𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐈𝐗

• 9 •

I never took the chance to sit down with my purple bear and think of what my reaction might be if I ever meet Janella, but it would be awkwardness, discomfort, or guilt. I never expected to face the situation with fear.

Coincidentally, one of my favorite quotes about fear comes from Keenan Travino himself in his book Woolfe which is pretty much a modern-day version of The Count of Monte Cristo but with a gay Albert Mondego: Fear is a killer. Fear is the masked motherfucker with a black cloak and knives inside his pockets. Fear is fucking deadly, but do you know what's stopping good people from going to the golden paradise? death.

With that in mind, I have no other options but to face my fear and, well, die. For peace, of course.

As if time had slowed for me only, I watched in pure, hefty focus as Keenan grabbed the metal handle, twisted, and pulled. I swallowed—I swallowed the anxiety in the form of a toxic chemical that made its way up my throat, burning through flesh until it bothered my breathing.

"Who?" asked Adil, ridding me of dread for a few seconds.

I answered the only answer I can give, "His sister and his girlfriend," Keenan's girlfriend. Sounds odd hearing it now because he's been rubbing his damn erection against me as if he were single.

Adil is truly the only option, Giababes. Lower your hopes. In fact, shove that shit to the ground like an accidental homicide. I'm on Team GiaDil now.

Sounds like a dildo brand.

AdiAnna, maybe?

The door creaked open and the first woman to pass was Alicia, as gorgeous as the last time I saw, though today, the woman was clad in a muted green mini dress that showcased her lengthy, flawless legs and curvaceous hips. I am insecure once again. To deepen my pit of self-pity, haha, Janella walked into the foyer looking like a model straight out of a magazine, and yes, Playboy.

The woman, amazingly as tall as Keenan in her strappy black heels looks like she owns the place—like she owns the world. For beginners, she owns the wunderkind who is Keenan Travino. The thought made me needy for ice cream and I only eat ice cream when I'm sad.

From here on, I shall never think of doing the sexual fandango with Keenan ever again. No, sir. Even if he probably has a gargantuan snake in his pants from the last time I felt it, no. I shall never fantasize about his big, warm, sexy hands on the dips of my hips, gripping me down against his pelvis as he shoves his thick, long, slick, hot, pulsating—I should give Pastor Jonathan a call. I wonder how my mood switched from frightened to aroused in a matter of seconds. Is my period nearing?

If blue clits were a thing, my blue intimates went back to normal when I saw Janella wrap her arms around Keenan's waist, the latter settling his hands on his woman's sides before she kissed him. They look hot. They look like the gorgeous and successful couple everyone's envious towards.

The one thing that's good about disappointment, though, is its weight. The weight it brings is enough to keep a person's feet to the ground. I became aware of the floor beneath the soles of my overused white sneakers, a large contrast to Janella's overpriced death traps.

"Aw, look at you two," Alicia cooed like a proud Kris Jenner with a Nikon in hand. I don't know exactly what I'm scared of, but I'm scared.