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“Whatever,” she grits out through tight lips, though her tight ass rubs small circles against my dick.

I trail a slow finger down her body until I’ve reached the floor. Grabbing hold of the plate, I rise back to my full height and hand it to her. With a kiss on the back of her head, I make sure to inhale her scent for long enough to hold me over until I see her again.

“Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

CHAPTER 32

JETT

Arriving at Ocho, the hostess escorts me to a booth in the back. Like always, I appreciate my timeliness, as it gives me a few moments to scroll through my phone before Ivan and Marcus arrive.

Going straight to Fia’s page, I click the glowing circle of her story. Tonight is their last show in Indy, and I’m upset I’m not there. I haven’t been to a show yet, not because I don’t want to, but I want Fia to want me there. When she finally asks, I’ll never stop showing up, but until then, I’ll live vicariously through social media.

Fia poses in the mirror just like she had in her previous post, but this time, she’s wearing her dance costume. Her confidence flickers like neon lights even through the screen, but the sinking feeling in my stomach won’t go away when I see the other dancers in her crew posing together behind her.

Fia doesn’t fit in with the other dancers; I noticed that almost immediately.

Unable to take a moment away from her, I take my chances swiping up on her post and send a message.

@PrivateJett: Good luck tonight, girlfriend.

My knees bounce nervously underneath the table as I watch the thread until it reads that she’s seen it. As bubbles appear, my chest tingles.

@Fifi22: Stop stalking me.

@PrivateJett:How was the pasta?

I stayed up for longer than I wanted, wondering if she ate what I’d given her last night.

@Fifi22:Considering I haven’t dropped dead or had a wicked case of food poisoning, I’d say it was alright.

@PrivateJett: Dance your heart out, baby girl.

Fia sees the message and the thread between us doesn’t continue, but the full feeling in my heart is the exact feeling I need to get me through this dinner.

Ivan and Marcus finally round the corner to our booth, facing me to push my worried thoughts aside.

“Well, look who it is.” I rise, enveloping my brother in a much-needed hug.

“Sorry, our meeting at the bank ran over.” Ivan’s tone is leveled as he backs away from our hug, opening himself so Marcus can enter, looking just about as grand as his last name.

While not as tall as us, Marcus Grand commands every room. He screams wealth, and not in a tacky, decked-in-designer way. Marcus is clean cut, tailored, and tantalizing.

“What does a guy like you need the brilliant brain of Ivan Parker for?” I ask, nosy to know what’s bringing the two of them together.

Sliding into the booth, Marcus pours a glass of water for himself and adjusts his sport coat, making himself comfortable.

“The sale of the Trailblazers fell through, and I just so happened to be in the market for an NBA team.”

“No shit?”

Ivan gives me a tight nod, one that I know is a reminder to be on my best behavior.

The Tennessee Trailblazers have been hit hard with scandals the past couple of years. Being the worst team in the NBA was plenty bad, but their current owner couldn’t help but make himself a liability, to put it nicely. I guess the board finally called for his removal.

“I wouldn’t close a deal this big without the best advisor in the city.”

Amid his goofy aura, Marcus is unproblematic, and I appreciate the way he speaks about my brother.