Rule No. 1: Don’t be too emotional : Special 4

I’m a New Yorker. That means I don’t get excited by Times Square or the flashing neon signs. In fact, I’m quite indifferent to them. Jane’s face, wide-eyed and amazed by everything, was much more interesting to look at.

“P’Jane! Take a picture of me here!” Jane ran over to jump around on the Red Steps where a crowd was gathered. A Halsey song was playing from somewhere. I gave him a thumbs-up and pulled out my iPhone. I must have snapped about a hundred photos, both landscape and portrait. Afterward, my lover dragged me from spot to spot for even more photos. I did it without a single complaint. Seeing Jane smile is always a good thing. I know he’s currently in the “Honeymoon” phase. Soon, he’ll hit the resistance phase-homesickness and pining for everything in Thailand. This can last a long time depending on the person, before they eventually adjust and reach a stable state, following the Four Stages of Culture Shock.

I rubbed my nose. I’m not prone to allergies or the cold, but the night air was chilly enough to make me look for a warm place to hide rather than standing out in the open. I looked at my lover beside me. He was rubbing his hands together and blowing warm air to stay warm. Jane was staring up at the skyscrapers and the city lights.

“Shall we go home? You’ll catch a cold,” I suggested. He nodded easily.” Okay.” I kept my arm around his shoulder all the way back to the car. In New York, everyone walks fast and aggressively, not caring if they bump into anyone. Jane had already been bumped once, ending up sitting on the ground in a daze. Luckily, I managed to grab him and pull him up before he could be trampled by a group of hip-hop kids walking past. Before getting in the car, we stopped for Starbucks. I had coffee while Jane chose a hot chocolate. Finally, we were really going home. My home is a three-story penthouse on the top floor of a skyscraper in Bridgeport. It’s surrounded by special smart glass that is so thick it’s silent even when it rains.

The glass can be adjusted to become frosted, change color to filter light, or go completely opaque. If you can’t picture it, think of Tony Stark’s house, but as a penthouse rather than a loft mansion. If my house in Thailand was like a conservative old palace, my house in New York is the polar opposite-ultra-modern. I commanded Alexa to turn on the lights. No one was home. Jamie hadn’t returned yet; he was probably out hanging with friends like any other teenager. If anyone is wondering where my father is, I can only say that within a week of us arriving in New York, he announced his retirement at a meeting, stepped back into an advisory/ shareholder role, and packed his bags for the Scilly Isles.

He dumped everything onto his eldest son’s shoulders immediately, as if he’d been waiting for this moment forever. He even left his youngest son-who is young enough to be my own child-in my care. If anything happens to Jamie, my father will be back to smack me in the head in no time. What a “great” father, don’t you think? This is my house; it has nothing to do with my father’s. We haven’t lived under the same roof for what feels like a lifetime, and I doubt he wants to live with me anyway. As for Jamie, he usually stays with Dad, but my troublesome little brother has moved in with me temporarily while Dad is away. Back to business: all the enterprises my father built are running smoothly on their own.

I don’t need to “reform” anything-I just need to expand the empire and make it stronger. That happens to be my specialty. The problem is, I can’t be in two places at once. Between the two of us, we have too many companies to manage; maybe I should just carve off one or two and sell them to investors for a handsome takeover price. We hung our coats on the rack and walked into the living room. Jane turned to me.

“P’Jane, I’m going to shower first.”

“Go ahead.” I yawned, covering my mouth, before lounging on the sofa. I commanded Alexa to play the piano version of Bella’s Lullaby. The music swelled through the high-end sound system, echoing around the house. I listened until l drifted off to sleep.

“P’Jane… P’Jane!” I opened my eyes to a gentle shaking. It was Jane. He was in a bathrobe, his hair and body still damp. His smooth skin and the key pendant peeked through the opening of the robe. The music had long since stopped. I rubbed my eyes and asked, “What time is it?”

“Just past 11: 00PM.” I nodded, but Jane looked worried.

“Jamie isn’t back yet.” I let out a laugh.

“It’s Friday night. You didn’t expect a teenager to come home early on a Friday night, did you?”

“Jamie is only fourteen.”

“He’s almost fifteen.”

“It looks dangerous outside.”

“He’s a local here. He knows where he can and can’t go. He’s probably just watching a movie at a friend’s house.” I reached out and pulled my lover’s wrist until he tumbled onto my lap.

“What is this, P’Jane?”

“Stop worrying about Jamie. Focus on us instead.” I pressed him down onto the sofa, hovering over him as I began to kiss his soft skin. Faint moans escaped his lips as he went limp under my touch, offering no resistance at all.

