Page 12 of Edged
I was single.
Popping a slice of extra-long bacon into my mouth, I fingered through the home screen on my phone until I got to my hook-up app. Then I changed the location to Los Angeles. Almost immediately, my alerts started to go off. Someone at the table beside me looked, eyes full of knowing, and I switched it to silent with a curse under my breath. Apparently, I’d gotten used to the slim enough pickings back home because I really hadn’t expected that many people to ping the radius alert.
I was in Los Angeles for three days. Today was ameday, which I did try to pay my sister for, but she refused. Tomorrow was aherday, as evidenced by the list of locations and venue appointments she’d booked for me to scout on her behalf. The third day was a combination, with one straggling venue that she couldn’t fit on the day before, and then I’d be left to my own devices, with an early flight out Sunday morning. The weather was looking impeccable and judging by the near constant vibration of my phone, I’d be able to find myself some company for at least one of the nights.
Frankie said I’d recently entered my slut era, but he’d meant it kindly so I never took offense. He wasn’t far from the truth. It had only been within the past handful of months that I’d started being okay with fucking for fun. Up to and after him, I’d really only pursued sex from people I was dating, which was fine and had worked, but I found that I didn’t reallywantto date.
I was happy to get off and get going.
Being across the country would make that even easier, so with one quarter of my sandwich left, I opened the app back up and started to scroll through the hits in the area. There were a lot of people who weren’t my type, but plenty who were, and I shifted, now faced with the problem of how to narrow it down and choose.
Finishing my sandwich, I carried the empty tray and glass back inside. A corkboard hung above the trash can, spattered with business cards and flyers for local businesses. A small black card in the bottom right corner caught my eye for hownotflashy it was in comparison to the rest. Sleek and matte black, with a gold edge and an elegant script foiled on the front in a matching metallic, it readRapture: A Private Club.
I flipped it over, but the back was blank. No other information.
Someone came up behind me, clearing their throat. I shoved the business card into my pocket and stepped out of their way with a quick apology. Back on the boardwalk, the card was already forgotten, my brain washed clean with the smell of salt and sunscreen. I walked toward the shore and plopped down onto the sand. It was warm and granules slipped up my shorts, abrading at the backs of my thighs. Nothing a shower couldn’t fix later, though.
I sent another picture to Frankie and one to my sister. She answered me back with a crying emoji and a middle finger. Laughing at her, I unlaced my sneakers and set them to the side, digging my toes into the sand and falling onto my back with a huff.
The sky above me was as blue as the ocean, the birds and the laughter playing a nice little soundtrack that was almost enough to lull me to sleep. I would have napped there on the beach were it not for the incessantly vibrating phone in my pocket. A constant—and welcome—reminder that Los Angeles had more than one kind of view to offer, and I was going to see as many of the sights as I could.
CHAPTER3
ARCHIE
Barclay was speaking to me,but I hadn’t heard a word out of his mouth for at least the past ten minutes. On he went, though, undeterred by my lack of engagement, chattering on about Val this and Val that. With my elbow propped up on the arm of my couch, I blinked slowly, listening to him talk while I tried to stay awake.
A week of insomnia had caught up to me and I was ready to call it a night.
“Perceval, I swear.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, using his legal name to make sure he gave me the attention I’d been denying him.
“What?”
“When are you going to admit you’re in love with Val?”
I couldn’t remember how long ago he’d met Val, but I’d heard Val’s name as much as my own over the past few weeks and it was beginning to slide right toward something far more serious than casual.
“I’m not in love with Val.” He rolled his eyes at me, ever the petulant child. “I’m in love with Val’s asshole. There’s a difference.”
“A true romantic.”
“It’s nothing serious with him, or committed.”
“You’ve repeated with him more than half a dozen times and that’s not your usual MO, my friend.”
I didn’t care one way or the other who Barclay fucked or how often, but I wasn’t above calling out when he bucked the trends. Rob had done it with Grayson and Barclay was treacherously close with Val, or Val’s asshole, as he claimed.
“We’ve talked,” Barclay assured me. “He likes what I do to him and I like doing it. There’s no harm in carrying that through for a while. And, besides, he’s fine to share.”
“Oh, is he?” I arched a brow. “How long will that last?”
“It will last as long as it lasts, and then when it’s done, his time is up.”
I snapped my fingers. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he confirmed, looking down at his phone before tucking the device into the front pocket of his pants. “Were you ready to go? Dalton wants a ride.”
“Dalton can call a car.”
