meat half the world would die, cheat, or kill to get with. I’m not complaining about it, by the way. This strategy has served me and my band well. But, still, it’s a weird thing to think about, and particularly hilarious to Sasha, who still thinks of me as the dorky and angry twelve-year-old who, out of the blue one day about thirteen years ago, showed up on our grandma’s doorstep, needing a place to live.
And, of course, as a massage therapist, Sasha is always bizarrely excited to get to work on the ever-present knots clustered stubbornly in my shoulders and neck. Sasha’s weird like that. Her favorite thing in the world, literally, is massaging muscles that are especially knotted and stubborn, and to get to experience the satisfaction of coaxing them into a state of smoothness and relaxation, however temporary. Apparently, from what my cousin has told me, my knotted muscles are among her favorites to knead and coax into serenity, because they’re almost always in a state of extreme tightness.
It’s funny. The world thinks I’m a rockstar with zero fucks to give at all times. A guy who floats through life, carefree and light as a feather. And I think that way about myself, too, in certain situations. And yet, at least according to Sasha, my muscles tell a very different tale about what’s hiding underneath my apparently relaxed exterior.
“Knock yourself out, Sasha,” I say. It’s the same thing I always say to my cousin when she gets that crazy gleam in her eyes about unleashing her magic hands on me.
Gleefully, Sasha comes around to the back of my chair and gets to work on the mountains of knots and clusters in my shoulders and neck. And as she works miracles on my body, we talk about nothing particularly important for another fifteen minutes or so. But with the weed in my system, that’s all the time I can handle of Sasha’s magic hands before I’m too relaxed to remain upright in my chair.
“I gotta get to bed,” I say. “Big day tomorrow.”
“I can give you a full-body massage while you’re lying down, if you need some help drifting off to sleep,” she offers. “You’re pretty tense, Adrian.”
“Nah. I’m good. Go finish your book. I’m just gonna knot right back up again on the plane tomorrow, anyway.”
I thank my cousin for everything she does for me and Mimi, kiss her on the cheek, and head off to my room. First off, I hop into a hot shower and jack off, thinking, yet again, about Laila. It’s the last time I’m going to fantasize about Laila, I decide. Starting tomorrow, she’s off-limits to me, even in my mind. Kendrick is obviously really into her. And he’s the one, unlike me, who actually knows the woman. I’ve never even said two words to her, for fuck’s sake! So, that’s it. I’m moving on.
When I’m done with my shower, I slide on a pair of sweats, set my alarm, and reply to a text from my assistant about my travel schedule for tomorrow.
“Back to the grind,” I murmur softly, closing my eyes.
But, unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come to me, despite the weed in my system.
Finally, I give up. I grab my phone and google “Malik Wallace” and “cheater” and “Reddit,” and quickly discern Kendrick was absolutely right. The dude is trash. I guess it’s possible some of these stories about his assholery aren’t true. There are definitely lots of stories online about me that are pure fiction. But, come on, not all of these stories can possibly be fake. Obviously, Malik’s not a guy who keeps his word when it comes to women. Which means Laila won’t put up with him for long. I don’t know the woman, granted. But I know enough to know a firecracker like her, the woman who wanted to murder me for seemingly flirting with Georgina, and then Zasu, at Reed’s party, doesn’t put up with a guy’s shit for very long.
I can’t help smiling to myself at the realization that Laila will almost certainly wind up kicking Malik to the curb during the tour. Will she be looking to have a little revenge sex after Malik fucks around on her? Because, if so, I’ll be right there to volunteer as tribute.
No.
Stop it, man.
That’s Kendrick’s plan. You can’t steal it.
I take a long, deep breath and exhale slowly.
Actually, I think it’s good Laila has a boyfriend. This way, I won’t immediately succumb to temptation and betray Kendrick,