Next up is a group photo: the two of us with Jensen and his entourage. Effie’s arms are wrapped tight around my middle, and I’m grinning wide, pressing my face against her hair.
I wait for her to comment.
Nothing.
Fuck, it’s hot out here. My cheeks are burning, the sidewalk all around us baking in the sun. “These are all in Original Sin.” I start scrolling faster, whirring past endless photos and videos of the familiar rooms, until Effie lets out a strangled squawk and my finger freezes over the phone.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heartbeat slams in my ears.
It’s a video. Of us.
Of Effie, her slim body stretched out on the bar, giggling into her hands as a random server rucks up her shirt and pours a shot into her belly button. Ofme,leaning over her bare, toned stomach, my cheeks hollowing as I drink from her body, my mouth curled up in a smirk.
“Gah,” Effie says as on the screen, I bite a lemon wedge from between her teeth. “Gah.”
Yup. “Let’s not discuss it.” Far too late, my body starts working again and I scroll past the video, gut churning.
“Yeah,” my assistant says weakly. “No kidding. I can’t believe that’s why I woke up sticky.”
And fuck, this is too much. I’m standing here in this stifling hot air, throat dry and temples throbbing, enduring the most awkward experience of my life. Watching everything I’ve secretly,shamefullywanted since the day I met my assistant play out on this tiny screen, my body reacting even now while my mind screams in horror.
When the location changes in the photos, I exhale with relief. “I know that place.” I tilt the phone further toward Effie. “I’ve seen it before. It’s famous.”
On the screen, Jensen is riding a mechanical bull, waving a candy pink cowboy hat above his head. And behind him in the crowd, Effie and I are whooping, our cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Clinging to each other like in every clip and photo.
Jesus. Did we drink those shots and forget all about personal space?
“I know where we went next.”
We scroll through the rest of Jensen’s photos just to check, but that’s it. The last digital evidence of our night. Effie is quiet as we turn and wander down the street past slow-moving traffic.
“I’ve never been to a rodeo bar,” she offers, squinting behind her sunglasses.
I snort, but it’s not funny. “Seems like you have.”
She jabs me again, and this time, I nudge her back. Effie says nothing, but she starts walking closer, our arms brushing with every step on the searing hot concrete.
And it’s nothing. Just a weird, weird day. We were out of our minds last night, and I can’t getideas. Effie’s always been friendly. That’s no excuse to cross even more lines.
I mean, my god. Look at this trip so far.
HR will hate me enough already.
Effie
You know, I pride myself on being difficult to fluster. I have to be, since Guy Coltrane is the world’s bossiest, most jerky boss-man, and despite his stupid office dress code and strict coffee order and all those official warnings about being late, Ilikemy job. So long as I can brush all those things off and keep smiling, I can stay.
Seeing that video of us, though? Watching Guy Coltrane lick my bare skin, drinking a shot out of my belly button as he stared along my body with hooded eyes?
Holy hell.
I canfeelit.
Maybe it’s a flash of memory or maybe it’s wishful thinking, but even now, he’sthere.Warm and wicked, gripping my waist in his sturdy hands, the stubble on his chin rasping against my skin. Looming over me with his broad shoulders, pinning me down to the bar as pulsing music hums through my veins.
“Are you alright?”