“You happy now?” I force myself to grin instead of grind my teeth to dust while Kai’s with Dub.

Jimmi takes a sip of her chocolate martini and smiles, eyes narrowed on my face like she’s still searching for clues.

“What better way to see what she means to you than to give her to someone else?”

“You could’ve just asked.”

“Oh, but people say things they don’t mean all the time.” Her face sobers, her smile disintegrating. “Like the night we hooked up. I’m sure you said some things you didn’t mean, right?”

Aw, hell.

“Jim, we were both a little drunk that night.”

“Not that drunk.” She pushes her glass away and fiddles with a toothpick piercing an appetizer on the tray in the middle of the table.

“I thought we agreed to forget about it.”

“I’ve tried, Rhys. I can’t.”

I feel like a real dick when tears gather in her eyes. I’ve known this girl since tenth grade. I fucked up.

“Look, I’m—”

Someone hits me on the head, cutting off my worthless apology. I turn to find Marlon standing behind us, his dreadlocks hidden under a floppy beanie sporting the Rasta colors of red, yellow, and green.

“Whassup!” Maroln throws himself into the space across the table from me. “How’s the birthday girl?”

Jimmi discreetly passes a cocktail napkin under her eyes, soiling it with her mascara.

“I’m good. Thanks for coming, Grip.”

She’s known him as long as I have, but she, unlike me, calls him by his stage name. I refuse. She was less prepared for fame than he and I were. Marlon attended our school of the arts on scholarship, and was bussed in from a few neighborhoods over. His background was hard, and mine was privileged, but we’d both grown a protective shell by the time we met. Jimmi hadn’t. It took her a little longer, and even though she has it now, it slips sometimes. You’d only figure her smile for a phony if you’d known her as long as we have. Marlon’s eyes bounce between the two of us, and he frowns at me. I give him my “What?” face, but he just rolls his eyes.

“Where you been?” I ask.

“Working on Bristol.” He gives me an inappropriate leer, given that he’s talking about my sister. “I think she’s close to going out with me.”

“No, she’s not,” my sister says, dropping into the seat beside Marlon.

“I thought you said—”

“What’d I tell you about thinking?” Bristol winks at me across the table, picks up Jimmi’s chocolate martini, and takes a sip. “Hmmmm. Whose is this? It’s great.”

“Mine,” Jimmi pipes up, her smile becoming more real by the second. She loves Bristol. “S’good, right?”

“Delish.” Bristol clasps her hands together and leans forward on her elbows. “Now did you two talk about which dates Jimmi’s joining you on the tour next year?”

My sister is all business, all the time.

“Bris, it’s Jimmi’’s birthday,” I say. “No business.”

“My people will call his people,” Jimmi promises with an easy grin for my sister. When her eyes flick back to me, we both look away. This is tough. Unnecessarily awkward, and all because I couldn’t keep my dick behind closed zippers.

“Cool.” Bristol’s grey eyes, identical to mine, wander to the dance floor. “Who’s that fine guy I saw you with earlier, Jim?”

Marlon leans back deeper into his seat, draping one elbow over the back of his chair and frowning. How’d he end up hooked on my sister? She’s the worst girl to fall for. Years under my parents’ roof did the same things to her they did to me, only for longer. And she actually liked it.

“Who, Dub?” Jimmi raises her sleek brows and flashes that smile that girls share when they talk dirty about a guy.

“Dub?” Bristol knocks back the rest of the martini. The girl drinks like a fish. “What kind of name is that?”

“Short for Dublin,” Jimmi says. “It’s just what they call him. He’s a choreographer from Ireland. I don’t even know his real name.”

Bristol nods to the dance floor, a lascivious smile on her face.

“If he moves in the bed anything like he does on the dance floor, I don’t care what you call him.”

That vein in Marlon’s forehead may burst. The muscle clenched in his jaw could puncture the skin. I just want to tell him to forget about it. Marlon isn’t my sister’s type. She couldn’t care less that he’s featured on a number one album and is already performing at sold out concerts. The guy she will ultimately end up with is probably wearing a three-piece suit in some boardroom right now. And the kind of guy she’ll fuck around with until then? Is out on the dance floor somewhere, not mooning over her. Bristol doesn’t do complicated or clingy, and her brother’s best friend could be both.

“And who’s the girl he’s dancing with?” Bristol frowns and reaches for the glass again. “What do I have to do to get another one of those?”

“Just ask.” Marlon stands up and stalks off to the bar.

Pussy whipped and getting no pussy seems like a waste to me, but who am I to judge? The girl who has me whipped is out on the floor dancing her ass off with some Irish body builder.

“That’s Rhyson’s ‘friend.’” Jimmi provides helpful air quotes around “friend” so Bristol knows it’s a load of crap.

Bristol turns her probing glance on me.

“You brought her?”

She says it as if I smuggled Ebola across the border.

“She’s one of Grady’s students.”

I give her the same line I gave Jimmi, and she buys it even less.

“A singer?” The word tastes foul in her mouth judging by the grimace on her face.

“I’m a singer. What’s wrong with singers?”

“No, brother, you are not just a singer. You are already a star.” Bristol takes the chocolate martini Marlon brings her, giving him a quick smile before returning her attention to me. “She’s a wannabe singer. Which makes her a groupie. Which makes me wonder why you brought her.”

“Told you that chick was thirsty,” Marlon offers as he slides back in his chair.

“She’s not.” My words slice into our conversation sharper than I intended, but I won’t let them talk about Kai like that. “Don’t say it again.”

Marlon and I hold a stare long enough for him to know I mean it. If we’re comparing clout scores, they know mine is higher than all of theirs combined. I don’t flash it around, but I have more than money in this town. My history and the success I’ve found over the last few years give me a broader reach than Jimmi or Marlon. It gives me influence. It gives me power. They know it and I know it. It’s not something I throw around, but it positions me as the undeclared leader of our little group, as much as most of the time I don’t want to be. They know when I’m serious about something. And they know I’m serious about them laying off Kai. At least Marlon does.

That song “Truffle Butter” comes on, and a small group of dancers circle up and start battling.

Look at me adapting and using my new word already.

Each person has their solo moment to show off what they can do before passing it off to the next person. Dub is fantastic. His body is as much an instrument as my piano, and he plays it with confidence. He commands everyone’s attention with the fluidity of every movement. Popping his shoulders, rolling his body, every motion purposeful but effortless.

And then it’s Kai’s turn. I’m nervous for her. I’ve seen her teach her dance class, and I can tell she’s good, but this guy, these dancers, are on another level. I hope she can hold her own.

As soon as she starts moving, my jaw hangs open. I knew she was talented, but I had no idea how little I had seen. Not only is she holding her own, but she is more magnetic than Dub ever could be. She spins, dark hair swinging out behind her. She drops to her haunches, rolling her hips back and forth, and then pops upright, arms extended over her head, eyes closed, head rolled back. She loses herself in the sensual pull of the music, and she’s making love to the beat. Thrusting, grinding, her body rolling, finding the pulse embedded in the lyrics.