“Wake up! Wake up!” I bolted awake at the deafening noise, reflexively grabbing the gun hidden under my mattress. Jane also sat up in shock, hurriedly pulling the blanket up to cover his bare body. My hair was a mess, my face creased with pillow marks. Within a split second, my brain processed the scene: no danger. The noise was Jamie, who had taken the liberty of barging in and was now provocatively riding his skateboard around the bedroom. I loosened my grip on the gun and threw a white pillow at my brother.

“Shut up and go to hell.” Jamie swerved away on his skateboard just in time, sticking his tongue out at me. I got out of bed in my boxers and tackled him to the floor while the “pumpkin-head” yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Let go! Let go of me, JP!”

“Why did you wake us up? Are you that lonely? Or do you just want a broken neck?”

“Lil’ Jane! Help me!” Jamie shouted in Thai, but the person on the bed only laughed loudly.

He was used to our brotherly play-fighting by now. Jamie wasn’t a nine-year-old anymore. He grumbled, “Just wait until I’m as big as you!”

“You? Skinny as a sausage? Please.” Jamie and I wrestled for a bit (I won by a landslide, obviously) until he finally broke free from my grip. He was panting, his hair even messier than mine.

“You guys hurry up and shower. I’m hungry!”

“Fine. Get out. And take that stupid skateboard with you.” I kicked the skateboard toward my brother standing at the door.

“If you break anything in this house, I’ll chop you into pieces, put your corpse in a matchbox, and mail it back to Dad.” Jamie kicked the board up into his arms, made a face, and bolted before I could land a kick on him.

“Lil’ Jane, look at this!” Jane, who was drinking water, turned toward the voice.

“What is it? Wait! Miss Piano!” Jamie beamed.

“Yep! When you lost your memory, I brought him to America with me. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all! Wow, I didn’t think I’d see her again. I wondered where she went. I’m so happy! Did you take good care of Miss Piano, Jamie?” Jane spoke with a beaming smile and sparkling eyes.

He set his glass down and hugged the white Cony doll as if it were a baby.

“She sleeps on my bed every night.”

“You’re this old and you still sleep with a doll?” I raised an eyebrow teasingly. Jamie bared his teeth at me.

“Shut up, JP.”

“What’s wrong with Jamie sleeping with a doll?” Jane added .

“Exactly. Someone with a cod heart like you wouldn’t understand.” Suddenly, it was two against one-my boyfriend and my brother ganging up on me.

“Alright, alright. Congrats on the reunion, but we have to go.” I snatched the doll from my lover’s hand and placed it gently on the sofa. We then headed for the private elevator. We chose pizza for our first meal of the day. Even though it was our first meal, it was already 11: 30 AM. While we were eating, someone called out to Jamie.

“Hey, Jamie! Is that you?” Jamie turned and greeted him back.

“Hey! How’s it going, man? Long time no see.”

“Doing good.” They did a cool teenage handshake and a shoulder bump. The friend, Keith, shifted his gaze to me and then back to Jamie.

“Your dad? Man, you look exactly like him.”

“Yeah, my dad. Dad, this is Keith, a friend from my old school. Keith, you can just call my dad JP.”

“Hey, Keith,” I greeted the boy.

“Hello, JP. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Dad, pass me that ketchup bottle, will you?”

“Here you go, son.” I played along instantly, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. I’m used to people thinking I’m Jamie’s father. To be fair, I raised him as if he were my own. If there were an award for “Best Foster Dad,” I’d have won it.

However, the person sitting next to me choked on his Diet Coke, his face turning red and blue until I handed him a handkerchief. Jane wiped his face and looked up. He didn’t correct them because he saw that Jamie and I were having fun pranking Keith.

“I’m heading out. Meeting up with Anderson’s group. You coming, Jamie?”

“Nah. My brother-I mean, my Dad-and I have other stuff to do. See ya, Keith. Say hi to Anderson and the others for me.”

“See ya. Bye, JP.”

“Good luck, Keith.” I gave a small smile. As the Black teenager walked away, Jamie and I high-fived and laughed.

“Martha is going to be so shocked when Keith tells her he met my dad, and that Dad looks so much younger!”

“I bet.” Martha was Keith’s mother; she’d known my father for over twenty years as a neighbor. She knew Dad was in the Scilly Isles, so there was no way he’d be in this pizza shop.

“Why did you lie to that kid?” Jane asked , puzzled.

“It was fun!” Jamie replied .

Jane frowned; he probably didn’t see the humor in it, but he didn’t say anything else. I wiped my hands with a recycled tissue.

“Finished eating? Let’s get in the car. Today is still long.” The three of us put on earplugs and took our lanes, aiming at our own targets. The perk of shooting in America during this season is that it isn’t hot. Shooting ranges in Thailand are like a living hell in every season; the sun there wants to roast you like human BBQ. I have to say, my boyfriend is a very good shot. Jane always exceeds my expectations. Whenever he handles a pistol, he looks incredibly cool. Is it weird to say my heart fluttered just watching him? I’ll never forget the day he cocked a gun using his foot in under two seconds. As for Jamie, he’s naturally good at almost every sport.

