Page 146 of King of Pain

The rest of the day passes with Liz’s assistant, Suzy, showing me around and giving me my assignment list. I’m basically admin support—coffee runs, lunches, scheduling, shipment sign-offs—and I’ll work the door the night of the exhibit opening. It’s not glamorous, but I don’t care. I just want to be near the art.

After wrapping up the day, I head straight to the gym to try and work off the restless energy crawling over my skin. Right now, my entire world revolves around what’s going to happen Thursday night. It has me on edge—and it’s only Monday.

After a quick warmup on the treadmill, I put myself through a rigorous leg day circuit. I settle into the squat rack, the last stop on my rotation, and focus hard on form. If I’m going to lose my mind over the thought of Ant going on a date, I might as well channel that energy into my best assets—the ones I know drive him wild. He’s always had a thing for my thighs and ass, and fuck if I’m not going to use it to my advantage.

From across the gym, I catch Kai watching me with hungry eyes. I snicker to myself. The membership twink is cute, but like I said, I need to be tossed around.

Sorry buddy, even if you are a top, this ass has one man’s name on it.

I finish my sets, wipe down the bench, and head out, my nerves still tangled but my legs feeling like jelly.

It’s Thursday night and I’m pacing my condo, hands raking through my hair for the millionth time, completely untethered. My phone sits on the counter, screen glowing with the time.

6:32 p.m.

Twenty-eight minutes.

In twenty-eight minutes, Ant will be on his date.

With Jason.

The name alone makes me grind my teeth.

It’s taken up every inch of mental real estate I’ve had this entire week. I texted Lexi, hoping for some insight, but she didn’t know anything about a Jason. I even considered asking her for Jen’s number, but let’s be real—Jen would probably rip me a new one just for trying, and even if she answered, she sure as hell wouldn’t tell me anything about Ant’s dating life.

I stop pacing and stare at the skyline through the tall windows in front of me.

“Fuck it,” I shout to no one.

I storm into my bedroom, grab the tightest jeans I own, a black t-shirt that clings to my chest and strangles my biceps, and head into the bathroom. I splash water on my face and fix my hair, though I’m not even sure why I’m bothering.

What do I think I’m going to do? Burst into the restaurant and ruin their date?

No. I just… need to see.

In a moment of madness yesterday, I walked past Thai Basil to scope it out. The place is basically a fishbowl—floor-to-ceiling windows, every table in plain view from the street.

God, I’m losing it.

But I mightactuallygo insane just sitting here.

I grab my wallet and phone, slip on my shoes, and head out the door. It’s only a five-minute walk, but every step feels like an eternity.

When I get there, it’s 7:05. I look around the parking lot and the sidewalks, hoping maybe I’ll catch Ant arriving, give myself a shot at stopping this.

But the second I look through the glass, my stomach drops.

Too late.

He’s already in there.

Sitting at a corner table.

With a muscular, absurdly attractive guy across from him.

I clench my fists at my sides.

This can’t be happening.