Chapter Two
Ravi
“Hey, Rav, you know you get more benefit from the weights if you’re actually moving them. You taking a nap right now or what?” my sort-of friend Troy asks.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I give an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. Did you want to use this one?”
“Nah.” Troy, who’s perched on a nearby weight bench, shakes his head. “Trying to make sure you’re still with us is all.”
Of all my sort-of friends, he’s the one who seems to notice me most. I’m not sure why, but it’s kind of nice. He’s right though. At the moment all I’m doing is taking up space.
If my mother were here, she’d pinch my ear and tell me not to laze around.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks. Texting my guardian?” Calling him that feels weird. Calling him anything feels weird. He isn’t a parent. He isn’t a friend. He’s… I don’t know. He’s Liam.
“Is he on your ass about the warehouse thing still?” Next to Troy, his roommate, Adam, pipes up.
“He doesn’t think I should be here working out.” I shrug again, because I’m not sure what else to do. Liam’s always been sort of protective of me, but it gets worse as I get older, not better. “At least he hasn’t found out I’m failing biology yet.”
My friend PJ looks up from the mat he’s been stretching on. “From what I’ve heard so far, this Liam guy sounds like a prison warden. You didn’t OD on purpose. It’s not like you have an addiction. Guy knows you’re an adult, right?”
“I wish he’d understand I was trying to help people.” I sigh.
There were innocent people being held in that warehouse.
Trafficking victims. Liam can bluster all he wants, but one thing I’ll never do is ignore people who need help.
It hurts too much to do nothing. Especially after what happened to my parents.
After knowing I was close enough to do something, and I didn’t.
“Can’t you tell the guy to fuck off?” Troy asks.
Sometimes I’d like to. A lot of times, really. But. Well. “He’s paying my tuition, right? Until things change, I feel like I kind of have to keep him happy.”
There’s one small problem with that, though. Nothing makes Liam Masters happy.
I adjust my feet against the leg press and start counting reps again. I try, anyway. I barely make it to ten before my phone buzzes again. Liam’s mad because he doesn’t like how I answered his last message.
“He’s making me stay at his place ever since the accident,” I complain to nobody in particular. “He keeps yapping on about where I am. I’m pretty sure he’s tracking my phone.”
“That’s intense,” Troy murmurs. Adam nods in agreement, long hair bobbing in a bun.
My lit teacher, Mr. Monroe, seats himself at the pulldown machine next to me. “If you don’t mind me asking, Ravi, how long have you lived with this guy?”
Too long.
“Since my parents were murdered.” It’s not something I like talking about, though. I don’t like the pitying looks and the questions. “It was a little before my sixteenth birthday.”
One month and four days. We were supposed to spend the weekend in Washington, DC, visiting the museums and art galleries.
Dad was going to take us to this café I liked but was too far from our home in Virginia to visit often.
Now I’m in Belle Argo, Florida, and my favorite café is nine hundred and two miles away.
I don’t know why I bothered looking that up. Couldn’t help myself.
“Not that I know from personal experience, but I’m sure it’s a big responsibility taking care of a teenager whose parents have died,” Mr. Monroe says. “I’m sure this Liam guy is only trying to protect you, even if it doesn’t always feel that way.”
A plausible argument, right? Except Liam Masters wasn’t always like this. And I wish his protection didn’t feel so much like iron-fisted control.
“I get what you’re saying, Mr. Monroe, but I was already pretty close to being an adult when I went to live with him. He was away a lot for work back then anyway. He’s gotten stricter with me since I turned eighteen.”
Since the night I told him I loved him. Another mistake, and like the warehouse incident, some mistakes can’t be taken back.
“Ravi, I’ve told you, outside of class you can call me Fallon,” Mr. Monroe says as he gets up to kiss PJ. I guess because he and PJ are dating, he’s, like, friendlier with me outside of class? Still, it feels strange.
I’m happy for PJ though. He deserves to be with someone nice. Mr. Monroe is a nice guy. Even if I don’t like the homework he assigns.
