Adam
Summer was over.Tour was done and gone. Normally, I looked forward to the change of season, but change in general was bad.Muy malo. No fun. No fair. Not right. Don’t want it.
I had expected to slip right back into my routine: music, running, Baddie.
Except Baddie was busy. She didn’t come straight home after work most nights. She had some exercise thing she did instead of hanging out with me.
I didn’t like it.
I’d work out with her if she wanted more than just our morning run. She’d claimed she needed to do things on her own.
What-fucking-ever.
She’d had an entire summer to do things on her own. My ass was needy for my girl.
We still had shows, appearances, interviews. It wasn’t like I was twiddling my thumbs at all hours. It was selfish as hell for me to want and expect Adelaide to be home whenever I was, but that was me: selfish to the bone.
It wasn’t just the fact that she wasn’t home that irked me. There was something else. Some shift in her that made me wonder what she wasn’t saying.
It made me restless. Twitchy. In dire fucking need of distraction.
Friday night, and I was pacing my apartment. It wasn’t late. Truly, the night was young. I had a dozen people I could call, invite over, go out with. The one person I actually wanted to see was out doing her secret workout thing—as if I believed that.
On top of being restless, I was resentful.
Adelaide was keeping something from me.
I was pretty sure she had a boyfriend.
What the hell else could it be?
Though, there was no reason for her not to tell me, unless she had gotten back together with one of her previous douchelords and was too ashamed to tell me. Was it ear-picking Jason? Loud-chewing Charlie? Close-talking Thomas? Inside-out boy himself, Simon?
Restless, resentful, bored, I made a decision. It’d been months since I’d paid a visit to the club. Months since I’d indulged. Tonight was the night.
The club had a name, but no one used it. It was simplythe club. Designed like a speakeasy, there were no signs on the outside, and the interior was straight from the nineteen-twenties. Low lighting, velvet booths, ornate, mirrored bar. At first glance, there were no overt signs of what this place really was.
The stage was just a stage except when the St. Andrew’s cross was pushed forward with someone strapped to it. That would happen later on. A show to set the mood.
I liked shows. Watching, but more often being the star.
I’d grown up in a straitlaced family, but I’d been a rule breaker since I understood what rules were—indulging in exactly what I liked without an ounce of shame felt like the biggest middle finger to my conservative, Midwest upbringing.
I took a seat at the bar, and my drink was slid to me without me asking. Despite my months away, they knew me here—my drinks, my habits, my likes, my kinks.
Callum and I used to come here together. That was another change. He brought Wren here now, and I had no doubt he didn’t want me tagging along with them.
This wasn’t my first time here alone, but it had been a while. These days, it was one of the only places I could go knowing I wouldn’t get hassled. I liked my fans, but that wasn’t what I needed tonight.
There were women who’d come alone too. They were looking for something. Perhaps the same thing I was. A distraction. An unfulfilled need. An itch forever needing to be scratched.
I’d have a drink or two, then I’d make a move.
The bartender came back with another drink, tipping his chin toward the stage. “Show’s about to begin. It should be a good one tonight,” he told me.
“It always is,” I replied.
And it was.