Page 32 of Tony

Just loud enough for me to hear it.

“Oh, Vann,” she says. “Oh, yes. You feel so good. Do I feel good?”

“Fucking A,” Vann grumbles. “Your pussy is hot, Sosh. Squeeze my dick. Squeeze it hard, baby. I want to come—”

“Oh, Vann,” Soshee says. “I’m coming, I’m coming—”

“Goddammit, Belinda!” Vic’s voice booms down the hallway at me.

I glance at Vic, barreling towards me, fierce anger in his eyes. But then I look back at the spectacle of fucking in the studio and find Vann looking over his shoulder at me.

I blush. He backs away from Soshee, hurriedly tucking his dick away in his pants.

And then I bolt.

I run to the breakroom bathroom, fling open the door, slip inside, and then slam it closed behind me, locking it with a satisfying and much-needed click.

And then I hear Vic again, the anger in his voice very clear and apparent. “What the motherfucking fuck is going on in here, Vann?”

I plug my ears. I want to wash my eyes out with soap. I need to get that image of him fucking her out of my head.

But I can’t.

I just see it. Over and over again.

His dick swinging out of her as he turned. Wet with her…

“Gross! Oh, my God, that’s just so gross!” I lean against the wall and cover my eyes. Like either of these things will help erase the trembling in my legs and the image burned into my memory.

There is a fight going on in the breakroom. I hear Vann. I hear Soshee. I hear Vic. Something about dicks, and pussies, and professional behavior. But the music is extra loud in this bathroom. Men. This is really their bathroom. I normally use the one up front reserved for clients because… well, porn mags are everywhere in this one. “Gross, gross—”

Someone bangs on the door. “Belinda!”

It’s Vann.

I just shake my head. I’m going to need to quit. I… I… there is no going back from this. I don’t even understand why I’m so upset. I don’t even like the guy. I literally just got fucked by my ex in the disgusting back alley.

But the next thing I know, I’m on my knees on the scuffed floor covered in muddy boot marks, leaning over the toilet, retching.

More pounding on the door. “Belinda!” It’s still Vann.

“Go away,” I say, wiping spit from my mouth. “Just… forget it. I quit. I’m done. I can’t—”

But I stop. Because I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just… confused, and sad, and broken, and ashamed. And almost none of that has anything to do with Vann.

And yet he’s the one I can’t face right now.

Who cares if he’s fucking Soshee? Not me. I do not like that boy. I do not want him. I have never wanted him.

But that kiss…

He kissed me across the street just twenty minutes ago. A kiss so passionate and filled with longing, I couldn’t think straight.

Maybe that’s all he needed? Maybe he’s just like Tony? He got it out of his system and now he’s moving on. To Soshee!

“Belinda!” Vann pounds on the door. “It’s not what it looked like!”

“Oh, really!” I laugh. Loudly. And get to my feet. I start grabbing paper towels from the dispenser—one, two, six, ten—until I have a whole wad of them. I get them wet under the tap and start wiping the dried come off the inside of my thigh.