I don’t want to write an essay about the family dog getting killed in The Grapes of Wrath, okay? It’s so sad.
Off to the side though, someone is not as happy as Mr. Monroe and PJ.
Mr. Monroe’s brother, Wes. He teaches some class for the hospitality department, I think?
Why he comes to the gym with us is beyond me, since he’s always scowling at everyone in the group like he’s disgusted.
Especially by PJ and the openly possessive way he touches Mr. Monroe.
I’m not disgusted. The achy twist in my stomach at the sight of them is envy. What would it be like to belong to someone the way Mr. Monroe seems to belong to PJ?
Some things you can’t find out from doing research, and I haven’t really belonged anywhere since Amma and Pop died.
“I’ll work on it,” I say to try and appease Mr. Monroe before returning to my reps. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it, though—calling my teacher by his first name, even outside of class.
Adam pipes up. “Hey, you said this Liam guy’s former military, right? Bet that’s why he’s such a pain in the ass. Dated a girl who was in the Air Force for a little while. Those folks are all about routine and control.”
“That does sound like Liam,” I confirm.
For reasons I can’t figure out, everyone all of a sudden gets weirdly silent. Troy puts down his weights and Adam puts down his water bottle. Everyone’s staring at me. The only sounds are PJ clearing his throat and the rhythmic thud of Mr. Monroe’s brother jogging on the treadmill.
“Hey, Rav,” PJ comes over to stand next to the machine I’m using. “I know you think I’m beating this to death, but we’re all pretty nervous about this auction thing you’re planning to do.”
Oh. This again.
I’m a male escort. We all are. Well, except for Mr. Monroe and his brother. But I’m sort of unique, I guess? I’m a male escort who’s still a total virgin.
For now.
“Look, Brennan said auctioning off my virginity would make me a ‘metric fuckton of cash.’ His words, not mine.”
Brennan’s our pimp, I guess? He prefers to see himself as some sort of resource coordinator. Since what he’s coordinating is people who want dates or sex with people who are willing to get paid to go on dates or have sex, I’m not sure how that’s different from a pimp.
“There are a million other ways to make money,” PJ protests.
He’s trying to help. PJ always thinks he needs to look out for everyone else. It’s nice to be on that list, it really is.
But.
The second I saw the look on Liam’s face the night I told him I was in love with him, I knew I needed to get as far away from Belle Argo, Florida as possible. Getting away costs money.
My father loved old Western movies. There’s that phrase they use, something like “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.” Well, Belle Argo isn’t big enough for me with Liam Masters in it.
“The faster I can get out of town, the better,” I tell them all. I focus on managing another ten reps rather than looking around, because I can guess at the looks on my sort-of friends’ faces. I’ve seen it all before.
“Besides”—my body heats. I don’t like the growl in my voice or how I can’t keep my rising frustration down—“it doesn’t make to sense give up my ass to a hundred guys over the course of months. Not when I can use this opportunity to make a bunch of money all in one shot.”
Everything’s quiet again, except the clank of the weight stack as I do each rep. Which makes me finally sit up and look at all of them. Everyone’s looking sort of surprised. Or sad. Or in the case of PJ, his face is sort of angry and red?
“What are you all looking at?”
Adam swallows. “We, uh, didn’t know you were planning to leave town.”
“Oh.” I take a breath, standing to wipe the machine. Nobody else does it here, but I can’t stand not to. It’s rude. “Well, it’s for the best. And it’s my decision. Not yours.”
“Rav, we’re trying to help,” PJ insists.
It would be easier if they weren’t.
Maybe I can travel around the country for a while. Maybe I’ll find someplace that really feels like home. Someplace I belong.
When I bend down to the floor to retrieve my water bottle, my hand catches on a rough piece of metal at the base of the leg press machine. It’s only a little blood, but the dizziness hits me before I can even straighten up again. My forehead bumps the machine, threatening an even worse problem.
“Not again,” I murmur. I hate when this happens. With my hands braced on my knees, I try to steady myself so I can stand.
