Page 12 of Jerk
The decor’s more intense here, the entire room gutted and replaced with furniture I’ve never seen at the Rowen's. Red spotlights pool over metal cages, girls dancing to the music in them. Plush sofas line the walls, draped with bodies in various positions I’ve only seen in porn. Some partygoers have whips in their hands. Some have paddles. Others have rope.
What the hell did I walk into?
More guests whisper to each other as I pass them, my skin heating as I move through the room. It’s not the attention I’m used to getting. It’s definitely not the attention I worked for. So how do I make them stop? How do I?—
My feet slow when my eyes land on him. The back of him, anyway. Everything slows, the music muffles, and I hate the way my breath shallows. His dark hair shines under the dull lights as I watch him turn towards the cages, a crystal glass in his hand. He runs his free hand through his hair like he’s in an ad for Calvin Klein, those cheekbones as sharp as his stare.
His clothes fit the party, his silky black hanbok gleaming under the dim lights. His bare chest peeks through the ‘v’ of his collar, showcasing the sculpted outline of his pecs. He knows how to take pieces from his culture and make them high fashion.Even when he pairs it with fitted silky boxers that outline his length.
My head tilts to one side. Is it really that long?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I push the image out of my head. As usual, he’s surrounded by The Crowns. The three of them lounge around velvet sofas in a roped-off area set in the middle of the room. My posse sits near them, but they don’t even notice me as they soak up the perks of Hill royalty I brought them into. They're too focused on a throne in the middle, someone sitting in it.
I squint, but I can’t see who it is. I only see long legs in fishnets and a pair of black stiletto boots.
Something pushes me forward. A stumbling student with a sparkling flute of champagne. I expect a quick apology, but instead, she glances between me and the VIP section like a kid wondering which parent to side with. Her eyes lock with mine in an almost apologetic way before she continues bringing the glass towards The Crowns.
Mac and Ember move out of the way, giving me a clearer view of who sits on that throne. A slender girl with an impeccable black and grey bob. She looks both bored and comfortable. Too put together to be one of Ember’s friends from The Valley. Pretty, but too unbothered to be a groupie. Before I can figure out why she looks familiar, the student who bumped into me brings that glass right to her.
Fire builds in my chest. Whoever that is doesn’t just get to be there. That place is earned.
Bass pumping in my ears, I approach the throne as Rye turns towards the bar at the back of the room. My mouth opens, wanting to call to him before my eyes snap back to what’s supposed to bemygroup of friends. Moving closer to the group, I squeeze between Gray and Mac and just as I’m about to pull the glass out of this imposter’s hand, something cold grabs my wrist.
“Not a chance.” That bold, low voice fills my ear. Mac’s.
Finally, my friends look at me. The girl on the throne does too. She’s prettier up close, her skincare on point. She looks more familiar now. But I don’t care.
“What the hell?” I ask, looking at my posse, who all look at me like I don’t belong here. “Did you guys ditch me forher?”
“Hannah, hey.” The girl on the throne speaks to me like we’re friends, black lipstick shining. “I’m Krystal, Ryung’s sister.” I blink, my eyes narrowing on her thick eyeliner. The black beret. She’s a contrast to me. An intruder. “Remember, we used to?—”
“You can’t be here, Hannah.” Mac cuts her off.
“I’m not in the mood for your boyish angst, Malcolm.” Looking past him, I look at my girls,myposse, who don’t even pretend to have my back. Marisol fixes Krystal’s beret, smoothing her hair like her personal stylist. Zurie sits back, watching my embarrassment while Chloe seems way too into the music to care. “Why are we all acting like I’m Ember last year?”
“Hey!”NowEmber pipes up.
“You have to leave,” Mac says.
“The hell I do.”
“You do,” Gray says, a stumble in his stance. “Ryung’s orders, and it’s his house.”
“Tonight’s my night. He knows that.” Looking at the girls, I beg for some semblance of normalcy. “Youallknow that.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s your night,” Gray chuckles.
Looking over my shoulder, Ryung’s guests all have their eyes on us. “You guys have had your fun. Can we ditch this sad Playboy party and go to Sun House for our usual?”
“We’re staying here tonight,” Marisol says. Her hair’s darker today, her makeup a clear copy of one of my favourite looks. A glittery cat-eye and glossy nude lips.
Glancing over my shoulder, the crowd’s still watching. “Guys, c’mon. You can’t stay.”
“Wecan,” Marisol bites back. “Youcan’t.”
“But—”
“I suggest you leave, Hannah.” Mac interrupts my plea as if begging isn’t humiliating enough. “Trust me. Or you won’t like it.”
