Page 52 of Twisted Knight

I smile. “At least we both know where the other stands.”

“True, but you’ll see my way soon enough.”

I snort.

His face sobers. And just like that, the moment is lost. “Go home, Rowan. I have work to do.”

“Oh, I’m dismissed, am I?”

“You are,” he says, the playfulness from moments ago suddenly gone when he lowers his head and focuses on the screen of his laptop. “Oh, and don’t wear that top again.”

“Excuse me?” I stop and look down at my fitted V-neck cashmere sweater.

“It’s distracting.” He waves me away without looking up. “You make it hard to concentrate.”

I stare at him with a disbelieving smile. Did he really just say that?

I should be offended.

I should be livid at being objectified.

I should tell him to eat shit and die.

But as I turn and walk down the hall, I grin, already thinking about the detour I need to make on the way home.

A detour to the boutique where I bought this so I can buy one in every color available.

The surefire way to get me to do something is to tell me not to.

FIFTEEN

Holden

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

Clank. Click. Clank.

“Hey, Simpson?”

It still takes me a second to hear the name and respond to it. It’s weird. But I can still see the look on Mase’s face the first time he heard someone call me Holden Simpson. Pride. Joy. Belonging.

The one moment made it all worthwhile, despite what a pain in the ass it’s been for me to hear it and respond to it.

The funny part is how easily I was able to make the transition for others to call me it. No one questioned it. No one stopped me to look a little closer.

In this community, people like me are invisible.

Clank. Click. Clank.

“Yo. Simpson. I’m talking to you.”

Case in point.

I look up from where I’m bussing a table. I already know the voices, already know the spoiled fucking punks who they belong to.

Their daddies run this town. And their daddies before them did too.

Clank. Click. Clank.