Page 47 of Gilded Fake

He paused. “You went to the sketchy side of town to get my number from my tattoo artist?”

“No,” I said, scowling into the dark. He didn’t sound like he thought I was a psycho stalker. He sounded like he was holding back laughter, which was infinitely worse. “I got his number from Harper, and then I got your number from him.”

“That’s some determination,” Colt said. “I mean, you jumped through hoops there, Butterfly. I wonder if I could use my dick to train circus animals too.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, biting back a smile even though I felt my face warming. I must’ve sounded so fucking desperate.

“I knew my dick was awesome,” he went on. “But I didn’t know it was that hypnotizing. I thought it was just Dixie. Maybe I should reconsider my career path. I could be the world’s first professional dick-notist.”

“Oh my god,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This is not about your dick. If I wanted that, I’d crawl naked into your bed.”

“Eh, been there, done that,” he said. “Keeping things spicy for me, aren’t you, Butterfly?”

“I just wanted to talk,” I said. “That’s why I called on the phone. And don’t worry, no one will know we’re talking. I didn’t even give Maverick my real name.”

“Comforting to know he’s giving out my number to random strangers.”

“I’m very persuasive when I put my mind to it,” I said, smirking and relaxing back against the wall. “I told him I was looking to book a fight. You said you get clients there, so I figured that wasn’t too suspicious.”

“Wow,” Colt said. “I’m impressed, little Butterfly.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“The only question is, should I be more impressed with your determination or my dick’s addictive qualities?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to forget.”

I heard a muffled voice in the background, and a stupid little dart of jealousy pierced my heart. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Dixie’s,” he said, his voice going super quiet.

“Oh.” I bit down on my tongue so I wouldn’t say more.

“I broke up with her after I left your place the other day,” he admitted. “But she wants to stay friends, and we’ve been through a lot. She stuck with me through everything…”

“I know,” I said quickly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’d never ask you to give up your friends for me.”

Even as I said the words, I knew they weren’t true. I hated myself for being such a petty bitch, but I never claimed to be a good person. I hated that he was with her, that I couldn’t help but wonder if he went over there to fuck her. I hated that I knew he genuinely cared about her. Maybe they were never official, but what they had was at least real. If Royal ever dumped me, that would be the end for us.

“My only friend,” Colt said quietly.

“It’s fine,” I said. “We both have a friend with benefits who calls us when they need us.”

“I came over to get my stuff,” he said. “She was crying, so I stayed a while. But I should go. She’s in the other room, and she’ll wonder who I’m talking to.”

“Right,” I said. “Remember to erase your call log.”

“I’ll meet you at our spot at midnight.”

He hung up without waiting for an answer, and I wanted to fucking explode. I was furious that he was so presumptuous, that he was sure I’d be there. I was furious with myself because I knew I would, that I couldn’t resist him.

It was like a chemical reaction, like the worst craving for ice cream when your mother banned you from eating it and suddenly it was all you could think about. You could practically taste it, and every cell in your body was screaming to go to the fridge, and if there was none there, to fake some excuse to take a run and then sneak to the gas station and shovel it into your mouth before you got in your car because you couldn’t risk that a drop would get on your seat and your mom would know. It wasn’t just about being punished—it was about the shame of your own weakness because you should have the willpower to resist. And when you were done inhaling it, you realized you didn’t even taste it, you only tasted the bone-deep relief of giving in.

That was the way I wanted that cretin. What had he done to me?

I lay down on my closet floor, ignoring the shoes digging into my back, and squeezed my eyes closed. Dixie was my friend. I was shit for wanting her boyfriend. But I couldn’t help but wonder if she was manipulating him, making him feel guilty because she stuck by him. Would he always be tied to her by obligation, or was that just an excuse so he could keep fucking her and get some from me on the side? When he was ‘comforting’ her over there, was he fucking her?

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