Three, Two, One (321)

Ark’s smile creeps up as he thinks about this.

“I must’ve been like ten years old,” JD continues. “We had an old ugly claw-foot in our house. Not something vintage and cool, but rusted and shit. I hated that thing. It took forever to fill.”

“Did you grow up in Denver, JD?” I ask.

“Yup. Born and raised.”

“How about you, Ark?”

Ark shakes his head at me, but doesn’t offer up a place.

“Ark grew up in Iowa or some shit.”

“City or farm?” I keep it going.

Ark just stares at me with that smile. His arms are draped across the rim of the tub on either side of him and his knees are drawn up because JD is taking up most of the room with his legs.

My toes wiggle and I can feel Ark’s hard cock press against them. He gives me another smirk.

God, I’d love for him to fuck me. Not with JD, but alone.

“If you’re from Montreal,” Ark says, putting me on high alert, “why don’t you have a French accent?”

“I went to school in the States.” And I did. That’s not even a lie.

“Where?” JD asks. And now I feel like they are tag-teaming me for info.

“The East Coast. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it, if that’s OK.” I wait for an objection, but JD is silent and Ark just shrugs. “What about you guys?”

I’m looking at Ark, of course, since I’m facing him, but JD is the one who answers. “I went to North. But I dropped out in eleventh grade.”

“Really?” I turn my head to look at him. “I’d never have guessed.”

“Really,” he affirms with a smile. “It’s pretty cool to say that, and know it never made a difference. I’m a millionaire high-school dropout. But, if I could do it over, I’d have stuck it out. Maybe gone to college instead.”

“How come?”

“Because all I do is act. And really, you can’t call what I do acting. I stand there and let girls suck me off.”

“JD,” Arks says, annoyed with the talk of work.

JD shrugs behind me. “It’s true.”

“It’s not true,” Ark says. “He’s a natural salesman. Not many people could charm strange girls into doing what we need them to do.”

“What will you do tonight?” I ask.

Ark takes in a breath, holds it for a second, and then lets it out. “Meet the girl at the club. Wait for the show to get going. Let people get nice and drunk. Rowdy. Then take her on the floor, put her on her knees, and say action.”

“Don’t people say anything? Like try to stop you?”

“We have verbal contracts with the club owners. Management, security, the bands—they’re all in on it.”

“So you pay them to let you film there?”

“Yup. Every palm gets greased.”

JD grabs the soap and starts rubbing it up and down my arm. I look back and him and smile. “That feels good.”

“It’s supposed to,” he says.

“So, if you won’t talk about school growing up, let’s talk about college,” Ark says.

I squint my eyes at him. “OK. You first. Where’d you go?”

“I didn’t. How about you?”

“Me either.” I’m lying, but so is he. So fuck it.

JD’s chest rumbles with a laugh behind me. “You two are something else. Why waste so much energy being hostile?”

“We’re not hostile,” I say, feeling very hostile.

“Whatever.”

“OK, then,” Ark continues. “I’m a Gator. University of Florida. Your turn.”

And this rings true for some reason. He does have a slight southern accent to his speech. “Columbia,” I say.

“Columbia?” JD says. “Dayum, girl. You grew up rich and smart. How the fuck did you end up here?”

“It’s a long story.” My eyes never leave Ark’s face.

“We have time,” Ark says, staring back. “Give it a go, Blue. You’re gonna have to tell us eventually.”

How did I end up here? It’s been so long since I thought about it, I have to trace back my steps. “My best friend from when I was a kid—”

“School?” Ark interrupts. “Or home?”

“Home,” I answer, acutely aware that he’s fishing for details. “She moved to Denver and so I followed her here.”

“How old are you?”

“Jesus, Ark,” JD says. “It’s not an interrogation. Calm down.”

“Twenty-four,” I answer. And it is an interrogation. I’m just having a hard time piecing together why this guy feels the need to interrogate me. He’s protective, I get that. He’s controlling, and that too makes sense. But why me? I’m not that pretty. I’m at least fifteen pounds underweight, my hair is brittle, and my skin is pale. I look weary, even after a few days of rest. I look downtrodden. So why is he so interested? Why are either of them so interested? “How about you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-five,” JD adds.

“So, your friend came to Denver and…”

I lift my knees up and wrap my arms around my legs, hugging them to my chest. “She came to Denver and worked as a waitress at first. But then…” I have to stop and make this part up. “But then she called me and said she was pregnant and could I come spend the summer with her and babysit.”