WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?

‘What are you wearing?’

Instead of a text, she sends me a photo. As a sexy image of Katy in a black lace getup wearing a garter belt and sheer stockings comes across my screen, my body instantly hardens, and I let out a low groan.

‘Damn, you look hot!’

‘Are you in bed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Naked?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Smiling emoji - I think you’re naked!’

‘You’re right. Are you in bed?’

Yes.’

Suddenly, wanting to hear her voice, I swiftly dial her number.

Picking up, she answers, “Rain? I thought we were sexting.”

I let out a sigh of frustration. “I want to be there with you, but since I’m not–I at least want to talk to you. Hear your voice.” I confess in a rueful voice, “Besides, I got tired of typing.’

Katy gives a light laugh, “Me, too,” she admits.

“I like what you’re wearing,” I say huskily.

“Good. I bought it for you,” she tells me softly.

“Touch yourself.”

A moment later. “Okay, where?”

“Your breast. Your nipple. Lick your fingertip and then circle your nipple.” I wait, my imagination going wild. “Are you doing it?” I ask hoarsely.

“Uh-huh, and I’m thinking of you, imagining you touching me there.” She sounds breathless. The visual image I get of her following my demands in that getup drives me wild.

“Rain?”

“Yeah?” I respond gruffly.

“Are you… touching yourself?”

“Yes, I’m stroking my dick.”

“And you’re thinking… of me?”

“Yeah, baby. About how hot you look right now. It’s turning me on.”

“Me, too.”

I continue to whisper sexy instructions into the phone, and she does the same. As I hear her start to pant, I squeeze my eyes shut, stroking myself faster.

“Rain, I’m… I’m…”

“Come for me, Katy. Now,” I grit out and hear a soft whimper through the line. I almost drop the phone as I imagine how she must look.

“Rain, are you?”

“Almost… yes! Katy,” I say her name with a growl as I explode in my hand.

Silence then. “Was it good for you?” she asks softly.

“Yeah. I’m picturing you–you’re so beautiful when you come,” I whisper softly.

“I wish you were here, Rain,” she whispers back.

“Me, too, baby. Me, too.”

Silence.

“Damn!” I mumble.

“What’s wrong?”

“I ah… made a mess. I need to take a shower,” I admit with a grin.

“Oh. I understand.” I hear her soft laughter through the phone. “Goodnight, Rain. Dream of me.”

“Good night, beautiful. I’ll see you soon.”

The next morning, I feel better after sharing this sexy, intimate moment with Katy. There’s a clarity in my mind, a certainty about what comes next. The weight I’ve carried for years is lifting, piece by piece.

But I still have decisions to make.

I scroll through my contacts, my thumb hesitating over Emily’s name before I tap it. If anyone will understand the changes I’m making, it’s her.

“Rain!” Emily’s voice is warm and familiar. “What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be jet-setting or something?”

“Jet-setting’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” I say with a chuckle. “Listen, I need to talk to you about a few things.”

She immediately picks up on my serious tone. “What’s going on? Everything okay with Katy and Rainidy?”

“Yeah, they’re great. Better than great, actually. I’m just… reevaluating a lot of things.”

There’s a pause before Emily’s voice softens. “Big decisions, huh? Do they involve Derrick?”

I laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “He’s definitely on that list.”

“Good,” she says knowingly. “Derrick’s always been about the image, not the person. You need someone who gets who you are now, not who you were ten years ago.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m calling. I want you to take over. Be my manager.”

Emily sputters. “Me? Rain, are you serious? That’s a big job.”

“Exactly. You’re smart, you’ve got the skills, and you know me better than anyone. You went to school for this. Hell, you graduated top of your class. And let’s not forget, you’ve seen firsthand how Derrick operates. You could do this in your sleep.”

“Rain…” she trails off, uncertainty lacing her tone.

“I need someone I can trust,” I press on. “Someone who understands that my family comes first. Derrick never could, but you—you’re the only one who can help me balance this career and the life I want.”

She hesitates, but I hear her resolve softening. Finally, she exhales. “Alright,” she says, her voice steadier. “I’ll do it. But don’t come crying to me when I start bossing you around.”

I laugh, relief washing over me. “You’ve been bossing me around since we were kids, Em. I think I can handle it.”

“Okay, big shot. Let’s do this.”

“Thanks,” I say sincerely. “This means a lot to me.”

As the call ends, I feel the shift happening. It’s subtle but powerful. The house, the career, the life I’m building—everything is finally starting to align. And for once, I’m the one calling the shots.

The studio hums with energy as makeup artists and producers flit around, prepping me for my segment. I nod along to their chatter, but my thoughts are elsewhere—on Katy, Rainidy, and the life I want for us.

The host, a polished woman with a bright smile and a sharp wit, greets me warmly when I step onto the set. The cameras are rolling, the lights are glaring, and the audience claps as I take my seat. The interview starts off the same as always—how did I feel winning the award—questions about the tour, my latest album, and upcoming projects. I answer on autopilot, the rehearsed lines falling from my lips without a second thought.

“Rain,” she begins, leaning in slightly. “There’s been a lot of talk lately about your personal life. About a certain blonde woman and a little girl. Care to comment?”

The screen behind us lights up, showing a grainy video clip of Katy and me, young and carefree, backstage at one of my early shows. We’re laughing, her arm looped through mine, her head resting on my shoulder. Our chemistry is undeniable, even after all these years.