I’ve trained him to shoot since he was a kid, so at fourteen going on fifteen, he’s already a pro. Today, Jamie even chose a rifle (which I never taught him-maybe Dad did, or he learned himself). He looked incredibly cool. It’s no surprise he’s the heartthrob at school. Soon, this kid will be just as “sharp” as me, though hopefully not a villain. That’s for the best; I don’t want to imagine my father fainting because both his sons joined the Dark Side. After shooting to our hearts’ content, we continued our outing until the sky darkened. We had dinner at a famous Thai restaurant. But instead of going straight home, I pulled the car over to the curb to stop at one more place. Jamie cheered while Jane looked confused.

“Ah! You have that important meeting today!”

“Yes.”

“What meeting?” Jane asked .

I smiled.

“If you want to know, follow me.” I led them into a club called The Groove 666. Inside, it was deafening. Lights, music, alcohol, and the smell of cigarettes-everything was exactly the same as always.

“Hey! Am I seeing things? JP! You’re back in town?” I grinned and high-fived a man with a British accent behind the bar.” Hey, Tom.”

“And who’s this? Jamie? Kid, are you really this tall now?”

“Hey, Tom,” Jamie said , hopping familiarly onto a barstool.

“And who is this? I haven’t seen this face before.”

“My boyfriend. His name is Jane.”

Tom’s eyes went wide.

“No way… don’t tell me… ”

“Yes. That’s him,” I cut Tom off. The others gathered at the bar-all familiar faces-started whistling loudly.

“So this is the legendary ‘Little Jane’? The one who gave the Demon JP a heart?”

“He’s quite cute.”

“What’s with those matching necklaces?”

“Let’s have a drink to celebrate the couple, shall we?” The famous Little Jane’s face turned as red as a winter cherry. I just smiled widely, tapping my hand on the bar to the beat of the music. My body language made it clear I wasn’t going to stop the teasing. I pulled a pack of cigarettes from my breast pocket, tapped one out, and put it in my mouth. Tom quickly pulled out a lighter.

“Let me get that, JP.”

“Thanks, Tom,” I said muffled, leaning in toward the flame. Tom asked,” What are you drinking?”

“I’ll have a Citrus Infuse. Get the same for Jamie-and you, kid, don’t even think about touching alcohol. You’re fourteen.” I turned to my brother, whose face had lit up at the prospect of a drink. His smile vanished instantly. Just because I brought him into a bar didn’t mean he could drink. As for me and hard liquor, we ended things a long time ago. My last memory of being drunk was miserable and pathetic; I never want to lose control of my consciousness to alcohol again.

“Okay?” I continued to Tom.

“And a beer for my boyfriend. I’m ordering you a beer, Jane.”

“Sure, sounds good.” Jane nodded, reaching for the amber bottle Tom set on the bar. The young author looked nervous, like he was out of place. He started chugging the beer while Jamie-who wasn’t even old enough to be in the club-looked perfectly relaxed. I leaned in and wrapped my arm around my lover’s shoulder, speaking through the cigarette in my mouth.

“Relax. Are you tense? It’s nothing.”

“I didn’t think you had many friends,” he whispered in Thai. I smiled.

“I didn’t say these people were my friends. Let’s call them ‘acquaintances’.” To me, “friend” is a word with a deep meaning, and I don’t truly have any. But these are people I can talk to about superficial things, and we are good to each other.

“JP, I want to give you this.” I turned back to Tom, who handed me an envelope. I blew smoke from my nose and reached out to take it, keeping my expression neutral even though I was curious.

“An invitation to my wedding with Jill. You have to come, JP, or Jil will kill me. You helped us a lot. Bring Little Jane, too.”

“Congratulations, Tom. I’ll definitely be there.” Tom’s face radiated happiness.

“Thank you. And what about you, JP? When is it your turn?” That question made everyone lean in, waiting for an answer-especially my boyfriend. Even though they all acted like they didn’t care, these people are terrible at being subtle. Jamie, who was staring at me point-blank, was actually the least suspicious of the bunch. I simply gave a small smile.

“I’m just waiting for the right moment.” Everyone groaned in disappointment. I took a sip of my Citrus Infuse. What can I say? Even though I’m incredibly smart, I’m still human. My only previous marriage proposal was a total disaster, and it still haunts me. If I ask again and he rejects me, I don’t know what I’d do. To put it simply: I, a man who fears nothing, am terrified of asking my own boyfriend to marry me. That Cartier diamond ring is still tucked away on my person. I honestly don’t know if that “right moment” will ever happen. Furthermore, Jane has never shown any interest in getting married; he’s never even brought it up. I just assumed he felt that our daily life is already like being married, so he didn’t care about the formality.

