“He’s got two partners tonight,” she says, wiggling her brows.
“A porn star and some rich heiress from Hollywood.”
“I’m surprised an ‘heiress’ would do something like this,” I say woodenly.
“Well, it’s Edgar.”
“So?”
“He’s a famous dominant, Leah. Remember, I was just talking about that?”
I don’t, but I’ve been distracted since we’ve been here.
“What should we expect?” Laura asks. “I mean, in terms of…acts.”
Lana shrugs. “All I know is I can’t wait to see. I want to experience the carnal act as an outsider, something outside what I have with Roberto, just one final time. This is going to be perfect. I can tell.”
I look down at the stage, only just noticing that it’s divided from the audience by a very clear plate of glass.
“For privacy,” Laura says to me as a curtain inches shut in front of it.
“I thought the curtain should be opening now, not closing,” Lana muses.
I lick my lips and try to breathe past the pounding in my head. What will Cynthia say when I tell her about how weird this experience was? Will she want to do a drug test?
The next second, the lights in the ceiling and on the floor dim, the curtain opens, and my stomach clenches so hard, at first I think I’m going to be sick.
I blink because I can’t believe my eyes.
This is a joke.
A sick, sick joke.
The stage is split into two “rooms,” divided by a wall. In the room on the right, there’s a small, green mattress. Lying on it is a girl.
She has blonde hair.
Because she’s me.
It’s my room.
IT’S MY ROOM.
The other room is shadowed until a large figure walks in. Light spills over it, and there he is.
That’s him—Hansel—standing there without a shirt.
I get up and run.
CHAPTER TWO
Leah
I burst through the amphitheater door like a bullet, my arms wrapped so tightly around my upper body, my fingernails are buried in my triceps. I hit the stone floor with Fred Flintstone feet and shoot off down the hall.
I’m running in the direction that I think I came from when my face collides with something hard.
A chest.
I tilt my head up and look into a dark, attractive face, framed by longish hair. His eyes roll over me, the brows narrowing as he takes me in.
“Is something wrong, ma’am?”
I try to dart around him, but he grabs my arms and holds me still, firm but gentle as he looks me over.
I’m breathing hard, so hard I don’t think I can speak.
“Take a few breaths.”
I try to jerk away, but he shakes his head, torch light glinting on the Bluetooth in his ear.
“I need you to tell me if something is wrong,” he says again.
“Claustrophobic,” I half-sob.
There was a time— but. I let out a little sob and shake my head. “Do you have a bathroom? I just need a bathroom!”
With a hand on my shoulder, he turns me back toward the amphitheater doors and urges me forward a few steps.
“This is one of our dressing rooms,” he says, pushing open a door a few feet before the amphitheater. “No one is using it right now. I’ll put a passcode on it so you don’t get any randoms. You can get some privacy in here and get your bearings. Cool?”
I suck back a shaky breath and nod. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” He smiles, followed by a wink. “That’s what I’m here for.”
When the door shuts behind me, I step over to the first corner I see, where I slide down to the floor and draw my legs up to my chest. Then I pull them down, stumble into one of the granite stalls, and barf.
As soon as I’ve emptied my stomach, I shove a trembling hand into my pocket, pull the pill out, and push it into my mouth.
I swallow hard, then stagger up.
Instantly, I start to sweat.
I burst out of the stall and glance into my wild eyes in the mirror.
“What did I do?”
A sob slips from my lips.
I stumble back into the stall, bend over the toilet, shove two fingers down my throat, and start to cough up bile and lettuce from my cheeseburger. When I see the pill swimming in the toilet, I slam my fingers down on the flush lever and sink down onto the marble-looking floor.
“I didn’t do it!” I cry. “Didn’t do it… Oh my God. I didn’t do it…!”
My pulse throbs behind my eyes. Tears stream down my face. I wipe my mouth, then draw one knee up, breathing hard and fast.
Finally I stand up, walk out into the open space between the sinks and stalls, wash my hands at the long, pearly looking sink, and wash my face.
I take my time cleaning up with the high-end, vanilla-scented soap, keeping my mind blank with meditative chanting.