February
GRAYSON
Well, this morning didn't quite go as planned. After Ivy and I had our time of intimacy, I was ecstatic to discover that she'd fallen asleep in my bed. I thought that meant she was willing to step out of her comfort zone so I could show her a real, devoted relationship.
Clearly, I was wrong.
Given our altercation earlier this morning, I'm quite certain she wants nothing to do with me. It's disheartening because I really do like her. I can't even figure out what it is, but I'm fixated on her for some reason. And yesterday, I thought she was letting me in. How could I have been so wrong?
I've been irritated basically the whole morning: opening and closing my cabinets and doors more aggressively than usual, carelessly throwing my dishes down into the sink like they're not made of glass, and roaming around with a scowl etched into my brow.
I'm just so upset and I'm struggling with what to believe. I can't help but feel like everything she told me yesterday—about being tired of meaningless relationships and wanting someone to want her—was real. I understand she's used to falling into character on command, but that didn't seem like an act. Part of me feels as though she was just overwhelmed, having woken up in my bed, realizing she missed her shift at work, and feeling she needed to leave as soon as she could.
But if she just wants to use me as her own personal sex toy that she can come around and manipulate whenever she likes, then two can play at that game. If I can't have her the way I want her, perhaps I should try something more her speed. After all, that might level the playing field a bit.
Suddenly, an idea comes to me.
With a smile on my face, I stroll from the kitchen into the living room, picking my phone up off the side table and dialing Kyrie's phone number. I hear something buzzing in the kitchen and realize I have Kyrie's phone. I roll my eyes and dial his house number. He picks up in a matter of seconds, saying hello and asking me how I'm doing.
"I'm good. I have your phone."
"Oh, thank God. How did you find it?"
"I'll explain later. Get dressed." I say abruptly, smirking nonchalantly and picking at my fingernails. "We're going out."
* * *
"Explain to me why we've come here again." Kyrie says, shoving his hands in his pockets as we reach the front of the club. "I mean, I've got nothing against this, but I thought you were all about respecting the women and whatnot." He uses air quotes as he mocks me, but I ignore him. I have a much more important plan in mind. "Wait, is this about that girl you've been so hung up on? Ivy?"
I choose not to answer him.
I gaze up at the large, red neon on the side of the building. It reads The Play Pen in bright, disproportionate letters. "Yeah, whatever. Are you coming in with me or not?" I look back at him and he shrugs, following me inside.
Unlike my first visit here, the front room is heavily populated with men sitting at both sides of the bar, a throng of half-naked women roaming the area. I spot a man with a black headset standing in the back corner of the room and approach him, swiftly weaving my way through the masses of warm, intoxicated testosterone.