“JP, you’re up!”

“Okay, Leo.” I set my drink on the bar, stripped off my shirt until I was bare-chested-leaving only the padlock pendant-and tossed my clothes to Jamie. I turned to my lover.

“Wait for me a second.” I started toward the boxing ring raised in the center of the club, but Jane’s voice stopped me.

“What! Are you going up there to box?!” He nearly choked on his beer. I smirked.

“Oh, no. I’m going up there to perform ballet.””… ”

“Yes, I’m boxing. Watch from right here; you’ll have a clear view.”

“Wish me luck?”

“Uh… good luck!” he said, looking dazed. I fought back a laugh, ruffled his hair, and climbed through the ropes. I faced an opponent of similar height and weight. It wasn’t a professional bout with exact measurements; just amateur “fun” boxing. But the skills of the people who challenge each other here are no joke. Leo, acting as referee, looked between us and shouted: “Ready? Fight!”

“Mind telling me how you got into this club at only fourteen?” Jane asked his boyfriend’s brother.

Jane was worried about JP, and even though it was a sport, seeing P’Jane get hit was too distressing for him. Jamie took a sip of his drink.

“JP helped Tom set up this shop, so Tom gives me special permission to enter. As long as I don’t touch alcohol, don’t cause trouble, and don’t get in the ring.”… He did a favor for Tom. Jane understood now.

“Uppercut! That’s it, JP!” Jamie’s cheer made Jane jump. He looked over to see his lover pinning the opponent against the ropes. P’Jane was an incredible boxer, clearly outclassing the other guy. There was nothing to worry about; his opponent was likely deeply regretting the choice to fight him.

“So, do you like America?” Jamie asked .

“It’s… good, I guess,” Jane replied , finishing his beer.

“How is it good? Tell me.” The young author watched his boyfriend win the match with a beautiful knockout. He smiled widely as Jane Patrick winked at him from the ring.

“It’s good because your brother is here.” December this year is freezing. I’m not usually sensitive to the cold, but this year is brutal. The other day my feet cramped up so badly I had to soak them in warm water; I felt like I was at the North Pole. If a polar bear walked past, I wouldn’t even be surprised.

“JP, pass me a blanket. I’m freezing to death,” my father said, sipping hot coffee. I did as I was told.

“It’s because you’re old, Dad. That’s why you’re colder than everyone else.”

“You probably get a lot of joy out of annoying your father every day, don’t you?”

“Spot on.” It was Christmas week, so I had returned to my father’s house as per tradition. Schools, companies, and shops were all closed. Everyone returns to their parents. Christmas for Westerners is like Songkran for Thais, or Lunar New Year for the Chinese. Father leaned back into his comfortable sofa. The house I grew up in is grand and stately, but old-school-not high-tech. Father turned to Jane.

“So, Jane, how is the writing going?” Jane beamed.

“Great! I’m writing a new story set right here in America.”

“Will your novels be translated into English?”

“My latest one is being translated into English, Chinese, and Japanese. I think it’s because it’s being made into a series.”

“Doing well, then. I should buy a copy. What’s the title?” Father kept the conversation going. Jane was much brighter now that he had adjusted. Just last month, he was depressed, hitting the second stage of Culture Shock. He was homesick, had writer’s block, and complained that everything in America sucked-especially the food (I secretly agreed on that last point). But he made it through to the third stage: adjustment. I was there to comfort and support him every step of the way. To cheer him up last week, I took him and Jamie skiing in the Rockies near Denver. It was his first time, and though he was terrified at first, he ended up falling in love with it.

It was Christmas Eve. We played darts all afternoon, had a big dinner, and talked late into the night. Eventually, Jamie and Father went to bed, but Jane and I stayed in the living room watching Harry Potter. We were on the fourth movie. The room was warm, lit by the orange glow of the Christmas tree and the crackling fireplace. I was exhausted, struggling to tell the difference between Ron and Malfoy. It was past midnight.

“Should we go up to bed?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. Jane nodded and turned off the TV. He gave me a bright smile, looking not sleepy at all.

“Merry Christmas!” I smiled tiredly.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Look! It’s snowing!” I looked out the window. It was a White Christmas.

“P’Jane, I’m so excited! My first White Christmas ever! We can build a snowman tomorrow!”

“I guess so,” I replied, not sure if the snow would be thick enough. I hadn’t built a snowman in a lifetime.

“Or make snow angels!”

“That, we can definitely do.” (Though I hate the feeling of lying in wet, freezing snow).

