“He likes you,” I say. Because I don’t care.
“He does like me. And I like him. But mostly,” she says, leaning forward in her chair—leaning across the table, like she’s about to share a secret with me—“mostly I just like to play with him, you know. The way you like to play with me.”
“So you’re pretending to like him?”
She leans back in her chair, the secret over, her voice a little louder now. “I like him enough. I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t. But he’s kind of easy, don’t you think?”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
She huffs some air. Like I’m amusing her. “He’s not quite,” she says, lowering her voice again, sharing another secret, “the player you are, Bric.”
“So this is all a game. And if he gets hurt? Fuck him, right?”
“We’re all going to get hurt, Elias. I don’t think that’s a secret.”
Chapter Twelve - Nadia
Bric was done with me after that last comment. He took me home, walked me to my door, said goodbye. It was all very cold and very predictable.
But I smiled when I closed the door and leaned back into it. I smiled as I got ready for bed. Brushed my teeth, set my alarm, and crawled under the covers.
I might even have smiled in my dreams.
I’m not smiling now.
Cold is not a word I’d use to describe Jordan, even though he’s mostly predictable. But he was neither cold nor predictable today, because I haven’t seen him. He didn’t show up at lunch to make it up to me, as promised. I was waiting too, my attention half on my little would-be ballerinas, half on the sounds coming from the lobby.
I was straining to hear the phone. A call telling me to come outside. Or the busy-body whispering of the parents as he entered the school, looking for me.
But it never happened.
And I cannot, for the life of me, remember the last time I was stood up.
What they did for me—to me—it was nice. It felt really good. And the shower after—Jordan asking me if it was enough or did I need another fuck. I regret not letting him take me again.
The dress is pretty. It’s hanging on the door. Blue silk. Light and airy. Too light and airy for winter. But I didn’t care. I was only outside briefly when Bric took me home.
And my hair was done up so well, I almost wanted to go to work with it this morning. Of course, I slept on it, so couldn’t. I took it down and put it back up in the typical bun ubiquitous to all polished dancers.
I look at the phone, now that it’s night and almost all chances of Jordan making it up to me are gone, and consider calling him.
“Don’t do it,” I tell myself. “Don’t fall for their games.”
Because that’s what this is.
Show me a nice time. Make my body throb from their touch. Make me dream about their hands, easing the aches from my legs and my feet and my shoulders.
And then walk away. Isn’t that what they all do?
My phone rings in my hand. It startles me and I drop it onto the fluffy white down comforter.
But it’s not Jordan. Or even Bric. It’s not a number I recognize, but the area code is. New York.
I send it to voicemail. I blocked him the other day but obviously I’ll need to change the number.
So what are they doing? I have been asking myself this question all evening. Were they playing last night just to get control? Are they done with me? Have they walked out? Are they waiting for me to call them?
What? What do they want?
They want me to submit, I know this. They spelled it out. Jordan was upfront when we started playing our little game. And Bric, well. He’s made his conditions clear.
He was angry when he found out I lied to him about the phone sex. Was angry when he realized I was controlling him.
But instead of doing the predictable—teaching me a good lesson with nipple clamps, or a good spanking over his knee, or chaining me to the fucking ceiling like he did Christmas night… he switched it up, didn’t he?
Made me want him. Made me want to submit to him. Made me feel good, and not in a roundabout way, either. He didn’t spank my ass so hard I’d scream, then gently caress it and stick his finger in my pussy to take away the pain.
No. He just… gave it to me freely.
Was it really free, Nadia? If he’s making you pay today?
I know it’s him. Jordan would not stand me up. We’ve been doing this for more than a month now. I’ve seen him every single day except this one.
I frown and lie back. My phone rings again. I send it to voice mail.
I really need to change my number.
A good player would have a move ready. But Bric is better at this than I first thought. Yes, it was all very well played.
Think, Nadia. Think, think. What can you do to get him back?
The ringing phone draws my attention away from my problem and towards a solution. Makes me smile.
I turn the phone off, fluff my pillow, and then close my eyes, putting this day to bed.
Tomorrow things will be different.
Chapter Thirteen - Bric
“Hey,” I say when Jordan calls. “What’s up?”
“What the fuck did you do?”
I gather the papers on my desk that I’m working on and shove them in a folder, attempting to straighten up my desk before I take two days off for New Year’s. “What are you talking about?”
“Nadia,” he seethes, like this explains everything.
“What about her?” I ask.
“She’s changed her fucking phone number.”
“Huh. Why’d she do that?”
“You tell me. What the fuck did you say to her yesterday?”
“I didn’t say shit.” That’s not entirely true. I said a lot. But I was only trying to protect him. And she gave it right back. “She ate, we talked, I took her home. We were barely there thirty minutes after you left.”
“What do you mean after I left? That was Thursday night. It’s Saturday, you dumbass. I left you a message Thursday night and told you to show up for lunch on Friday. Play with her a little. She was expecting one of us to show up, for fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “Ooops.”
“Ooops?” Jordan is pissed. “I told you I liked her. I told you not to fuck with her. I told you—”
“You know what you didn’t really tell me?” I say, interrupting his rant. “Why the fuck I’m even involved.”
Jordan lets off an incredulous huff that is not a laugh. “I thought we had something good going here, Bric. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you don’t want to play. Maybe you’d like to find some other guy to share with? Maybe this is over now?”
I take a few moments to think about this. Am I done playing?
No. No, I’m not. And I definitely don’t want to find a new player to share with. Jordan is good enough. He’s really great at some things. We fuck together pretty well. I like the way he holds their legs open for me sometimes. Like he’s offering them to me. It’s hot.