“Of course! I was just there last week in Vegas, and I love the one in LA.”

“Those are mine, too.” He gets slightly closer.

I can smell his expensive cologne, which is nothing like Slade, who’s all tobacco and fresh laundry. Slade, who washes me and feeds me and—

“So, where do you live?” he asks, inching closer again.

“I’m in LA.” I move an errant hair behind my ear, feeling almost nervous to have his attention. Even though I have nothing to feel bad about, in my gut, I know it’s wrong.

Slade’s words, “Only man,” echo around my mind.

“I’m from New York, but I spend lots of time out in California, too.”

“Is that right?” My voice comes out shaky, the excited confidence from before dwindling.

He continues to talk, selling himself to me in all the ways he thinks will impress me. He mentions boating in the South of France this past summer, and I think about Slade shirtless on Lake Powell. He drops a line about visiting a new resort out in Cabo for Christmas and the New Year. My chest sinks. Where will I be during that time? Alone, back in LA. I suddenly feel sick. I want to leave.

But, of course, I do no such thing. I smile and nod, acting like I’m listening when, really, I’m waiting for an appropriate moment to excuse myself. And, with that thought, a chill roves up and down my arms; it feels as though I’m being watched. I turn left and right, but nothing seems out of the ordinary, and no one is looking at me. I wish I were wearing higher heels, so I could at least have a better view.

“You all right?” he asks, concerned, turning around for a moment as though to make sure nothing’s wrong.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

“Sure. Hopefully, I’ll see you back here.”

I strut off without a word, searching for the nearest restroom. The entire place feels too full. I can’t be in a crowd like this. I’ve got to get out of here. Panic blooms in my stomach.

What starts out as a polite, “Excuse me,” as I shuffle through the crowd becomes pushes. I can’t stand here another second. The exit? It’s no longer in my sight. I’m in the middle of champagne smiles and diamond stud earrings, and my eyes begin to water.

Someone takes my hand, but before I can see his face, he pivots and pulls me away. His grip isn’t soft. It’s rough and callous and heavy. I look up and see the back of a buzzed head. It’s Slade. He briskly walks me straight through the employee exit until we’re face-to-face in the dark night.

“Who the fuck was that guy back there?”

His interrogation has me shaking my head in confusion.

“Who?” I ask, breathless.

“That prissy fuck!” he yells.

“I walked away from him. And are you kidding me right now?” Anger takes the place of anxiety as I practically stand on my tiptoes to get closer to his face. “You have no right, Slade. I’m leaving in days. And you won’t talk to me. You won’t give me what I’m asking for.”