“Since it’s Christmas, should we open the gifts under the tree?” Jane asked enthusiastically.

He sat down under the tree, and I followed.

“I don’t think there’s anything for us. Just for Jamie.”

That kid has known there’s no Santa for a long time, but he never misses out on gifts. Even when I was in Thailand, I had to call and make sure someone here arranged them for him. I suppose I really do. love my brother.

“Who says? There’s a gift for P’Jane right here,”

“For me?” I was surprised. Jane pointed to a red box with a bright green bow.

“It says ‘Jane Patrick.’ It must be from your father.”

“What is that old man up to now?” Dad stopped giving me Christmas gifts about a decade ago.

“Why do you keep calling your father an ‘old man’?” Jane scolded.

“Go on, it’s officially Christmas. Open it.” I sat on the floor and pulled the bow, curious about what prank my dad had devised. I tore the paper only to find another box inside. I raised an eyebrow and opened that one, only to find another box. It was like a Russian nesting doll. Some people say I’m annoying, but Jamie gets it too. Now you know where we got it from: the man who makes a 20-layered gift box just to troll his son. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My “Spidey-sense” told me Jane was watching me intently.

He was dying to know what was inside. Finally, I reached the innermost box-it was smaller than my palm. Wait… is this a car key? Did Dad buy me a sports car? No way. But this size… what else could it be? Maybe he’s just happy I took over the business. I opened the lid. I went silent. I couldn’t say a single word, as if I had been turned to stone. All my sleepiness vanished instantly.

“P’Jane… Jane loves P’Jane. From when I was twenty until now, at thirty. Ten years have passed, but Jane loves P’Jane just as much as the first day. More every day, actually.”

“And Jane wants to have P’Jane with me for another ten years, twenty years… or a hundred.” He was repeating the exact words I had once said to him. I stared at the ring in the box. Jane dropped to one knee. I looked at him, my eyes welling up, my chest tight with a whirlwind of emotions. Jane took a deep breath. His voice was firm.

“Will you marry me, Jane Patrick Terry Palakorn?” His clear eyes looked at me with breathless anticipation. I could practically feel his pulse racing. I don’t know if it’s embarrassing, but tears started falling silently from my eyes. I never imagined he would be the one to ask. And he even knelt. He set the bar higher than me. I’m so moved. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t speak; my throat felt tight. I have worked hard my whole life, clawing and reaching for grander dreams than anyone else, hoping to grasp the entire universe. But in the end, everything I truly needed was right here, on this ordinary ground. Everything I need is on the ground.

“P’Jane… marry me,” Jane said again when I remained silent.

“Say yes already! My leg is getting a cramp!” I burst out laughing and nodded vigorously. I wiped my eyes and pulled him into a tight embrace. I held him so hard he let out an “Oof!”

“Let’s be together for a hundred years… a thousand years.” Jane smiled wide, hugging me back tightly.

“I promise.”

“Jane… ”

“Yes?”

“You are the best Christmas gift of my life.”

“Same here… my future husband.”

Chapter 4 Why I quit drinking I’m on the highway to hell On the highway to hell Highway to hell I’m on the highway to hell Jane Patrick Pov This is a flashback to a pivotal, wild chapter in Jane Patrick’s past-the “Night from Hell” in Las Vegas. Do you have a top-secret story? If you ask me, I have plenty-especially from the time before l became “God Jane.” Back when I was still just a human, I made my fair share of mistakes. Regardless, there is one story I will never breathe a word of to anyone, not even the people I love. I’ve named it: The Night from Hell. My name is Jane. Jane Patrick Terry Palakorn. And this guy is Jackie. Jackie Reynolds Ferguson. We’ve been best friends since we could remember. Now that we’re eighteen, we’ve been through enough to make our bond as tight as blood brothers. We trust each other in a way we trust no one else.

[Do you think just because you’re eighteen and legal, you can take my car and squander my money at the Vegas tables? JP, you crazy brat!]

“Exactly. You hit the nail on the head, Dad. That’s all for now-the signal is spotty while driving across state lines.”

[Don’t you dare hang up! Or I’ll call your mother and ship you off to Thailand!]

“Mom’s probably asleep by now. If you want her to hate your guts, go ahead and wake her up over these trivial matters. But I can’t guarantee she won’t cuss you out in return.”

[Turn that car back home this instant! Getting into Harvard doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. You’re still my son. ]

“Of course I am. It’s not like I’m Abraham Lincoln’s son.” Jackie roared with laughter.

“Your only son got into the number one university in the world; you should give me a gift, right? So, I’ll just consider this Vegas trip in your Porsche as my graduation present. Bye, Dad.”

[JP, wait-] I cut the line and didn’t pick up again.

