She gives excuses

I let out a long, tired breath, I let out a long, tired breath, “Leilani… I can’t. I’m married. And unfortunately, I can’t leave him.”

My voice wavers, not from love, but from the weight of a duty I took on myself, guiding him, shaping him… and failing more with every passing year. I shake my head, a bitter laugh slipping out. She says, “And it’s not even the cheating. Honestly? I don’t care about that anymore. If I wanted to, I could take advantage of one of my multiple male dancers.”

I wave a hand. “They’d volunteer.”

Leilani gasps dramatically, “Jasmyn! You menace.”

I give her a grin. “But… yeah.” My expression hardens. "It’s everything else. He keeps trying to remake me — my clothes, my image, my work — as if he has any real power over me. He’s so easy to steer, so easy to manage, and yet he still thinks he can pull my strings."

I hesitate… then the real wound slips out. “And his campaign manager? She agrees with him. Every word. Every criticism. And she’s sleeping with him.” My voice cracks. “I got her that job.”

Leilani’s whole face scrunches outrage mixed with protective affection. Then it shifts again, sharper, more dangerous, like a kitten trying to look feral, “Oh absolutely not. That bitch, she does not get to betray you with a discount‑store politician.”

Before I can respond, she suddenly snatches her phone. “Lei…?”

She scrolls fast, then shoves the screen toward me. It’s John, slipping on the ranch mud, arms flailing, hat mid‑air.

She swipes again. More pictures, him in the studio making ridiculous faces, caught mid‑blink, mid‑stretch, mid‑something‑he‑would‑definitely‑deny. But then… there are other pictures. Ones that make my breath catch. Ones that make my cheeks burn. Ones that make my brain supply thoughts I absolutely should not be having about my friend and John and… well.

I swallow hard, “They’re indecent and just… bold.”

Leilani’s smile turns razor‑sweet, the kind she uses when she’s caught someone lying to themselves. “I saw that look you gave him in the studio. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I— I wasn’t looking at him like that,” Jasmyn sputters, heat rushing up her neck. “I just… he was there, okay? I noticed him for half a second.”

Her voice cracks on the last word is a dead giveaway. She leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Leilani leans in so close Jasmyn can feel the heat of her grin that wild, unhinged spark in her eyes that means she’s already planning something disastrous. Her whisper is wicked. “Come on. He’s clueless. We could absolutely wreck him, tease him, corner him a little, watch him short‑circuit. It’d be priceless.”

“Leilani, no!” Jasmyn sputters, already flushing, already imagining the disaster.

But Leilani is gone, mentally halfway across the room. She throws her arms out in a dramatic, chaotic flourish. “What? I’m just saying we could… liven things up.”

“I just… I don’t know,” Jasmyn mutters, glancing toward the hallway like someone might walk in at any second. “People are always around here. Ranch hands, staff in the main house… someone could see us.”

She’s trying to sound rational, but it comes out nervous. Leilani’s grin spreads slow and wicked, “Not this week.”

Jasmyn blinks, "What do you mean?”

Leilani leans in, eyes bright with that I’m-about-to-start-something spark. “Everyone’s heading to Houston. The rodeo, the cattle auction — the whole ranch empties out. Hands, staff, even the nosy ones.”

Jasmyn’s stomach flips. “Leilani…”

Her friend’s eyebrows wiggle, delighted. “No witnesses.”

Jasmyn stares at her, horrified because she knows exactly what that means.

“You are a sweet, rebellious little menace.”

Leilani only smiles — soft, warm, and far too pleased with herself — then leans in, whispering like she’s dangling a match over gasoline.

“And I might… actually have a thought about how we could use that.”

Leilani watches Jasmyn’s panic rise and just smiles wider, like she’s savoring every second of it.

Then she tilts her head, voice dropping into that deceptively sweet tone she uses when she’s about to say something outrageous. “Besides,” she murmurs, “what I have planned will teach your husband a lesson.”

Jasmyn’s breath catches, “Leilani”

But her friend is already rolling right over her, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, “You won’t need those male dancers volunteering to flirt with you anymore.”

A beat. “Not when I can make him sweat all by myself.”

Jasmyn just stares at her, stunned, “I thought John was the beast here… but it’s you. You’re the one I should be worried about.”

Leilani’s grin turns smug enough to be illegal, “Sweetheart, John wishes he had my instincts.”

She taps Jasmyn’s chin lightly, claiming the moment. “Predator? Please. I prefer ‘opportunist.’”

She doesn’t explain. And somehow, that’s worse. Then she leans in again, her breath brushing my ear.

She whispers something — soft, wicked, and so wildly Leilani that my entire face goes hot.

I jerk back, “Leilani! You can’t just!”

She doesn’t even pretend to be innocent. She just hands me her phone. I expect the funny ranch pictures. The ones of John slipping in the mud or mid‑blink in the barn. But that’s not what she shows me. My breath catches. “Oh… oh my God.”

They’re scandalous and just… bold. I feel flustering. The kind of photos that make heat rising in her cheeks, neck, or chest and your brain forget how to function. The kind of photos that guarantee I will never look at John Doe, the same way again.

Leilani watches my reaction like a scientist observing a successful experiment. “I knew it,” she says softly, smug and sweet all at once.

I try to speak, but my voice comes out thin. “Leilani, this is so ...”

She cuts me off with that deceptively gentle smile.

Jasmyn’s voice softens, almost breaking under the weight of her own doubt, “Leilani… he probably hates me.”

It’s her last plea, her last attempt to pull both of them back to sanity. Leilani just blinks at her — slow, unimpressed, almost offended on her behalf.

Then that wicked smile returns, “Hates you? He does not know how to hate.” She scoffs. “Please.”

Leilani’s eyes gleam, wicked and far too pleased with herself. “Relax,” she says, stepping closer like she’s unveiling a secret plan. “We’ll just have to flirt with him little, tease him little, touch him little and stoke that ego of his and challenge him to a little game.”

My breath catches, warmth blooming through my chest and up my neck the kind that absolutely does not want to acknowledge.

Leilani sees it instantly. Of course she does. Her grin turns smug, triumphant, almost proud. “Come on,” she murmurs. “You’re not doing this out of **** anymore.” She says, “You’re doing it because you want to.”

I can’t even deny it. Not with my pulse racing and her face burning. I can see my friends smile softens just enough to be dangerous.

“Trust me,” she says, voice dipping into that playful, conspiratorial tone. “This little game is going to be fun.”

She steps closer, lowering her voice like she’s sharing a secret she’s been saving for the perfect moment. And I finally exhale, shaking my head at myself.

“John is really going to be outnumbered,” I say, handing her back the phone.

A slow smile spreads across my face and I finally admit, “I’m in.”

Leilani beams like she just pulled off a heist, but I get up and notice something different about the room.