Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(26)

My brows lift, and I take another bite of my burrito. He’s talked about approaching Aerial Ethereal for a raise before, but he’s never taken the steps.

“What really irritates me,” he says, “is not that they said no. It’s that they still expect me to put in total, complete effort above everyone else while paying me as much as…” He glances hesitantly at me, not wanting to hurt my feelings.

His salary is identical to mine.

The thing is, I’ve been slapped on the wrist a million times. I’ve even been demoted, and only now that I’ve returned to Infini, my pay is higher. Timo is their real money-maker. Right alongside Nikolai, and yet, Nik is paid a lot more than him.

Timofei deserves a pay raise. I’ve been in the audience for Amour before, and everyone leaves talking about his performance. His talent can’t be manufactured or taught. It’s a hundred-percent natural and one-of-a-kind. Add in his disciplined work-ethic, and he should be the top-paid artist in Aerial Ethereal.

I nod in agreement. “It’s bullshit,” I mumble through a mouthful of egg and tortilla.

Timo gives me and my burrito a look.

I return the favor, my brows cinching at him.

“Don’t you have your first formal practice in an hour?” he asks.

Today is the day.

The day that I have to stop avoiding Sergei. And whether intentional or unintentional, I’ll most likely see Baylee again. (It’s not a bad thing to anyone but Corporate.) Plus I have to greet a choreographer that has badgered the entire cast of Infini via email for weeks.

I’m looking forward to this like someone looks forward to a full-body wax.

I shrug at my brother. “So?” I give him a look that says: I’m fine.

His says: I don’t think you are.

“I have everything under control,” I tell him.

Timo knows I have a horrible diet. I ate an entire pepperoni pizza before conditioning last week. Zhen saw me and then a day later, he slipped a nutritional printout beneath my door.

I smoke. I drink.

I eat junk food. The best part: there is nothing that Corporate can do to stop me. Their Wellness Policy is all about maintaining certain body measurements and not taking any kind of performance drugs.

I’ve maintained the same body measurements for years.

I’m drug-free.

(Corporate can kiss my ass.)

“Is there anything I can do?” Timo asks.

“No,” I say instantly.

He takes the hint and switches topics, talking about club-hopping this weekend. He always invites me, but I don’t always join. When he parties, he’s a firestorm. Lively and enthralling but completely uncontrollable. He rolls in around 4 or 5 a.m., still upbeat. Very few people can keep up with him.

And I’m not really one of those people, much to Nikolai’s displeasure. He’d love for me to be Timo’s 24/7 chaperone.

Finishing my burrito, I ball my soggy plate and free-throw it into a trash bin. Right when it lands perfectly, a familiar person pushes through the revolving door.

John Ruiz.

I know him well enough by now. Twenty-five, six-foot-something Colombian-American. Unshaven jaw, windswept brown hair, and a never-ending gruff expression. Like the universe just took a giant shit on his head.

Two coffee cups in hand, he makes his entrance into the Masquerade like he’s being forced into a circle of hell.

Yet, I doubt he’d choose to be anywhere else but here.

“Seriously?” John stops a couple feet from us, dumbfounded. “Seriously. You’re both still camping out in the lobby like vagrants when you have suites that cost five-hundred a night. Tell me, world, what is wrong with this picture?”

“Does the world ever respond to you?” Timo banters. “Or do you just get off hearing your own voice, old man?”

John stares blankly. “You think I like the sound of my voice? No. But I have to talk because people don’t say what needs to be said.”

Timo raises his brows. “That’s really why?”

John looks fresh out of amusement. “Maybe if everyone practiced honesty, they wouldn’t need me.”

“The secret is out.” Timo smiles. “You’ll shut up if I say all the honest things on my mind.”

“As delightful as you are, Timofei,” he says dryly. “You’re not the only human on this planet. I’m making up for everyone.”

“So you’re not shutting up anytime soon.” Timo’s face breaks into the brightest grin.

“Not a chance, babe.”

At this, John passes Timo a coffee.

My brother is like a beam of light, and then John dips his head down to cup my brother’s cheek. He kisses Timo on the lips, and he reciprocates the affection, only smiling more.

John mumbles a greeting against the kiss, and when they break apart, I notice the red flush on my brother’s neck, completely taken by his boyfriend.

It makes my lips curve upward.

“Luka,” John greets and sips his coffee. “Should I just expect you both to be sitting here a century from now? Decomposing. Archeologists digging up bones that they really didn’t want to find.”

He talks way too much for me.

Seriously still smiling, Timo eats the last of his pancakes and says, “It’s complicated.” My brother hands me the coffee cup, and I pop the lid. No whip cream, no cinnamon. John buys Timo’s favorite soy cappuccino. (It tastes like ass, but I’ll still drink it.)