It doesn’t help that after running into that warehouse, I’ve had some lingering issues. Since detoxing in the hospital, I’m doing better, but I still have weird spikes and dips in my blood pressure.
“Rav, are you okay? Here. Sit. I’ll be right back.” Troy guides me over to a bench before running out of the room.
Mr. Monroe is checking my forehead for some reason. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m sure I don’t have a fever.
“Your pulse is a little high,” Adam says. I didn’t even notice he’d grabbed my arm. I try to shake him off politely, if there even is such a thing.
“Guys, I’m fine.” But they keep fussing.
“Here.” Troy returns after a few minutes, shoving a green smoothie in my face. “Drink it. The veggies and fruit will help. I had them leave out the honey. I know you don’t like it.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I’m not hungry, but I appreciate the gesture, so I take the drink. Besides, I seem to have the metabolism of a hummingbird. I’ve learned the hard way that I shouldn’t skip meals even when I might prefer to.
“Since when did you become such a mother hen, man?” PJ pokes at Troy.
“Since always,” Adam mutters. “Ask me how I know.”
“Your body needs nutrients to recover from the damage the drugs did.” Troy glares at Adam before returning his attention to me. “Saw it plenty on the street.”
“Thanks, Troy.” Drinking something green seems gross, but I take a sip anyway. “Although, I’m guessing the guys you lived with on the street didn’t have access to kale smoothies.”
“Malnutrition is a huge problem, yeah. Which is why I know you need to drink that,” Troy insists.
Well. It’s easier to drink the smoothie than be rude, after he went to the trouble.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be working out yet,” Mr. Monroe suggests.
Even if he’s right, I’ll walk into traffic before I agree. If I agree with Mr. Monroe, then I’m agreeing with Liam. Which is not happening.
“I want to try and put on some muscle before the auction,” I explain.
“I say this with love, Rav,” Adam says, “but that’s not super likely. It takes months to put on muscle, and you’re…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to.
The word is “skinny.” Small. Whatever. I’m five-five and about a hundred and twenty pounds, and that’s after putting effort into bulking up this past year.
“I’ve been making progress,” I insist. “Or I had been before the accident.” That’s what I’m calling it, because it was an accident. “The problem is I need to eat, like, three thousand calories a day to maintain my weight, and I haven’t had as much of an appetite this last couple of weeks.”
“The smoothie will help.” Troy nods as if a liquefied salad is the answer to all my problems. After a few sips I decide it actually doesn’t taste as awful as I thought it would, and besides, I am starting to feel a little better. The dizziness is passing.
“Rav. Is this Liam guy honestly so awful that you feel like you need to leave town?” PJ asks. “I get it, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, but it’ll suck. This auction idea is a nightmare. Besides, we’d all miss you.”
They’re probably only being nice, but still. I don’t know if I’m touched or pissed. I love that they care. I hate how they’re treating me like a kid.
“I’m sorry.” I really, honestly am. Belle Argo is a nice place, and I’d rather not go. “I’m not sure about literally anything else in my life. But I’m sure about this.”
“Is there something we can do to help?” Mr. Monroe asks. He looks side to side then back to me. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say if you’re stuck in a difficult situation, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
Everyone is still looking at me as if I’ve announced that I’m dying. I don’t know how to answer these questions, and I don’t like the squirmy feelings they give me. So, instead, I change the subject. “So, I was researching fetishes again last night…”
Everyone starts moaning and groaning. Which I knew they would. I almost laugh to myself. I tend to overshare in a big way, and lately I’ve been researching kinks and stuff. But this time it works to my advantage. Everyone has stopped looking at me with pity and quit asking me about the auction.
“Seriously, though, this auction thing could be hella dangerous,” Troy says out of nowhere. “If a guy pays fifty grand or whatever to fuck you, what else are they going to think they have the right to do?”
Guess I spoke too soon.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Liam: If you don’t come the hell home after class, I will hunt you down.
Anger clogs my throat as I flip the screen to show it to everyone. “This is the kind of thing I’m talking about. This is what I live with. It’s why I have to do the auction, and it’s why I can’t stay in Belle Argo.”