Addicted (The Addicted Series, #1)(68)

"Sounds great. Thanks, Krys. I appreciate it." The phone went dead in my ear, and I thought to myself as I saw my building come up, What have I gotten myself into?





* * *



Julian





I hung up my phone, still somewhat confused. What the hell was I doing in Chicago, anyway? And why in the hell had I just called Krystal acting like I was tapped out and needed a place to stay? Just what the hell was happening to me?

About six weeks prior, things had been super clear. After getting the call from Johnathan that he was getting married, and that his new wife had a daughter close to my age, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to f*ck the hell out of my new stepsister, and leave her three holed and sopping wet, humiliated. The videotape of that would make a great Christmas gift, in my opinion.

When I met her though, something in me kept me from sealing the deal. There was something in the way Krystal acted, like while she was attracted to me, she also didn't really care for my personality or even who I was. Typically, when someone looked down on me like that, I'd just tell them to f*ck off and get on with my life. But there was something in Krystal's behavior, something that said I'd be interested if you just got real that screwed with my head.

When at the reception, my ploy didn't work, I ended up f*cking Krystal's aunt, Gina Aksoy. While not too bad, when I was in the middle of the act, hearing Krystal's voice sent me into a fantasy that shook me to the core. I ended the night, instead of being a super-alpha stud like I'm accustomed to, to being left sitting in remembrance and almost romantic longing.

The six weeks since hadn't exactly been normal either. Going back to Los Angeles, it just felt like a lot of the things that I'd done for fun before just didn't quite have the same sort of thrill anymore. Hitting up the clubs and slut hunting didn't have any appeal for me. At first I thought it was that it was just too easy, but that never stopped me before. The same with starting fights, trying to find the newest starlet to try and ruin . . . all of it. About the only thing that gave me any pleasure was going to the gym, where I became a pretty constant fixture. Even Randy, the shift manager who I could say was a buddy, had noticed. "Yo JC," he said to me one day after I finished a workout and was getting ready to go. "Let me bend your ear for a moment."

Nodding, I followed him back into the back office, while the front desk was turned over to some pimply faced high school kid who normally just folded towels and cleaned up the locker room. Randy sat down and reached into the small refrigerator he kept next to his desk. Grabbing two cans of protein shake out of the chilled interior, he passed one over to me. "New stuff, just came in," he said, popping the top. "Forty grams of micro ionized whey, berry flavor, and carbonated. To me, it kind of tastes a lot like Hawaiian Punch mixed with Sprite."

I took a swig, and nodded. "It's pretty good. How much are you guys going to charge for it?"

"Up front? Four bucks a can. They have a pre-workout mix too, but I don't like the flavor on that one too much. Listen man, I didn't haul you back here just to let you try a new drink. I wanted to ask, what's been up with you the past month?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, draining half the can. Randy was right about the flavor, but like most protein drinks, it was thicker, and left a bit of a residue in my mouth. I figured I'd need at least the same amount of water to get the feeling of my tongue being coated in berry flavored milk out.

"For the past month, you've been in here more than ever. You're hitting the weights hard, but I've been watching you man. You're on the edge of overtraining, and I've never seen you there before. If you were one of the power lifters or bodybuilders or Cross fitters we have coming in I'd understand it, they put themselves there on purpose right before competition. But you man, you're a socialite I guess. And most of your type doesn't try to get swole and jacked prior to Oscar season, or even the MTV Movie Awards. So what's up?"

"Dunno man," I said, closing my eyes and finishing the drink. "Just . . . things feel different."

Randy nodded and set his half drunk can aside. "All right Julian, let's cut the alpha macho bullshit, okay? Something happened when you went up to your father's wedding. Now, I'm not going to ask what, that's your own damn business. But whatever it is, it wasn't good for you."

"What do you mean? I mean, I haven't gotten in trouble with the cops once since coming back." It was true, with my dramatically reduced social life, me and the LAPD were on decent terms for the past month. It was kind of refreshing, knowing I could walk down the street and not worry about being arrested.

"Man, that's just an outer sign. While it's positive, it's only because you've spent the past month brooding. I mean, you're practically going emo on us here. Like I said, I'm not going to ask what it is that has you this way. You've got your demons, we all do. But you need to handle this one, before this brooding period stops, and you get self-destructive on us."

"Like I haven't been the whole time you've known me?" I said, cocking my eyebrow. "You know, I'm not exactly a well adjusted individual."

"You're an *," Randy said bluntly, but he smiled as he said it, "but you're not a self-destructive *. I figured you were just one of those guys whose adolescence lasted longer than a lot of other people's. You're in Los Angeles, there are guys like you all over the f*cking place. Most of you have more money than you know what to do with, or are just content living out your lives in your parents' basement playing GTA online or something. But this past month, you're on the edge of going from a self-absorbed * to a self-destructive *. If you do that to just yourself, I'm not overly worried. But you strike me as the type that's going to take a bunch of others with you."