Page 129 of The Comedown

Collette props a hand on her leather-skirt-covered hip. Under a matching black leather jacket, she’s wearing a black lace bra—it’s a fucking bra—with the rest of her front naked except for a long strand necklace draped down her breastbone that branches off into multiple body chains. I want to grab a handful of the chains and drag her to me. I want to wrap both my hands around her—

“For what? A kiss? It looked like you already got one anyway.” She swings her gaze over to the freckled socialite that greeted me with lips I long forgot about. I’m too busy getting lit off Collette to even notice there are other women here.

But damn. Although Collette slays in anything she wears, jealousy’s by far my favorite look on her. Jealousy and whatever the fuck this outfit’s called.

I thumb her pouty bottom lip, barely stopping myself from sucking it whole.

Her face morphs into something that looks a hell of a lot like disappointment when she sees my bloody thumb.

If she hadn’t taken my ring, maybe I could hide it a little better.

Swallowing my nerves, I start to tell her, “Collette, I—” but she shakes free of my hand, putting space between us to ask, “How’s your birthday been so far?” like I wasn’t just about to bare my soul to her.

“I wasn’t with you, so it wasn’t worth talking about.”

Her eyes search mine, and I shrug, glancing back at the bar, at the tall shot glass awaiting me.

If I drink this second double shot, maybe I’d be able to hide a little better.

“You didn’t go, did you?”

To the studio she reserved for me.

“Of course, I went,” I tell her, ignoring the rum.

Her chest damn near caves in. Was she worried I wouldn’t? If it were up to Slade, I wouldn’t have, which is pretty shitty now that I think about it. Is that why he was so concerned with me having that threesome? So I wouldn’t be able to go?

“And? How’d it go?”

I scan over the crowd, catching the eye of DJ Arique already in the booth, a hand in the air while the other’s on one of his turntables. Raised on that underground style, he combines both ways of DJing—automatic and manual—by using a mixer and two turntables with platters he can scratch on just like his idols used to.

It’s impossible to describe what today meant to me. The whole experience of getting to do my art my way was insane. It reminded me of my why for creating. And Arique was fucking amazing to work with. He didn’t just tell me what to do, he taught me all about the process of what we were doing together.

I’d already invited him to tonight’s festivities three minutes after meeting him, but as soon as I found out he isn’t one of those DJs who just lets a premade playlist play out on a laptop, I had to have him mix some music here, too, so I hired him. I was fully prepared to pay him. With everyone looking for at least one dance track on their albums, he’s in high demand right now, but he insisted on coming tonight as a debt owed to Collette. Something about feeling bad for not being able to work with her directly. I’m not sure what that means exactly because why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to work with Collette? She’s an indie artist and can work with whoever she wants. Plus, she’s got a shit-ton of dance tracks on her albums, and while David, her regular producer, is good, he’s not as skilled in EDM the same way DJ Arique is.

Collette follows my gaze and grins, but it doesn’t go near her eyes as she watches the DJ.

What did it cost her to ask him for today’s private studio session? Something more valuable than money. Arique won’t work with her, but he worked with me for her… How’d she swing that? And why?

Maybe for the same reason why I’m about to do this. I give Arique the signal we discussed earlier, then my voice fills every speaker in the club.

Collette notices immediately, bringing her eyes back to mine.

“This is what you did today?”

I nod, watching her closely.

“I like it,” she says, then angles an ear toward the closest speaker.

The track’s emotional, probably my most emotional song to date, but with an upbeat melody that has every single body in the place moving along to it.

Collette’s eyes trail the club as she tunes in, but mine don’t stray from her once. She takes in the words, not reacting, not judging, just listening carefully, and it gives me a slice of confidence when the most revealing part comes up.

“Baby girl, you the prim to my crude,

sitting there proper, just achin’ for a rescue.

Got everyone out here thinking you is just a mood,