Page 22 of Fake Dating Daxton Hawk
You know what? Fuck it. I’m sick of living my life in a fantasy land. I want to meet you, Steel. When do you leave New York? I need to know who you are.
Shit. I reread her message, not believing my bad luck. For months I’ve been asking Jordan to meet, andnowshe wants to meet, at the worst possible time? A few moments ago, if she’d asked to meet, I would have been ecstatic. Now, I don’t know how to reply.
ChapterTen
Jordan
I didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse than I did after the fire. Welp, here we are. Last night, I told Steel I think I’m in love with him and that I want us to meet, and he left me onread.
Steelneverleaves my messages unanswered. He’s been begging me to meet him for the longest time, and the one time I let down my guard and agree, he disappears. I don’t want to start doubting Steel, but I can’t avoid the negative feelings creeping in. He’s married or something. Or worse—the catfishing fear again—he’s some kid who’s been playing a prank on me all these years.
No, stop it, Jordan. Not everyone is full of lies like your parents.
In my desperation, I sit up in bed and send Steel another message.
JORDAN HART
Are you dead or something? Or you just don’t want to meet me anymore?
After ten minutes, when there’s still no reply, I force myself to get dressed for the day and leave the confines of my room. Despite Daxton telling me to make myself at home, I’ve barely left my room since arriving here. Yesterday felt a little odd, sharing the same space as him. I kept to myself, still coming to terms with the fire and this new arrangement between Daxton and me. But now that a new day is here, and I really do have this penthouse all to myself, I take the initiative to explore.
Daxton wasn’t kidding when he said this place is big. It has everything I can imagine. My bedroom opens straight out to the rooftop garden, where the pool is the main feature. Only now that I’m alone do I have the chance to fully appreciate the design of the high ceilings and oversized windows. Along with five guest bedrooms, there’s a gym, sauna, and movie room. There’s even a grand piano in one corner of the living room which I imagine is for decorative purposes unless Daxton is a musician. Highly doubtful.
I stop outside of the last room unentered. The master bedroom. I stood in the open doorway of this room on my first night here, thanking Daxton for his hospitality, but I was so stressed that I don’t remember what the bedroom looks like. Despite manners telling me not to enter Daxton’s personal space, curiosity gets the better of me. It’s not like I plan on snooping through his belongings. I just want to see what the master looks like.
I push the door open and peek inside, finding a pristine bedroom. Aside from the luxurious bedspread and furniture, I could be looking at any hotel room. There’s nothing in here that signifies the space belongs to Daxton. Nothing personal, and to be honest, I’m a little disappointed. It would have been interesting to see photographs of him having fun with his friends and family or to know what kind of books he reads.
Maybe this is to be expected; he did say he barely stays in New York.
I close the door and head back out to the living area, wondering how to occupy myself this morning. Ten thousand dollars is sitting in my bank account as of last night. I plan to save most of it so I can move out of this penthouse as quickly as possible. But I do want to purchase the dance equipment I spoke to Daxton about. It will level up my skill and hopefully land me more success with future auditions.
Before making the purchase, I send Daxton a quick text asking him if he minds me hanging the equipment from his gym ceiling. He gives me the green light, so I open Instagram and visit one of my favorite accounts—a company here in New York that sells aerial dance equipment which I have always wanted to purchase, but A: haven’t had the funds to spend, and B: nor the space in my tiny apartment to install the equipment.
Three thousand dollars later, I’ve ordered Russian silks and a lyra hoop, scheduled to arrive at the penthouse later this week.
Next, I visit the gym for a workout and spend thirty minutes running on the treadmill. Once I’m warmed up, it’s time to stretch. The weather is nice today, so I head out to the rooftop and begin my splits routine by the pool, starting with a hamstring stretch.
To pass the time, I pull out my phone and open TikTok, then start recording myself for my small following of one thousand people. In all honesty, the number of real people following me is more like eight hundred since there are so many bot accounts in my follower list claiming to be Nicolas Cage or Keanu Reeves. But that’s beside the point.
Being a burlesque dancer, I spend a lot of time stretching, so I figured what better way to utilize the time than creating TikTok videos about my art form. My TikToks rarely hit three hundred views, but whatever, it’s a bit of fun.
“Story time. You guys will never believe what happened to me. My apartment burned down. I lost everything. Long story short, I’m now living in this amazing penthouse. I won’t get into the details of how this happened because it’s complicated. I don’t want to say I’m pleased about the fire because, seriously, finding out my home burned down was a nightmare. But…” I turn the camera around and show off the city views. “Maybe I can find some good in this situation. I’m living in the Upper East Side. Things could be a lot worse. In other news, I just ordered some aerial dance equipment, so keep an eye out for future videos of me using it.”
As soon as I post the TikTok, a message from Steel arrives and my stomach churns with anticipation as I open it.
STEEL WEST
Sorry I haven’t replied until now. Something came up and I had to leave New York immediately.
And now I feel like a bitch for assuming he ignored me.
JORDAN HART
Is everything ok?
Not really. I’ll try to explain later.
I’m sorry to hear that. Did you read my messages from last night?