“Your dad is freaking hilarious,” Jackie said from the passenger seat, stuffing McDonald’s fries into his mouth.

I smirked.

“Yeah, he is.”

“But I thought you said he let you borrow the Porsche, man?”

“You’re currently sitting in the car I swiped from him anyway, so shut up.” Jackie went quiet as Chris Brown’s music blasted through the car. Then, he shouted over the volume: “JP, can you drop the top? I want to smoke.”

“Sure,” I replied, pressing the button to retract the roof.

“I’ll have one too.” The summer wind whipped past our faces as the sports car tore down the highway.

“My mom won’t stop calling,” Jackie yelled over the wind, showing me his phone with a worried expression as he blew out gray smoke. Jackie’s mom is Thai, just like mine, but Jackie speaks the worst Thai I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Just answer once and get it over with. At least she’ll know where we are. Otherwise, they’ll just keep calling forever.”

“Fine, I get it.”

“And tell her the Vegas trip was your idea. Don’t you dare pin this on me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” This vast stretch of land was once a barren desert until a certain boss named “Big C” had a dream: to build a city of fantasy. He intended it to be an entertainment hub filled with lights, gambling, hotels, clubs, and world-class food. At first, everyone called him crazy. But eventually, Las Vegas was born, famous worldwide as “Sin City.” We finally arrived. Nighttime was the perfect time.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to The Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas.” A uniformed staff member bowed as he opened my door. I glanced at his name tag and smiled.

“Thanks, Marcus.” I tossed the keys to Marcus for valet parking. Jackie and I stood there, looking up at the towering casino with wicked grins.

“Ready to sweep the floor, best friend?”

“Let’s tear it down.” I should tell you a bit about Jackie. * He’s half-Thai but looks nothing like it. * He has brunette hair and gray eyes. * He has an IQ of 185 (which is the same as his height in centimeters). * We share the same mad dream: to rule the world. * We both just got into Psychology at Harvard. That’s the first step; the next is Law. So yes, this was a celebration for two brilliant freshmen.

“Alright! I won again! You ladies really are my lucky charms.” Jackie kissed the women sitting on either side of him after sweeping another round of Baccarat. We exchanged a look. We don’t play games of pure luck like slots or roulette. We play card games because we can win for sure. Not because we cheat (cheating in a casino gets you killed), but because we have high-speed memories and eyes quick enough to track every card. We know what everyone is holding. When the odds are bad, we fold. With Baccarat, we can see the dealer’s shuffle well enough to pick the right pile.

“Hey, you look lonely, JP. Sure you don’t want one of my girls to keep you warm?” Jackie asked .

He had about five or six girls crowded around him. I just smiled.

“No, I want to be faithful to Ginny.” Ginny was my girlfriend, a hot redhead. We’d been dating for about six months-my first serious relationship.

“Even though you lied to her and said you were visiting relatives in Beverly Hills? That’s hilarious.”

“Lying and cheating are two different things, you idiot,” I said, tossing a chip at him.

“Why are you so monogamous? You’ve been like this since kindergarten-one girl at a time. It makes me look like a mess.”

“You’ll only be a ‘mess’ if Serena catches you hugging a dozen girls like that.”

“Please, I’m a single man. Serena hasn’t committed to me yet. Not like you and Ginny.” We hauled in a fortune. One desperate guy even bet his car keys trying to win back his losses. That car now belonged to me. I twirled the Ferrari keys in front of Jackie’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re lucky.”

“I’m smart,” I corrected. I don’t believe in luck. We moved the party to a famous club. Jackie was in full “host” mode.

“Drinks for everyone! And you, what was your name?”

“Belinda,” she said, fluttering her lashes.

“Okay, B. Interested in feeding me some tequila? With your mouth?” I looked away from Jackie swapping spit with Belinda, and my eyes landed on a group of twinks dancing. My eyes met one-a blonde, good-looking enough to be an actor. He smiled at me. I don’t know why, but I smiled back. He raised his martini glass; I raised my brandy in return.

“Whoa, JP! Hey!” Jackie pounded the table.

“We have a dozen Victoria’s Secret-level girls here, and you’re making eyes at that twink who looks like a ‘bottom’ in a gay porn? What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”

“Cute is cute.”

“Are you serious? You think that guy is cute?”

“I think I answered your question, man.”

“You aren’t going to end up in bed with a man one day, are you, JP?”

“Why not?” I answered flatly. Jackie looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Jeez, man. Are you fucking serious!?”

“I’m always serious.” I was starting to get a buzz after half a bottle of brandy and several B52 shots. I’m a heavy drinker, but I didn’t want to lose my senses in a city I didn’t know.

“Vegas is making you crazy.”

“Maybe.” One of the girls, Chrissy, had been eyeing me since the casino. Jackie nudged her.

