You resist the urge to chase him, your heart still racing, your legs still weak. You curse him and climb back into bed, finishing yourself off quickly, only partially satisfied. You pop a sleeping pill, knowing it's your only chance of getting any sleep at all tonight. You spend the next half hour plotting your revenge, your thoughts getting darker as the medication kicks in.
By the time you awake, it's well after lunch time and Karen is in your suite, pounding on your door. "Stevie, get up."
"No."
"It's time to set your hair and do warm ups," she insists, and you realize she's probably right. You reluctantly climb out of bed, the sleeping pill leaving you in a haze. "You look like hell."
"And you're a wondrous sight to behold," you snap, snatching the coffee from her.
"Whoa. What's your problem.
"Nothing. Where are my rollers?"
"In the bag they're always in, by the bathroom."
You grab them and sit on the floor in front of the full length mirror. You really do look about as good as you feel. Karen makes a couple calls and does whatever she does on her laptop while you start to get ready, and you down a second cup of coffee. "Karen, is something going on with Lindsey?"
"Why would I know?"
"You know everything."
"I know everything about you. I don't give a shit about him. Why are you asking?"
"He's being weird."
"He's always weird."
"Mean weird."
"The man is an asshole," Karen says bluntly. She's hated Lindsey for years.
"I think something's wrong," you insist, getting lost in your thoughts again. You decide to drop it, focusing on the show for the next few hours.
Somehow, you survive it without even throwing anything at him. In fact, you're nicer than you usually are, which clearly isn't what he expected. You're undressing after the show, alone for the time being, and he barges in, slamming the door behind him.
"What's your game?"
"Me?!"
"Why aren't you being a bitch?"
"I decided to let you be the bitch this time. I don't have the energy anymore." He looks confused, and you drop your dress to your ankles, letting him watch you. You pull your tights down, standing in front of him in lacy lingerie, fully aware of the hold you have on him. He's frozen, staring intently, and you take your time finding your leggings and top, enjoying the payback. You remove your bra and are sure that he can see your breasts in the mirror as you put on a different one, adjusting yourself carefully.
"What are you doing?"
"You're in my dressing room, Lindsey."
He doesn't respond, and you finish pulling your clothes on, ignoring him. You gather your things and toss your tote bag and purse onto the chair, eyeing him carefully. "You're not going to yell at me?"
"What's going on with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Stop answering my questions with questions."
"A lot is going on."
"Are you going to tell me what it is?"
"No."
"Then get out of my way and stop being a dick," you say, grabbing your things in one motion and making for the door. He stops you, looking mildly panicked, holding onto your wrists. The look of desperation in his eyes almost makes you feel sorry for him. You're still angry, but you can't help but want him. You free your empty hand from his grip and lean forward, pushing yourself up onto your toes and kissing him deeply. He pulls you against him, and you can already feel his arousal pressing against your belly. "No sex," you say, pulling your body out of reach. Payback is a bitch.
"I need you," he says, repeating his request from last night.
"Tell me what's going on."
"I can't."
"Then I can't help you," you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door.
"No, Stevie. Wait."
You turn and look at him impatiently. "What?"
"Can I come by later? To talk."
"Fine," you say casually, privately feeling totally fucking victorious.
"Thank you," he says, and his vulnerability puts an abrupt end to your power struggle. For the moment, anyway.
