by the pool’s entrance with one hand on the gate, hesitating like he’s unsure if he should stay or go.
“He came to check on me,” I explain. “Peter’s sweet like that.”
“Tell him to come here,” Gus instructs, surprising me.
When I whirl around to face him, I realize he’s not angry. His expression has taken on a familiar, conspiratorial look. Somehow, this night is turning into one of those superb machinations of his, the kind that have resulted in me coming spectacularly in a handful of daring scenarios.
My heart is racing. “Petey, come here,” I call before canting my head in Gus’s direction.
Wearing an expression of confusion and intrigue to match mine, Peter strolls over and lets his eyes travel between me—standing topless and covering my tits with my hands—and Gus, who is now reclining casually on the daybed like an emperor.
When he’s next to us, Peter takes a sip of the drink he’s still working on. It’s something pink in a clear, plastic cup. Typical Peter, finding the most ridiculous cocktail on the menu and shamelessly nursing it. His shirt is open, showing his muscular, bare chest glistening with sweat from dancing in the humid Cartagena night.
“What’s up, you two?” Peter asks like we’re all just casually running into each other, even though there’s nothing casual about the situation.
“Have you fucked him too?” Gus inquires, raising his chin in Peter’s direction.
Peter’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say a word. For the first time ever, someone has stunned Peter Davenport into silence.
I shrug. “A couple times,” I admit, playing along to match Gus’s casual energy. “We’re just friends.”
Gus’s expression darkens. “Like you and Jay?”
“Like me and Jay.”
“Do you fuck all your friends?” he presses, still not entirely at ease.
“Yes,” I lie to humor him, hoping I can keep us moving in the right direction. “And I’d really like to be your friend, August.”
If my words titillate him, he doesn’t show it. Gus lets out a sigh—a billionaire’s sigh—like this bizarre situation is starting to grow tedious. “So he’s already seen you naked? He’s been inside of you?”
I nod, not bothering to tell him that years have passed since Peter and I were together—and the last time was when we were both rolling on ecstasy at Coachella.
Kingly and bored, Gus motions for Peter to take a step closer. Peter does, but not without shooting a glance in my direction that screams, What are you two psychopaths doing right now?
“You’re Gregory’s son,” Gus says, assessing Peter like he’s trying to vet him.
“Unfortunately,” Peter confirms before he takes a drink of his cocktail.
Gus releases a scoff, making me wonder if he finds Peter amusing. “I saw you working on two women at once back at the club. Debauchery is your thing, isn’t it?”
“Very much so,” Peter agrees with a nod and a wink.
“And what do you think of her?” Gus continues, tilting his head at me.
“She’s sex on legs,” Peter answers without taking his eyes off Gus. “And she’s my best friend.”
“Do you want her?” Gus inquires.
Peter assesses me now. His expression is right at the intersection of intrigue and chaos—as usual. “I’d be flattered if Julia wanted anything more. Honored, even. But we’ve always been friends. Plus, she’s so hung up on you that I would never stop questioning it.”
“Peter!” I chastise.
Annoyingly nonchalant, he raises a shoulder. “What? You haven’t told Gus you’re obsessed with him?”
Gus has never looked so pleased in the entire time I’ve known him. He’s practically beaming.
