Work and Play Pt. 10

"Shit, our picture didn't send," he says. "Oh well, I'll wait until I get home. Grayson is still going to flip. He says I never go out."

"He says that to me too," I reply. Beside us, a crowd of people cheer, and we both stare, confused. A stripper doing something. I don't know. I get knocked into David, and he holds me up while I scramble to make sure I don't completely fall. David simply laughs, and I know our faces are too close, but he just looks at me, dark brown eyes questioning.

"I have a—"

"Yeah, a mostly-straight, off-on-a-vacation boyfriend," David says. "No problem." He helps me stand up, and he reaches his hand around my waist. I think he's making a move on me until I feel my phone leave my pocket. David types a number on it and hands it back to me. My phone reads "David Yang", and I save it, stuffing my phone back in my pocket.

_______________

Turns out David Yang lives a few blocks from me. The driver was annoyed at our drunk gaggling. The night of simplicity was enough to make me want to go back one day. Almost made me forget the various little comments David made about how much Gabriel is, or isn't, into me.

It's the first time a hangover was better than I expected. I think the worst part of the morning is my confliction on how I should feel about David's words. Gabriel has made it clear that I mean something to him. If going to California for a month makes him forget the month we just went through, I guess I can't change that. If he did all this, took me through the mental games and the possessiveness just to consider me some exception, all I can do is be mad about it. Either way, I cuddle around the expensive pillows and breathe in their freshness.

I spend the weekend sifting through emails and resisting the urge to text my favorite man. He sends a few updates, and I just respond accordingly.

Monday rolls around, and I notice the relaxed environment post-Gabriel. I forget that he's pretty intense, and most people display their respect for him openly. I'm sensitive to the strong looks, but it seems like nobody is focused on my anymore.

Tuesday is a different story. There's a lingering quietness when I enter the room, when people peek at me in the hallway. I step onto the elevator from the top floor during my lunch hour to get a folder from my car. Of course, it's only too late that I realize who I've accompanied. Clay Edgar stands still, arms crossed, perched in the corner. I gulp loudly, and engage in a mental battle with myself on whether or not to leave the elevator early, or assert some power and ignore him. I choose the latter. Everyone knows what Clay did. Or at least, it feels like it. He can't do shit to me. He needs to get his last check and go.

We silently travel down seven floors before I think I'm off the hook. Just when I think looking straight ahead and ignoring him had an effect, he grunts loudly.

"Sorry I couldn't fuck you like Gabriel Ortega did. I just wish you'd let me."

I gasp, too loudly. My ears are too hot, too fast. How does he know? Is he fucking psychic? How did he know? Maybe he's just shooting in the dark. Maybe he's just overreading Gabriel's reaction on the call. Maybe he's just testing me, or not even talking out of knowing the truth, but just spite.

I halfway turn his direction. "Y-you're psycho. Stay away from me."

"What? I'm just saying. Señor Ortega gets his little white meat, he gets to pound on you, just wish you'd let me show you the goods, Ezekiel."

"Fuck. You." It's shaky.

"I'm trying, Zeke. I'm sorry it all got outta hand. But I'm just tryna treat your sweet ass to a real man."

"You're already fired. Fuck off and stop talking to me for ten more damn seconds."

"I could fuck you better than Ortega does."

My breaths are shakier by the second. God, how does he know. How does he know?

"I have no clue what you're talking about." When the elevator dings, I walk out as fast as I can, doors barely opened.

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A/N: let me know what you think! What do you think will happen next?