Chapter 11 – Braxton
CHAPTER ELEVEN
brAXTON
The belt that's supposed to be holding up my jeans is unbuckled, and the fly is pulled down, exposing the white Calvin briefs underneath.
To say this is bad timing would be an understatement.
I have about five minutes until I'm supposed to be prancing around the rooftop pool in my tighty-whities.
Instead of swinging and slinging, I'm caught up in an argument with my ex-girlfriend on the back patio of the bar while a camera crew catches every moment.
"You pretended like I didn't exist!" she whines in a high-pitched tone that isn't like her at all. She pushes sleek blonde strands of hair behind her ear and wallows in her feigned sadness.
She's talking about the other night, of course, when she somehow showed up to the tracks when Pookie and I were there.
If I didn't know better, I'd say she followed me there, but I don't have the required evidence to level such an accusation at her.
She's also right that I ignored the ever-loving shit out of her.
I was trying to have a good time, and lately, every time she comes within my peripheral vision, I decidedly do not have a good time.
"Do you go around huffing gas or something?
" I let out an exasperated huff and straighten the pink cowboy hat on my head.
"Because I swear there's an oxygen leak in that head of yours.
" I grit my teeth and laugh at the comedy of it all.
She's still trying to play the victim card when she's the one who cheated on me.
"I stopped owing you my time and attention when we broke up. "
"You're saying I mean nothing to you?" She scoffs incredulously. "After everything we've been through?"
"Your words, not mine. But yeah, I think that's a pretty solid way of putting it."
She looks me dead in the eyes, and her eyes might as well actually be dead because I see nothing in them. Nothing that excites me. Nothing that reminds me of why I stuck around so long.
"Even Gunnar thinks you're acting childish," she says, folding her arms.
I pass her an amused nod. "Gunnar's a momma's boy who was kicked out of the military because he couldn't make his own bed.
He's never had a successful relationship because he's a short-haired Goldilocks who can't figure out what asshole shape and size is just the right fit.
So if you want to throw the words of my friends in my face, I'd simply ask you to consider the source.
" I take a moment to catch my breath, and it feels easier than before, a weight lifted from my chest. The rant felt good, but a panic quickly takes root in the pit of my stomach.
I point squarely at my ex-girlfriend. "Don't you fucking repeat that.
" And then I spin my aim to Jules, who stands behind the camera, filming. "And don't you dare air that."
Jules raises her hands in protest, and it brings me no comfort. My words are definitely making the final cut, and there's a non-zero chance I'll need to go into the witness protection program when he sees the episode.
"You're so angry," Tamra whines, stepping into the shoes of the victim again. "You've changed so much in the last few months, and I'm starting to get worried."
I swallow the heavy burden of rage, balling my right hand into a fist. It's all I can do to stop myself from screaming. She wants to paint me as the villain so fucking bad that she'll burn our lives to the ground, exposing everything we've mutually agreed to keep off camera.
"Nothing has changed about me, sweetie," I teem at her.
"We're all the same exact people we were two months ago, doing the exact same things, in the exact same rooms, at the exact same times.
" I tap her on the side of her noggin. "I want you to reallythink about that the next time you want to dance on this merry-go-round, because I promise, I'll spin us both straight to hell. "
She lets out an audible gasp as if I've just threatened her.
Good, she got the memo loud and clear.
For some reason, Jules has me filming the confessional in nothing but my pink hat, pink boots, and white briefs. I sit on a table underneath a pink umbrella on the patio as she prods and pries into my thoughts about the argument Tamra and I just had.
There's a bright ring camera to my left, and it's just the two of us out here.
Production takes the sanctity of private confessionals very seriously.
They want our unfiltered thoughts, but they're not always that unfiltered when the producers are asking leading questions.
I get it, though. They have a story they need to tell.
God knows what those stories are actually going to look like when all the footage is edited together.
I frown at the thought, hoping they don't try and paint me to be the villain.
"What do you make of Tamra's conversation with you?" Jules asks from behind the camera.
I stare straight into the camera. "I think she needs to mind her own damn business."