“My friend isn’t a big talker, Chrissy. Girls, take care of my friend. B, feed him a shot of tequila-the way you did for me, with the tongue.”

“No, no,” I tried to decline politely as Belinda slid onto my lap. I really didn’t want to betray Ginny. But the tequila was 106-proof, pure and undiluted. And god… she was good with her tongue. I’d never felt a rush like that before. Belinda pulled away slowly, her hands wandering. She giggled.

“I think something is poking me.”

“Is that so?”

“Want another shot, JP?” I should have said no. I had a girlfriend. This tequila was going to lead to something irreversible. But I was too slow. Belinda pressed another tequila-flavored kiss onto my lips, her whole body draped over mine. She was soft, and every biological instinct told me to slide my hand under her skirt. But something held me back. Jackie saw the hesitation in my eyes.

“Come on, JP. Have some fun before we become students. I won’t tell.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” Said the devil himself. I gave a flirtatious smile.

“Belinda, would you mind… feeding me one more shot of tequila?” Alright, let’s just put Ginny on the shelf for now. The sound of my phone buzzing made me irritable. I fumbled around to silence it, but as soon as I hit “ignore,” it rang again. I opened my eyes, annoyed. My head throbbed down to my jaw. No doubt the tequila, brandy, and B52s had formed a toxic alliance. I loathe hangovers. And why did my jaw hurt like this? I hope I don’t need a dentist; I hate them more than anything. I checked my phone and nearly choked. It was 2: 00 PM. And besides that… 52 Missed Calls: Ginny “Hello, Ginny? I’m so sorry. My relative… he had me doing things… ”

[A relative, JP? I don’t recall you having any relatives in Las Vegas. Do you think I’m stupid?!]

What the hell? How did Ginny know where I was? And why did she sound so furious?

“I’m really in Beverly Hills-” That was all I got out. Ginny let out a piercing scream before launching into a string of curses.

[You pathetic, bottom-of-the-barrel piece of trash! You pervert! We’re over! Don’t ever call me again!]

“Ginny, let me explain. Ginny!” But she had already hung up. No matter how many times I redialed, she didn’t pick up. On the final attempt, my battery went completely dead.

Fantastic. I clutched my head. The pain in my jaw was radiating down to my neck. Where was I? This dingy, musty room… what was this? I’ve never been drunk enough to black out like this. I picked up my designer clothes from the floor; they looked like rags. It was pathetic-I couldn’t even find my own underwear.

Jackie was nowhere to be found. What the hell happened? In my daze, someone cleared their throat. I spun around and my eyes went wide.

“You… ”

“Good morning.” It was that blonde twink from the club. He was wearing a white tank top and shorts. I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again. The situation was obvious, but I was in shock-I had never had sex with a man before.

“Um… I… we… ” I was speechless.

“Last night was your first time, wasn’t it?”

“No, certainly not my first time having sex.”

“I mean with a man, JP. You didn’t really know what you were doïng. It was a bit… clumsy.”

“Did I hurt you?” He shrugged indifferently.

“Something like that. But we got through it smoothly enough in the end.” I stood there, paralyzed. He was cute, but I had a girlfriend. No, wait-I was single now. Just dumped for a reason I didn’t understand. I should have felt heartbroken, but I was too confused for that. I didn’t know who he was, and I wasn’t looking for true love in a one-night stand-especially in Las Vegas.

“You… uh, I can’t remember your name.”

“My name is Denver.”

“Okay, Denver. Thanks for letting me stay. If you don’t mind, I have to go.” I started for the door, feeling a slight pang of regret. I hesitated, wondering if I should ask for his contact info, but I didn’t dare. I just walked as slowly as possible.

“Wait.” Denver called out and grabbed my wrist as I reached for the door handle.

I fought the urge to smile. Maintaining a poker face is my specialty.

“Yes, Denver?”

“You need to pay me.” “… ”

“For the sex. You understand, right?” I felt like I’d been slapped. I was a fool to think there was any romance here. Denver was a sex worker. Fuck! Where did my intelligence go?

“How much?” I asked hoarsely.

“You stayed five hours. Plus the taxi last night. That’s four hundred dollars.” That was highway robbery! Especially for a memory I couldn’t even recall in a room this shitty. But I didn’t want trouble in a strange city. That amount was pocket change compared to what I won last night. I’d just pay it, find my idiot friend, and head back to New York. I reached into my pocket and froze. Empty. I searched my entire body-nothing but a dead phone. Denver’s expression soured.

“You don’t have the money?”

“Well… ”

Denver didn’t wait for an explanation. He threw open the door and yelled: “Bill! Mark! Someone’s trying to skip out! Deal with him!”

