Five
ESSIE
A margarita is two parts tequila, one part triple sec, and a splash of lime juice…I think.
I only realize how forcefully I’m clutching the glass neck of the tequila bottle when my fingernails dig into my palm, and maybe I’m a tiny bit anxious. But I’m completely fine. I’m completely fine. Alec is seventeen minutes late for a stream for hundreds of my subscribers, but I’m so completely fine.
There’s no triple sec in Cora’s makeshift bar, but there’s Cointreau, which sounds familiar. I pour everything into a cocktail glass, but I wonder if I’m supposed to use a shaker. I end up stirring with a teaspoon, but the color is so…clear.
I check the time. Alec is twenty minutes late now, so I tap out a text: Let me know your ETA! Looking forward to screwing you! , which looks as awkward as it sounded in my head, so I delete the second part, but Let me know your ETA! feels a little desperate.
…or a lot desperate, actually, but flakiness ruins careers in this business. I’ve only been late to a stream once—the result of this petty stunt Lander pulled when he was trying to win over Valeria—and I don’t want to deal with the repercussions again. Whatever. I send the text anyway and take a sip—
God.
Oh my god.
What.
What have I done?
I press the heel of my palm against my lips, trying not to smear my lipstick while I make myself swallow. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, which is saying something because I once went down on a guy who revealed he was a flat Earther mid-blow job.
I take a huge gulp of water, but the taste lingers—this hot yet putrid flavor, sour and also sickeningly sweet with a tinge of gas station. For reasons I can’t explain, all I can think about is how amused Dalton would be to know mixology is the one thing I suck at.
The night we met, he wasn’t surprised to find out I don’t drink. “ Oh, no shit, ” he’d commented with a wry grin. “ That’s all an act.” It wasn’t a question. Somehow, he knew Emerald X—the hot mess, hard-partying camgirl he’d spent months watching (and tipping)—had never had a drink before.
“If you change your mind, I’ll buy you one,” he’d said after he ordered me a club soda and lime. “ Or I can make you one too.”
My eyebrow had shot up. “ Are you inviting me back to your place?”
“Yes,” he’d answered without hesitation.
“We just met,” I’d reminded him while I seriously contemplated the offer.
And then he said the words that buried themselves in my memory: “Yeah, and I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life, and I would do monstrous things to fuck your sweet little pussy deeply, thoroughly, like it deserves to be fucked.”
The words were delivered frankly, entirely conversationally. He’d been standing half a foot away with his elbow against the bar, fiddling with a coaster.
Tonight, he sent me a message, which I didn’t answer: Will I see you later? I didn’t want to lie.
Now, I force Dalton out of my brain and pour myself a shot. The decision is spur of the moment and so regrettable because straight tequila is the second worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, which is also saying a lot because a guy once paid me a thousand dollars to deep throat a balloon animal.
…I should be more discerning about what I put in my mouth.
“Son of a bitch,” I gasp, and I grab my margarita. Gasoline meets gasoline, and this entire scenario is the least Essie Romero event ever because I’m currently a hot mess, and while hot, yes, I’m seldom messy.
I’m completely fine.
I am… probably tipsy. But I’m completely fine —and the best thing I can do is carry on. Alec knows the scene, and I was always supposed to start the stream without him anyway.
I put on my mask—gold tonight with leaf and twig embellishments—and start the stream at my laptop. The room fills fast, and I launch into my usual routine: pretending I’m getting ready to go out. My stories are made up, but they bring in huge tips, and it’s easy to make men turn over their money when I say the right words in the right order.
Tonight, the buzz from the liquor makes it more fun. I’m giggling more than usual—but I’m ready to get fucked. Ten minutes in, finally— finally —the doorbell rings.
Ugh. Alec is the worst; he doesn’t remember the plan.
I told him the door would be unlocked.