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Now that I picture it, him on his knees, looking up at me like I’m his entire damned world, even as he prepares to wreck me...
Focus, dammit.
“Listen, I know Harrison has a problem with people using substances, but you might have to compromise this time—“
“No, Raegan, I mean he’s too stoned to play. Like, I’m looking at him, and he’s a mumbling pile on the floor.” Pause. “Here. I’m waving his hand at the phone. ‘Hello, Little Queen. Will you cover my set? I’m a fucking mess.’”
I press a hand to my face, already feeling like crawling back into bed. “It’s my day off.”
“That’s going around. Tag, you’re it.” She laughs. “I promise it’ll be more fun than the place you’re playing all summer.”
“Bliss has been great,” I argue.
“But it’s not home.”
Home. As I remember the stage, the VIP room, the staff, a familiar longing tugs at me.
“Is there a theme?”
“The future is you.”
I make a face. “Sounds like a bad yearbook title.”
She laughs. “You got something better? We have time to change it and let everyone know.”
Leni’s someone I respect independent of Harrison. Plus, it’s not her fault he didn’t call me himself, and I’m not going to give another woman shit for asking for help just because her boss should’ve done it.
I consider the highly produced shows I’ve been doing at Bliss and my lips twitch. “I have an idea.”
I fill her in, sending an image to go with my description.
She’s quiet for a long time but finally chuckles. “Let’s do it.”
After hanging up, I head down the hall.
Groaning and panting drift through Ash’s closed door. I don’t bother telling him where I’m headed.
I go to my room and pull the closet door wide.
* * *
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, leaning forward from the back seat.
“My pleasure, señorita. You need to come visit.”
“I will,” I promise. “Tell Natalia I’m making her a crocheted doll.”
I shift out of the car, the trench coat wrapped around me mostly for Toro’s benefit.
There’s a line around the block, and the marquee reads: “COME AS YOU ARE.” As I approach the string of patrons, I get a look at some of the outfits. There’s more skin than clothing.
For once, it’s not fancy lingerie-inspired outfits. It’s simple. Nude bandeau tops and miniskirts for the women. A few even have nipples drawn on. The men are in shorts or speedos, a few painted flesh tones.
I can’t help grinning.
Leni, what did you do?
I head in the back, headphones and drive in my bag. Security’s stoic faces break as they spot me. I fist-bump one guy.
