Page 9 of Mind
Olivia grabs my arm with both hands and lets out a soft squeal of delight.
“Boss…. Hear me out, okay?”
Sawyer’s tan face is suddenly scarlet. He glances around at all the party attendees’ eyes trained on him, but then, inevitably, he’s drawn back to gazing down at my brother, the usual expression of soft wonder on his face whenever he looks at Adam.
Adam clears his throat, raises his voice for us all to hear, and continues. “I know I’ve been here before, back when I was reckless and impulsive and so obsessed with you I couldn’t see straight. But now, with a whole-ass relationship under our belt, I’m realizing none of that’s gonna change. Ever. I’m still completely crazy in love with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I think, because of you—because of us—I actually did turn out okay. Or at least, that I probably will. I want to throw every single birthday party for you for the rest of my life. I want to wake up beside you every morning and make sure you’re getting all your macros. And I want you to know that what I knew since the first time you kissed me still stands—you’re the only one for me. All that said, Sawyer Townsend, will you marry me?”
After a breathless silence, Sawyer drops to his knees. “My answer isn’t any different than it was the first time you asked, player.” He takes my brother in his arms and kisses him hard, in front of everyone at the party, including his parents. Adam just fucking melts like a sap, and it’s like I can feel his happiness and relief washing through me—like it belongs to me, too. I find myself wiping a tear from my eye as they stand together, beaming, arms locked around each other’s waists, like they just remembered other people are here and noticed we’re all cheering.
Sheridan is the first person to rush to the newly engaged couple to congratulate them. Meanwhile, the afterglow condenses and settles like a ball of lead in the pit of my stomach. Olivia is looking up at me, and I’m pretending not to notice, a smile pasted on my face as I watch my brother radiate happiness. Sawyer is openly weeping and yet still able to carry on conversations with his guests.
“What do you think, honey?” Olivia nudges.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m really happy for them.”
She reaches up and touches the side of my face, softly guiding me to look down at her. Her dark hair blows softly in the sea breeze, and her smile is wistful, red lips pretty against her golden-brown skin. “I mean… what do you think?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?” I try to say it as a joke, but the words feel like they’re choking me.
“No. Ash…” Her grin turns sympathetic, almost pitying, if I’m being honest. Her next words are stiff, and slightly cold. “I’ll wait for you to be ready.”
I nod, turning away quickly. I should tell her. I should just say the words: I’m not ready. I’m not gonna be ready. You might not be the person for me even though I care about you and would love to be able to fuck you again, but I don’t know for sure if it’s right, and maybe we need to take a break, but I can’t. I can’t say it.
Because I’m a coward. Because without Adam, without Olivia—what would I have? I might as well leave LA and move home to Houston.
“Best man?” Adam approaches, his grin huge and his cheeks pink from happiness and all the attention.
I give him a hug and congratulate him. “Of course,” I say. “He’s a lucky man.”
“I’m the lucky one.”
True. But he always was, wasn’t he?
2
jade
It’s safe to say I’m overwhelmed. When I opened the front door of the guest house, I was not expecting all my forwarded mail to arrive at once. I spare a second to feel sorry for whichever one of Gideon’s staff had to bring all this up to the porch, but I don’t waste any time before I have my camera mounted, my grooming rituals completed, and my tightest boxer briefs on before I sit down and record myself unboxing everything.
There are colognes. Jocks. Vibrators. Cock rings. Nail polish. Fishnets, and my absolute favorite—the haul of all fan mail hauls—a white latex bodysuit. I preen as I hold it up, fawning over it for the camera, for my followers who’ll see this video whenever I get around to editing it.
When all the boxes are open, I start a new video of myself putting it on, which is exactly as difficult as it sounds, and it’s meant to be funny, if not relatable. Engaging as we say in the biz.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, trying not to tear the thin rubber as I pull it over one of my big thighs. It’s not easy to look sexy getting into the thing, but I do my best, using my hair to my advantage to cover any grimace on my face and show only the hottest looks I can make—side-eyes, half grins, sensual brow lifts. My repertoire.
Once I’ve managed to pop the suit into place, I get creative, spending the next hour making short videos and snapping seductive selfies. I run through my mental contact list of the people I know who would most appreciate this look and might be willing to come play with me in it.
This would be a perfect outfit for Marcus, but he lives in New York now. I might just have to wear it out tonight and prowl.
“You ready, mate?”
The banging on my door has me jerking out of my current couch sprawl and rushing to answer the door. I strike a pose in the doorframe for my boss. “So ready.”
Gideon pulls down his sunglasses and shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re going to a tattoo parlor not Ibiza.”
I purr and stroke my chest. “But I miss Ibiza.”
“Cover yourself for fuck’s sake. Do you still want to do this or not?”