“Tommy?” Sam asks, his hand sliding down my arm. But my temper is rising, my frustration a bitter, cruel thing, and I wrench myself away almost violently. Panting hard, shuddering and wavering between defiance and defeat, I storm off the dance floor, shoving anyone who gets in my way.
Young-gi is watching me, his gravitational force pulling me in, and I collapse into the booth beside him and put my head down on the table.
“Shit,” I sigh, then shove myself back up again. “Let’s leave.”
“Did you get what you came for?” he asks.
“Not even close.”
“Seems your drug of choice isn’t good enough.”
I snarl at him. “And whose fault is that? You said I could only use poppers, you said only three, and I did as you asked because I gave my word. So if I’m not satisfied, then it’s on you. Let’s. Fucking. Leave.”
I stand, only to be pushed back into the bench seat by Maggie, who climbs on top of me, the rest of the crew piling into the booth with us. Sam, Jules, and Ry sit on the bench opposite mine, while Georgie leans anxiously on the table and Maggie straddles me.
“Babe, come on, don’t give up,” he says, putting his hands on my chest. “We want to help you.”
“Get off, Mags,” I say tiredly, but I find myself putting my head on his shoulder, anyway. Feeling sorry for myself like a loser. Stealing a hug, since he’s already here on my lap and everything. It’s nice. “I appreciate you, but I’m gonna go.”
“This can’t be healthy,” Maggie says. “Why’d you only take poppers?”
“Who’s your friend?” Sam asks, eyeing Young-gi like he’s a prime piece of steak. “Rawr. Is he the one who bailed you out?”
I ignore that. “I’m just done for tonight, Maggie. Drop it, okay? I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
And by ‘everyone,’ I clearly mean Young-gi, because he’s the only stranger at the table.
Maggie hums thoughtfully, his gaze also running up and down Young-gi, but less appreciative and more skeptical. “Are you his client for the night or what? Tommy, I thought you were done with that.”
“He’s not my–I’m not still turning tricks, Maggie,” I huff. “He’s my…um…”
“He’s with me,” Young-gi asserts for me, and his hand lands on the back of my neck. “So get the fuck off of him. I’ve been tolerant tonight and let him have his fun, but he said he’s done; that means he’sdone.”
Maggie leans back and gets out of the booth, crawling off my lap in the face of Young-gi’s cold anger. He scowls, staring down at me, and puts his hands on his slim hips.
“Tommy, come on, I’ve got other stuff. You know you need it. If this guy doesn’t care enough to let you do this, toknowyou need it, then he should be the one to fuck off. Even Bruce understood, back when you were with him, and he was head over heels for you.”
“Bruce?” Young-gi asks, almost conversational,toocasual. I get a cold shiver down my spine.
“I can’t, Maggie–”
“This is fucked up!” Maggie stops me. “How long has it been, huh? It’s got to be a fucking health hazard by now. You’ll go insane! I’m fucking sorry for you, Tommy, I feelbadfor you, and I want to help you. So tell him to fuck off and come back to the dance floor with us. I’ll give you some Molly and we can just vibe until you feel better.”
It’s tempting. So tempting. My stomach lurches and I grip the table in front of me.
“Help him with what?” Young-gi demands to know. “Feel bad for him, why?”
“It’s none of your fucking business,” I snap, pulling myself away from his grip. “You don’t get to control everything I do. It isn’t fair, okay? This isn’t fair, it’s not fair! I’mtryingand Ican’t–” I cut myself off and shake my head. “It’s not your fucking business,” I repeat.
“Does he not know?” Georgie asks, hesitant, almost too shy to be heard over the throbbing music. “Maybe we could just explain?”
“Tommy,” Young-gi says, all commanding and shit. “Explain.”
“No!” I whine, putting my head back on the table, on the edge of throwing a fit.
“Come on, Tommy,” Sam encourages, pulling on my hand. “Let us help you.”
“He’s not going with you,” Young-gi snaps. “He already told you that.”
