Page 172 of Irreversible

“Sure do. Cat bed, food, litter, a few dead mice I’ve been collecting as trophies.”

My nose wrinkles.

“Kidding. Binkers doesn’t like mice. He prefers the finer things in life, like hogging the remote and stealing my pillow.” She readjusts her purse strap, her wispy yellow hair glinting under the hall lights. “I’ll bring everything by tomorrow. You’re a gem.”

“All right. See you?—”

She walks away.

Bewilderment has me lingering in the doorway for a few beats as I swallow the remnants of cigarette smoke and cheap floral perfume. With a sigh, I shut the door before swiveling around and crossing my arms.

Mr. Binkers watches me as I stand in the foyer. I don’t know what to do with myself, or the cat. We stare at each other.

He meows.

“So…vanilla sponge cake, huh?”

The back of my neck prickles. The baby hairs on my arms stand straight up as I move and glide across the stage, finally feeling like I’ve regained control of myself after a long week of moping, looking over my shoulder, and scheduling my initial therapy appointment with Dr. Ackland.

I tune out the song—whatever it is—refusing to hear something that’s not there.

I assess the crowd with upturned lips and coy winks, but I don’tseeanyone. I’m too afraid I’ll see multicolored eyes and shiny shoes. A psychedelic suit paired with a diabolical smile.

A snake hiding in the brush, waiting to strike.

But I feel the telltale pull of familiarity as I unhook my bralette and let the red-sequined fabric flutter to the stage.

A draw.

Him.

I arch my back with confidence, swinging my auburn wig from side to side as my skin sheens with shimmering body oil. He can watch all he wants. I’ll give him a show.

How does it feel, Isaac? To know you still can’t touch me?

The routine closes out, and I feel good about my performance as I saunter off stage, sending a flirty wave over my shoulder. I collect my tips and run into Ariel backstage.

She nibbles on a banana and slaps me on the ass. “You have a VIP today. Lucky bitch.” Swallowing a bite, she tosses the other half into a trash can. “Your knight in shining armor awaits.”

My jaw tenses. “Who?” But I already know who it is.

“The hot hero who carried you off the stage like King Kong.”

My heart pounds, my pulse quickening to overdrive. “You can take it. I’m clocking out early tonight.” But that’s not what I want at all; I want to settle this madness and get to the bottom of why he’s here, why he’s stringing me along like a marionette on tangled strings. But I know my heart might not recover if he ghosts me again. “You deserve a break from the skeevy bald guy with overactive sweat glands who was dry humping the table leg while watching you dance last night.”

She considers the proposal. “George is just misunderstood. He’s a great listener,” she says. “But no, King Kong is all yours, Bee. He was adamant about seeing you.”

I fluster, removing my wig and fluffing out my flattened hair. “Okay. Right.”

“Len will be nearby if you have any trouble. But something tells me that man is thegoodkind of trouble.”

Something tells me it’s the fatal kind.

I send her a smile as I leave the backstage area and wind my way to the dressing room to freshen up. On a whim, I change into my bumble-bee costume. If he wants to play games, I’m adaptable. My heartbeats are badgering my eardrums as I fix my hair, scrub the mascara smudges from under my eyes, and reapply a spritz of coconut body mist.

When I pass through the bustling club, a rookie is leaning back on a stool as Ariel tips one of his sneakers toward hismouth, and liquor pours out of the shoe hole. Whisky dribbles down his chin while a group of bachelor-party friends cheer and holler beside him. She sends me a wink before I gather a breath and pivot toward the staircase leading up to the prismatic champagne rooms.

I tame my hair with sweaty palms as my heart thumps in time with my heels clapping against the metal steps.

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