Page 42 of The Influencer

“You don’t have to be a stranger.”

“I can’t afford you,” I say, and I mean that on so many levels, I can’t even begin to unpack it all.

As I turn to leave, he calls after me to wait. I don’t.

“The wallet chain’s meant to be ironic. Right? Asher—right?”

I don’t hear anything more once the door shuts behind me.

12

jade

Aven meets me at the dance studio Saturday morning at eleven. We’re both nursing hangovers, mine from a very late night at a club, and Aven’s from an aunt’s birthday party where evidently, there were Jello-O shots. I think I’m in better shape, all things considered, the Americano I bought on the walk over making all the difference.

As Aven stretches their slender quads, I prop my phone up to film. I check myself out in the mirror, arranging my hair, checking my nose, and brushing my fingertips over the hickey Asher left beneath my ear two nights ago. It’s fading, and there’s something about that fact that makes me profoundly annoyed.

He’d be so proud of me today. I look almost decent in a plain white t-shirt and athletic shorts. Short, tight athletic shorts, of course, but still. It’s not like anyone can see my thigh cleavage.

Aven pulls their hair into a bun and chugs half their bottle of water. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I say, but the truth is I am so ready to dance. Words, outfits, smolders for the camera—they’re all various ways of expressing myself, but none of them are as cathartic for me as dance. With dancing I can say fuck the world, and scream “love me” at the same time. I can weep with my body, and I can celebrate with it, too. For someone who doesn’t believe in much, dancing is what brings me closest to God, or whatever universal element it is that connects all living things.

I wasn’t allowed to dance growing up, at least not in public. Not where my father could see. I didn’t think so at the time, but he did me a big favor kicking me out when I was fifteen. I never would have been able to become myself if I’d been allowed to stay in his house. And most days, I wouldn’t trade who I am for anything.

Aven and I dance for an hour, running through old routines and free styling in turn. We sweat, and we laugh, and gossip about the other tour dancers. They help me with my pirouettes, and I give them some feedback on their twerk. As we wrap up, they ask me if I have any plans for the rest of the day.

“I have a wax and a manicure, and then I’m going to the thing at Gideon’s where I’m assuming you’ll be, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. But if I thought I could get out of it, I would in a heartbeat.”

“You just need more water and a nap. You’ll be fine.”

Gideon throws parties about once a season, invites all the people he tours with, feeds us, gets us drunk, and reminds us how important we are to him. It’s always a good time, although the hook-up opportunities are awkwardly limited. Once you hook up with everyone on a tour, you’ll see what I mean. Some people just don’t do one-night stands well, and I can’t possibly discern that when I’m drunk and want to fuck. I think the saying is “don’t shit where you eat,” but that’s a disgusting metaphor, despite how much it applies. I’d rather skip today’s party, too, and catch up on some work, but it’s mandatory in sort of an implied way.

Aven and I say goodbye when they get into their car, and I walk the short distance back to my condo to shower and change before my spa appointment.

Though Asher wasn’t the last man in my bed, I still think about him every time I look at it, and I’ve been trying to figure out why that is. It’s not like I’m obsessing over him or anything, he was just so—different. And I’m not even talking about the piercings, but yes, I’ve been thinking about those with a high degree of frequency as well.

To be honest, I wouldn’t have charged him to fuck me if he hadn’t offered. Like the time with the nipples, I kind of felt like he needed to put a label on the encounter, or he wouldn’t have gone through with it, and it was obvious he really needed to go through with it. And being stood up has never in the history of my life resulted in wise choices on my part.

But the guy I shot a blow job scene with the next night was just so… boring.

Okay, so maybe it is all about the piercings. Cody’s dick was big, but it was just so uninteresting. Not that I want to suck Asher’s dick. I absolutely don’t. I’d definitely hurt myself, but it felt really, really good in my ass. He’d stretched me wide to the point of burning, which I love, and the piercings stimulated nerve endings I hadn’t even known were there. It was extremely good sex, and such a good orgasm, I swear I’m still having aftershocks from it. And don’t get me started on the kissing. It was even better than the nipple play, and that was epic, too.

What I don’t love, however, is not knowing when or if I’ll see him again. Not that I’m trying to or making an effort or anything. I just—kind of would like to know—to plan my life and everything. For example, I’d hate to have him randomly DM’ing me when some other dude is over. I wouldn’t know what to do.

Wait, that’s stupid. Of course I’d blow Asher off and focus on who I was with. I’m not his private call boy.

Although…

Fuck, I don’t know. I kind of like him. I kind of like me when I’m with him. I like the control he gives me. While I mostly prefer to submit in bed, I’m a very controlling person in general, but with him, I feel more like he’s allowing it. Like it amuses him. But not like he’s humoring me if any of that makes sense?

It doesn’t. It makes no sense. He’s just hot, and his cock is basically my ass’s dream, and he’s sort of funny. But he’s way too nice for me. And yes, I know he cheated on his girlfriend with me, but he did it in the nicest way possible, at least in my opinion. It’s not like he’s having an affair. Plus, after the way he left both times we hooked up, it’s obvious he regrets it.

But that’s another thing I keep thinking about. What the hell is wrong with his girlfriend? I mean—what does she want from him? It doesn’t take a genius to see he doesn’t want to marry her for fuck’s sake. Why does she have such a grip on him?

“Jade Sloane?”

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