Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I’m in the dressing room, sitting at my station, and when I open my phone to text Mads, I notice waiting messages from Hayes and Donovan. I ignore them for now.
Me: Sorry about the game. Are you okay?
Considering it just ended, I don’t expect him to have time to message me back right away, so I click over to Hayes’s message first.
Hayes: Are you okay?
Am I okay? Why the fuck wouldn’t I be okay?
Me: Um…yes? Should I not be?
I check Donovan’s message next.
Donovan: I’m so sorry. What can I do? Want to come over tonight? Emergency meeting of the Jilted Exes?
At this point, my heart is trying to bulldoze its way out of my chest. Clearly, something is majorly wrong, so instead of responding, I do a search for my name.
JILTED EXES’ CLUB MEMBER SNAGS ANOTHER HOCKEY PLAYER—THIS TIME, KASON MADDOX
QUEER STRIPPER LINKED WITH KASON MADDOX
Um…what the fuck. I’m not a stripper. I have no problem with stripping and would totally do it if I had the urge. There’s nothing wrong with that kind of dancing, it’s just not what I do.
IS LOVE IN THE AIR FOR DANCING JILTED EXES’ CLUB MEMBER AND KASON MADDOX?
I can’t help noticing they don’t use my name in any of the titles. I’m reduced to Jilted Exes’ Club member or just called a dancer or a stripper. Kason’s name is used each time, and I have a feeling both those things are on purpose. To everyone writing these articles, I don’t matter—not as a person, at least. To them, I’m nothing more than that guy who got cheated on along with Hayes, Donovan, and who knows how many other people. I’m just a dancer, a guy who moves his body for other men at a gay club, and they look down on that. On me. There are photos from the times we hung out, and everyone is already throwing down opinions about how Kason can do better and all the ways I don’t deserve him.
Maybe it’s just because it’s happening to me, but it feels worse than it did when the news came out about Hayes and Rylan. Maybe it’s a slow news day or they’re using this to drum up the story in a fresh way because nothing quenches the thirst of some people online like the pain and embarrassment of others. Nothing makes them feel better than pretending they have all the details about a situation or people and spreading their opinions like law for others to carry and grow.
My stomach gurgles, twisting and turning, bubbling up like a shaken soda can. Sweat beads on my brow, the room getting hotter by the second. People walk around me in all states of dress and undress, laughing, talking, oblivious, while the room is spinning and my world feels like it’s crumbling around me.
Get it together, Ant. Don’t fall apart. Who can you depend on to fix this if not yourself?
I clear my throat, walk over to the sink, and throw water on my face.
“Hey, Anthony?” I hear as soon as I wipe the wetness away. It’s Enrique, one of our dancers. They all know to come to me about anything club related, even though none of them know that I own it. They all just think I’m acting manager. “There’s a shit ton of paparazzi out front. I’m not sure what’s going on, but they’re trying to get in.”
Because of course they are. They’re vultures sensing fresh roadkill. When everything went down the first time, most people were so preoccupied with Hayes, with him being the one to propose to Malcolm and the fact that he has a well-known name—his family owning a large hotel chain in the US and other countries—that they didn’t care as much about me or Donovan. What if they figure out who my uncle is? Drawing the man who wants nothing to do with me into this mess? What if they realize Lush is actually owned by me? Would that be the end of the world? No, but it’s mine to hold, and I shouldn’t have to share anything I don’t want to.
“Anthony?” Enrique says again.
“Thanks. I’ll deal with it. Can you cover my next dance?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I pull on sweats, a T-shirt, and sneakers, then head for the front of the club. I do my best to push everything out of my mind. There’s no time to freak out. Right now, I need to get shit done.
I don’t bother trying to wear a hat to hide who I am. Fuck that. I’m not giving them the satisfaction. I might be losing my shit inside, but they’ll never know they’re getting to me.
There are about twenty photographers outside, so definitely a slow news day. Either that or a dancer being friends with a hockey player is even more of a big deal than I thought, and—oh shit. Is this going to cause issues for Kason? I’m not Hayes. I dance in my underwear every night and love it. They’re never going to look at me as a good partner for Kason the way they would Hayes for Rylan.