Not Just A Pretty Face

27. Leonel

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains references to drug use. Reader discretion is advised.

Holy fucking shit, I was getting good at puking.

As I sprawled sideways across the hotel room bathroom floor, my long limbs the bloggers and reviewers and editors praised stretched out almost to the tub, I half-closed my eyes.

Another burst of laughter came from outside the room -- definitely from Joaquín.

I threw up once more, then thumped my forehead against the counter as I hauled myself to my feet and flushed, then rinsed out my mouth at the sink. That allowed me to lean heavily on the counter for a few minutes more.

There was a knock on the door, and then Hunter’s voice. “How you doing?”

“Good job, baby!” Joaquín called out. “You’ll be fine.”

There was another round of laughter from the guys -- over a dozen acquaintances or strangers, plus my buddies. The others were friends of Joaquín, Hunter, Luca, or one of the other couple Prestige guys here.

“Fuckin’ right I’ll be fine,” I managed once I stole enough toothpaste and rubbed it around my teeth and gums and tongue to feel normal, then straightened up again. The room swayed, but it didn’t spin. That was a good sign.

I pulled open the bathroom door and leaned into Joaquín’s half-hug and extra hard slap on the back, then groaned. “Asshole.”

He laughed again and squeezed my shoulders. “Good job dumping calories, babe. Look, we finished that bottle. Everything else is low or no-cal.”

“The only no-cal thing is water,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I stumbled over the table with the stack of takeout boxes and cursed, then grabbed one and opened it up.

“Oooh, baby, you gonna indulge?” some guy whose name I didn’t know drawled.

The pizza stared up at me, glistening hot and dripping with cheese. It was the first solid thing I’d eaten all day. Fuck yeah, I was gonna indulge.

“Oh god, that looks good, but you’re braver than me.” Joaquín shook his head. “Not before this hell is over. New York City again? Deep dish pizzas for a week, baby.”

I shook my head. I needed solid food to settle my stomach and soak up the booze, and I needed the booze to soak up the vivid moment that afternoon when the drunken haze had been jolted out of me in the backseat of the car.

And the moment where Gideon had walked into the room, his eyes focused like a predator, just half an hour after Hayden had done the same damn thing.

I’d thrown my ex out without a word, but part of me was still shaking over it. No matter how high I got, I wasn’t so high that Hayden -- or, by proxy, Alex -- couldn’t get to me.

So why the fuck was I thinking about signing the deal with Alex? Not just because I was easy to win over with speeches about guys who didn’t know rock bottom, nor for money…

Gideon was using me. In a way, I was using him. But that had never been more apparent than when he had asked me to go home with him. Like I was a cheap hookup.

Not that I hadn’t wanted to strip all of his clothes off and ride him until he screamed. That was beside the point.

Oh god, I couldn’t think straight, no pun intended.

I laughed to myself as the pizza and dough melted along my tongue.

“He’s gone mad. Fashion month fever finally hit,” Hunter laughed over the music coming from Joaquín’s iPhone speaker, but I ignored him.