Chapter 23
Jesse
Sex always used to leave me feeling kind of ashamed and itchy, no matter how quickly I showered afterward.
What Rico and I shared—have been sharing regularly in the days since—is so far from that it might as well be in another galaxy.
I’m glad I told him the truth about not being sober while fucking for several years. It became such a hollow act for me. Simply an extension of my addiction. Something I could enjoy for a fleeting moment then immediately regret, just like everything else in my life.
I remember every single moment I’ve spent intimately with Rico so far. The way he looks at me and talks to me and touches me is nothing short of miraculous. I’d heard of the word cherished before, but I never understood what it really meant.
Until now.
He makes me feel like I’m the gift. Like he’s the privileged one for getting to spend time with me instead of the other way around.
We still haven’t done more than frotting and hand jobs, and yet every time a memory flashes through my mind, I blush as if it’s the most hard-core filth.
That makes sense to me, though, because the kinky shit I’ve done in the past was experienced in a numb haze.
I might as well have been watching porn on a fuzzy screen for how much it really affected me in the moment.
Afterward, the brutal comedown was always crystal clear, which never really felt fair.
But with Rico, I feel every one of his caresses, every breath that fills my lungs, every cold drop of sweat on my hot skin. I’ve gone from snowy static to full-blown HD, and I’m obsessed.
It’s no surprise everyone at work has noticed.
Whenever I perform now, I imagine that Rico is watching me from the shadows, getting off on how I dance and flirt with the customers.
Rather than feeling self-conscious, I’m empowered, able to make whoever I’m giving my attention to feel like a million bucks.
The guys keep telling me I’ve got a new glow, and I certainly don’t have any trouble filling out my thongs when constant thoughts of my husband keep me half-hard when I’m gyrating, driving the crowd wild.
“Look at you, sugarplum,” Trixie coos as I finish my solo for the night.
She holds out her hand to assist me stepping down from the stage.
I love when she does that, because she’s so tiny and we’re all so large, it comes across quite comical.
But there’s also something maternal about it that makes my heart go all syrupy.
Lucas and Riley hop up on stage in their tiny outfits to sweep up my cash. We all rotate for each other like that. We also get to keep an equal, decent share of all the earnings. It couldn’t be more different than LA.
I move past them and follow Trixie to the area in between the bar and backstage, grinning like a madman. “That felt pretty good,” I admit. Sometimes the choreo, the audience, and the vibes just click.
She scoffs and playfully backhands my chest. “You’re about ready to light up the whole damn town with all that good energy just radiatin’ off you, hon. Whatever’s got you all in a tingle, I say keep on doin’ it!”
Hopefully, she can’t see how wildly I’m blushing in the dimmed lights of the club. “Um, things are just going really well with my husband right now,” I admit.
She hoots. “Oh, definitely keep doin’ him, in that case.”
“Trixie!” I gasp, but she pulls a face at me.
“Oh, don’t you go actin’ all coy, mister. We’re all grown-ups here.”
It’s difficult to be offended when I’m laughing so hard. But before I can think of a retort, someone pulls my attention away.
“Jesse?”
I blink and look around, mirth giving way to confusion. For a second, I can’t place the scruffy guy leaning against the edge of the bar who’s looking eagerly my way. Then it clicks and my stomach drops.
“Emerson?” I say, stupidly glancing around as if there might be other people from AA lurking in the shadows. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs and grins at me. “A crazy coincidence, I guess. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on stage!” He sips what looks like a cola, but something prickles over my skin, and I’m not entirely sure.
This guy who’s been bothering me at more and more meetings just happens to come to a cheesy bar out of town that’s frequented by ninety percent women celebrating birthdays and getting married or divorced?
“You’re here with friends?” I ask, scanning the crowd.
Unless he’s snuck in with his sister or is a really out-of-place member of the group of glittery twinks currently singing their hearts out to Chappell Roan, I’m unconvinced.
I know I shouldn’t judge, but something about this guy gives me the creeps.
Case in point, he steps closer, just enough so it’s uncomfortable, and I don’t have room to back up unless I go into the dressing room.
I’m tempted, if I’m honest. But I don’t want to be rude and risk peeing in the pool of people that’s become so vital to me. If I piss this guy off, it might make things really difficult for me at AA, and I desperately need that support system.