“Wait! I’m not skipping-OW!” I cried out as Denver punched my jaw squarely. Then, two massive giants-one dark-haired and one Black-rushed in and restrained me. Denver, despite his thin frame, began raining punches on me with the strength of a bull.

“Stop! I’m not stiffing you!” I tasted blood. I was furious. I promised myself I’d settle the score with everyone in this room later, but right now, I just needed to survive. It was humiliating. A billionaire’s son, broke and being beaten because he couldn’t pay a prostitute.

“I was drunk! I don’t remember anything! Call my friend, he’ll pay!”” We’ll call your friend once, kid,” said the Black man, Mark, revealing a gun tucked in his waistband. My heart skipped.

“If he doesn’t pick up, you’re going to meet God.”

“Give us the number.” I rattled off Jackie’s number, praying he’d answer. I’ve never been this terrified. The phone rang until the very end of the line. Mark reached for his gun. Finally, Jackie picked up.

[Hello?]

“Jackie! It’s me!”

[JP! Where the hell are you? I’ve been looking everywhere! l almost called your dad!]

“Your friend is with us,” Bill shouted .

“Bring four hundred dollars. Fast, or your friend is a ghost.”

Jackie arrived in less than thirty minutes and paid every cent. It was a near-death experience I will never forget.

“Cool it, man. At least it was only four hundred dollars.”

“Shut up.” I was too bitter to talk.

“No, I mean… I was in the same boat,” Jackie admitted .

“Don’t be embarrassed. That Belinda girl brought people to jump me too. Look at my left eye-swollen shut. And I threw up everywhere.” I looked at Jackie. He wasn’t lying. Good grief. We were such amateurs. Smart in books, but in real life, we were just two eighteen-year-olds who almost died in Vegas. Bill, Mark, Denver. I burned those names into my mind. I would come back for them. No one crosses Jane Patrick and gets away with it.

“How did you get out?”

“Total fluke. While I was puking, I saw one of my credit cards on the floor. They let me swipe it.” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t.

“And they charged me three thousand dollars.”

“That’s insane!”

“Not really… because that three thousand included your bill too.”” What do you mean?”

“It means you slept with the girls, too. I checked the security footage. We brought a dozen girls back to the hotel. We went wild. Then you disappeared with that twink later. But I don’t remember a thing. Look, you didn’t actually sleep with that guy, right? You were just blurred out. You aren’t gay.” I didn’t answer. Even if I didn’t remember the act, I remembered the condom wrappers on the floor of that room.

To me, the idea of sleeping with a man didn’t bother me much. What year was it, anyway? Knowing myself early is a benefit. Love is love. Why make it complicated? If you spend your time choosing which gender is “allowed,” you waste time. I’d rather save my brainpower for other complexities.

“Anyway, let’s stay here one more night then head back to New York. Luckily your dad’s keys were with Marcus at the valet, or they’d be gone too. I’m going to shower.”

“Yeah.” I lit a cigarette.

“Hey… this stays between us. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” I frowned, exhaling smoke. My voice was cold.

“Do you really think I’d want to tell anyone about this pathetic mess?”

“True. See ya.”

“Wait, Jackie.”

“What?”

“Ginny broke up with me.”

“No way. Why?”

“She knew I was in Vegas. Did you… tell her anything?” I stared at him intensely. Jackie didn’t flinch. His gaze was vacant as he searched his memory and shook his head.

“I wish I could tell you, but I honestly don’t remember a thing.”

“Fine. Go shower.” I plugged in my Blackberry, planning to win Ginny back. As my brain calculated excuses, the screen lit up with Facebook notifications. I hated social media-I thought it made people vulnerable-but Ginny had insisted we set our status to “In a Relationship,” so I had signed up.

I put out my cigarette and checked my Inbox. I nearly choked on my water when I saw a video that had been sent to Ginny from my own account.

“Go wild, man! That’s it!” It was Jackie’s drunken voice filming. I was in the middle of a group of about six girls. Everyone was naked, including me. I was… busy with one girl while another was pinned to me, and my hands were everywhere. It was a mess.

“Damn, lover boy, you knocked her out! Who’s next? You, baby? Get on top. Let me take you to heaven.” I threw my Blackberry onto the bed like it was on fire. I don’t have a taste for group sex. That was… purely the alcohol. I finally understood why Ginny called me a pervert! There was no defending this. All I could hope for was that she wouldn’t share that video with anyone else. I forced myself to breathe. Even if she shared it, the quality was grainy. Only people who knew me would recognize me, and Jackie never said my name. Last night was the Night from Hell. I quickly deleted my Facebook account. Social media really does make humans weak. I would never sign up for anything again. And clearly, Jackie was “trustworthy” in his own chaotic way. That was the last night I ever got drunk. I swear. Goodbye, alcohol. Forever.