Cruel Beloved

Whiskey’s hand makes me jump when it touches my dress. “I can smell you. You’re an awful liar. What if I inched up farther, would you be wet right now?” His hand moves and I make no move to stop him.

“Yes,” I breathe, not even bothering to lie.

Then I reach up on my tippy toes and whisper in his ear, “But it’s not for you.” Then I pull away and return to the party.

Whiskey leaves me alone for at least an hour. The party is starting to slow down and some people have left, Chase being one of them. When they left, I wished I could have gone with them.

We are walking out, it’s time to leave. This time, Whiskey doesn’t touch me, which is a relief.

“You two should come over for dinner soon. Do you have any other family, Corton?” my father asks him as we wait for the valet to bring his car around.

“No, just Carla.” He touches me again, and damn, it really is a struggle not to pull away.

“Well, now you have us as well. How fab,” my mother says.

I smile at her words because I know they’re fake.

“Yes. How fab,” Whiskey mimics my mother.

“Dinner’s settled then, tomorrow at seven. Just a small gathering with the family.” He taps Whiskey’s back a few times. “That’s what families do.”

Whiskey nods. It’s funny watching the two of them standing next to each other. Whiskey is tall, his hair impeccable. Almost has a fuck-me look going on. While my father has no hair, shorter than Whiskey, and rounder. Though, he isn’t out of shape, just not as in shape as Whiskey.

“We would love to,” he answers for us.

“Actually, I have a band booked tomorrow, and I’m opening…” I pause staring at my father. “Chase, you know his father.”

“Oh yes,” he says, as I see Whiskey’s eyes narrow at me. “You have to attend to those famous people. We all know how demanding they can be.”

“Hopefully, very demanding,” I say, smiling.

My father shakes his head and waves us goodbye, but when I turn to face Whiskey anger swims all over his face.

“Demanding?” He leans in. “Do you want me to be demanding?” Whiskey’s car pulls up in front of us and the door is opened for me. I slide in without replying to him.

He walks around to his side, jumps in and then takes off like an idiot. Whiskey hits the gas hard, so much so that I have to hold on to the side of the door. He doesn’t head in the direction of his house where I’m living, instead he drives like a lunatic toward the city, pulling into an underground parking garage. Whiskey gets out and walks around to my side, opening the door and holding it for me.

“Come now, rich girl.”

“This isn’t where I’m staying.” He drops his hand, his shirt slightly open revealing tanned, taut skin.

“It is tonight. Seems when you make me mad, I want you even more.”

“You can’t have me,” I argue back.

“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? We want what we can’t have.” Then he offers me his hand, and I take it but I am not sure why.

“I need to go. I’ll order an Uber.”

“No, you won’t. You will stay here.”

“In your whore house?”

Whiskey laughs as he pushes the button for the elevator. “This is my private apartment. No one stays here.”

“So, where have you been fucking your whores then?”

We walk in and he shakes his head. “Do you want him?”

I know who he’s talking about, but I play dumb anyway. “Who?”

The elevator starts moving, and Whiskey pushes me against the wall, backing me into the corner. He touches a piece of hair, pushing it back from my face. “Chase. Do you want him?”

“Yes,” I breathe, my heart rate rising at the thought, and also at Whiskey touching me.

“You should have said no.”

“Why?”

“Because now I hate him, and Barry won’t like that.”

I shake my head. “You can get off of me now.”

“On you?” He pushes on me. “I’m sure I heard you correctly.”

“You like to play games with me, don’t you, Whiskey?”

He leans in so he’s near my ear. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Asshole.” I try to push him back but he doesn’t move. He chuckles, and the vibration runs through me. The elevator grinds to a halt, the door dings and opens. He pushes off me and reaches for my hand, pulling me through the door.

Penthouse. Of course, he has a penthouse.

Should I have really expected anything less from him?

Once inside, I stop. His hand drops from mine when I see the first picture hanging on the wall. “You all look so happy,” I say, smiling at the photograph of him and his family.

“We were. Or so I believed.”

“She’s beautiful, your mother.”

His lip turns up. “She’s selfish,” is all he replies.

“You were close to your father, but not her?”