She fidgets with the lens on the camera. It looks like she's zooming in to get a closer shot. "What really happened at the club the other night?"
We kissed. Wait, no. That didn't happen at the club. That happened after. Besides the point, nobody needs to know about that. Nobody willknow about that. The club. What happened at the club? I must hesitate a little too long because Jules clears her throat and repeats the question.
"Pookie and I went and met some friends." I scratch at the side of my nose and swallow a dry lump in my throat. "Danced and had a few drinks. Tamra wants to turn it into something bigger so she can have a storyline."
"Fourth wall," Jules says with a frown. "Rephrase what you just said."
I roll my eyes and let out an agitated sigh.
"Tamra wants to pretend my world still revolves around her, and when she's hit with the reality that it doesn't, she starts making up stories because she's both a liar and a drama queen.
" A mischievous grin hitches across my lips.
I like that answer much better than the first. "Better? "
Jules nods but continues with her interrogation. "Tamra swears she saw you dancing with Pookie."
"Friends dance together," I say flatly with a shrug.
"The way she told it, it sounds like it was a little bit more than friendly."
I glare at her for a little too long, trying to get my story straight.
But what is there to get straight? We danced at the club.
That was it. At the club. That's all we did.
The question throws me for a loop, though, so I answer the inquiry with a question of my own to buy more time. "I'm sorry, but what are you implying?"
She shrugs with faux apathy, like she doesn't care. She absolutely does. Anything for a storyline. She looks down at her phone and then back to me, peppering me with another canned question. "Are you an alcoholic, Braxton?"
My jaw tightens. "I'm twenty-three years old. I like to party."
"Do you use drugs?"
Tamrat is really starting to get to the producers, isn't she? "I smoke pot occasionally."
Jules furrows a brow, digging for the truth. It's like she already knows the answer, like someone has already ratted me out. "Nothing else?"
"If you'll excuse me, I have to get inside." I unclip my microphone necklace and tuck the wire behind my ear. "And off the record, I don't like the insinuation."
"Braxton," she coos, a desperate attempt to settle me with her put-on teacher voice. "Nobody is trying to get you. We're just trying to put together what happened when the cameras weren't rolling."
I purse my lips and nod, but I'm pleading the fifth until I've had some time to think. I know it's not the best look, and that by running away, I'll look guilty. But also... I kind of don't care. Without proof, all she has are guesses.
She doesn't know Pookie and I were high out of our fucking minds, or that we went home with two strangers. She doesn't know that Pookie and I kissed. More than that, we kissed as we both orgasmed at the same time.
She'll never know that.
Nobody ever will.
And she certainly won't know how much I've been thinking about the kiss.
How much I've been thinking about him.
As I climb off the table, I notice the weight of my dick has shifted to the right, poking at the white fabric. Hard. I cast a suspicious glance at the camera that's still flashing red. Surely they wouldn't air my boner, not after Talon lectured me about popping Viagra before work shifts.
The whole crew is in the dressing room, Tamra and Avalon included.
And by "the whole crew," I mean everyone except Kolter, who is still missing in action.
I'm starting to get worried. He hasn't returned any of my texts, or anyone else's that I'm aware of.
Whenever the topic is brought up to Mr. Pink or his brother, they wave off our concern, which is somewhat comforting.
Still, I can't help but wonder where he could be every time I see his empty chair.
I wait for Tamra and Avalon to stop gossiping in the corner, wait for my crazy ex-girlfriend to move to apply a fresh coat of pink lipstick in the mirror.
I step over to Avalon and whisper to her as I pass, "Your best friend is a real piece of shit.
Can you help find her a new boyfriend so she'll leave me the hell alone? "
Avalon responds with a giggle, clearly amused. She's not the type of girl to get involved with drama. I've never heard her argue or raise her voice. Even when she and Maverick break up every other month, they remain completely cordial.
The next person I spot is Gunnar, who admires himself in the mirror. He flexes his guns and kisses his biceps. I should give him a heads-up about what I said outside. I approach from behind, finding his gaze in the mirror. "Hey, buddy."
He turns around and parks his thick ass on the counter, the hem of his tight white briefs cutting into his thighs. "What did you do?"