He’s got me in kind of a bind, here.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here with friends,” Emerson says with a vague wave of his hand. “I knew you could act, Jesse. But wow! I never knew you could dance. You’re so good!”
“Um, thank you,” I say placatingly, my skin prickling. He knows I can act? I’ve never mentioned my time in Hollywood or Leroy Puck in a meeting once. On the other hand, I’ve specifically talked about my dilemma with working in a bar many times, so he’s full of shit right now.
“Hi, there!” Trixie pipes up from beside my elbow, thrusting her perfectly manicured hand out toward Emerson. Her nails aren’t just painted and sparkly, they’re shaped in long ovals that would probably do some damage if she jabbed them in, oh—say, someone’s eye? “Are you a pal of Jesse’s?”
Emerson looks her up and down and guffaws. I’m not sure what’s so funny. Tonight’s skintight dress is covered in butterflies which she’s paired with a black leather jacket and knee-high boots, dangly silver moon-and-stars earrings, and a hot orange cowboy hat.
She looks fire and I wouldn’t be laughing at her if I was his scruffy ass.
“Oh, honey,” he says in a condescending tone. “You know he’s gay, right? There’s no point in hitting on him.”
My blood runs cold as my fists clench. “This is Trixie,” I grind out. “Her name is on the door.”
Apparently completely oblivious of how rude he’s being, Emerson just snorts and rolls his eyes at me. “Oops, my bad. Hey! You want to grab a drink with me? We never get the chance to talk properly.”
“Oh, he’s still on the clock, honey,” Trixie says, sounding highly amused. I’m still furious, however. It doesn’t matter if she was the bar owner or the cleaning lady. His chauvinism is revolting, and I find myself inching in front of her to try and get him to back off.
He’s not getting the hint.
“Surely you can take a break, Silverman?”
I freeze.
It’s against the rules to use full names in meetings, so there’s no way I would have told him that.
He recognizes me from TV. That’s why he’s so obsessed with becoming my friend. He’s some kind of delusional fan.
Oh my god. The baseball facts. The true crime podcasts. He’s been trying to impress me this whole time.
No. He’s been trying to impress Leroy Puck. I’m horrified and ashamed and more than a little unnerved.
I’m also pretty certain from getting this close that he’s not entirely sober.
“Are you drinking?” I blurt out, fear mixing in with my anger. I’m not sure why. If he’s made a dumb decision, that’s on him. But for whatever reason, knowing he might have relapsed makes me feel threatened.
He rolls his eyes again, though, and laughs. “Relax, dude. It’s just cherry coke. You can try it if you want?”
The second he holds out the glass, I jerk backward into Trixie, almost sending her flying.
I spin and throw my arm around her shoulders before any harm can befoul her, but that’s the moment Lucas and Riley come jogging off the stage with my earnings they’ve swept into a bucket, clearing the way for Abe to go on with his metal grinder.
Except all three of them rush to me and Trixie as we’re righting ourselves again.
“Whoa!” Lucas cries. “Everything okay?”
Abe’s music starts, signaling he should be getting on stage. Instead, he eyeballs Emerson.
“Is there a problem, Mama?” he asks.
Emerson laughs and holds up his hands as well as his drink. “What? No! I’m a friend of Jesse’s. This woman just tripped.” He holds his hand up to his mouth and talks to us as an aside. “I guess some people can’t hold their liquor. Am I right?”
Considering we know each other from Alcoholics Anonymous, that’s pretty fucking rich coming from him. I want to rip his head off, but my media training is deeply ingrained. Everything in me is screaming to defuse the situation and try not to make anyone upset.
“None of the staff drink here,” I tell him firmly.
“Ever. Look, it was nice to see you, Emerson. But I really am working, and I can’t hang out.
I hope you have a fun night, but we’ve got to go.
” I notice the DJ has subtly segued Abe’s solo track into a different song for the time being.
Hopefully, the rest of the audience haven’t noticed the slightly longer pause between numbers.
“Oh, Jesse, I’m sorry!” Emerson cries in horror as we start turning away. “I didn’t mean to upset you! You’re not mad, are you? I just wanted to support you! I thought it would be cool having your friend show up as a surprise.”