by Kat T. Masen
“Too late.” Mia passes my phone back. Fuck, what has she done? Drew will kill me. He wasn’t exactly pleasant the last time Noah stumbled out of my bedroom.
I try to read the screen, but it’s blurry. It lights up a few minutes later, his response polite and flirtatious. Typical Noah Mason—always leaving you wanting more. I push my cell aside ignoring the message sitting in my inbox and enjoy the rest of the show.
An hour later, Gigi tells us she has to leave. With an early flight out of the States, she needs to catch a few hours of sleep before heading to the airport. We say our goodbyes promising to catch up when she returns next week.
Callie is the next to bail.
“I’m sorry, Zo, I’m so tired, and these new meds knock me out before midnight.”
“I understand,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her to hug her tight. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight. I miss this. I miss you.”
She nods her head with a genuine smile kissing my forehead and leaves our table to catch a cab back home leaving only Mia and me.
“I’m ready to go,” I moan, sleepy from the tequila and wine.
“It’s midnight.” She yawns.
“Exactly.” I laugh. “Past your bedtime.”
We make our way to the exit, through the crowd that has gathered outside, and safely into Mia’s car. I rest my head against the window momentarily distracted by my email pinging. I wouldn’t usually check it on a Friday night but decide to anyway. It’s a meeting request from Slater, first thing Monday morning with a new client that we’ve just won the bid for.
“Oh wow,” I gasp. “We just won the bid for The Newman Group.”
“That’s fantastic. Preparing the paperwork all week paid off.”
I read the rest of the email. Slater needs the contracts before Monday to cross-check a few things.
“Huh, Slater needs the contracts before Monday.”
“Wait, I have them in the back of my car. I was too lazy to take my bag out this afternoon. Why don’t we drop it off now?” she suggests.
“Because it’s midnight, Mia. The poor man’s sleeping.”
“Please,” she brushes off. “He’s single. It’s Friday night.”
She presses the button on her Bluetooth, and within seconds, the car is ringing loudly and hurting my ears.
“Hello?” he answers with a raspy voice.
“Hi, Slater, it’s Mia. Hope I didn’t wake you?” She turns my way with a smirk on her face.
“No. Wide awake, Mia.”
“Good. Zoey mentioned the bid went through. I have the contracts in my car, and I happen to be only two blocks away from your neighborhood. Do you want me to drop them off?”
“That would be handy, but I really don’t want you to go out of your way. It’s late.”
“I’d rather do it now. Just text me your address, and I’ll be there soon.”
She hangs up quickly as the text comes through. Entering the address into her GPS, it tells us the location is ten minutes away.
“Why didn’t you say I was with you?”
“He didn’t ask.”
With Mia distracted, I check my cell and find nothing from Drew. Disappointed, I respond to Noah’s text letting him know I’m engaged. Better to put out that fire before it becomes another issue with Drew.
Slater’s apartment is a studio in a posh neighborhood. He told me he often travels between here, Los Angeles, and London owning apartments in each location. Pulling up at the location we slide out of the car.
We’re greeted by a friendly doorman who ushers us toward the elevator. Slater’s apartment is on the fifth floor along with another three apartments. We walk toward number four, Mia knocking gently as I stand behind her, keeping still.
He opens the door dressed in jeans and a white tee, barefoot. When his eyes meet mine, the muscles in his cheeks spread into a wide grin with his lips parting slightly. He tells us to step in allowing Mia to pass but stopping me at the door. He reaches for the whistle draped around my neck, lifting it between his fingers followed by a sly smile. “Interesting.”
“It’s easy to blow,” I blurt out.
“I bet.” He laughs, then casually lifts my sash while waiting for a response.
“Don’t ask… it’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?” Keeping his tone low, his gaze shifts to my lips.
“You know, sexual things. But I swear it’s not. Mia just thought it would be fun because Drew is so anal when it comes to cleaning. That’s it. Nothing more… just cleaning,” I ramble on unnecessarily to cover my embarrassment.
Pursing his lips, he places his hand on the small of my back directing me inside.
The apartment is quite large for a studio, modern and sleek with an air of masculinity. The furniture is minimal but enough to make an impact. Mia sits down on the sofa looking exhausted. Poor girl, she made it to midnight, way beyond her eight o’clock bedtime.
“Here you go, Slater.” She yawns. “It’s all ready with the tabs so the client can sign. Zoey did the final touches before we left this afternoon.”
“Kind of you to drop it off so late. You didn’t have to.” He places it on the coffee table beside the remote. The television is paused on a movie—Cocktail.
“Would you like a drink or anything to eat?”
“No thanks.” Her eyes are drifting off. “Just let me powernap, and I’ll be good to drive home.” Her snores sound through the apartment as Slater motions for me to join him in the kitchen.
“Coffee, wine?”
“Coffee and wine? Just kidding. Coffee, please. I’m too old for partying like this.”
“You look happy.”
“It’s called wine and tequila and men in leopard thongs dancing to Madonna.”
“Sounds like quite a night. Looks like it took your mind off things.”
“It did. I was banned from using my phone. Except to text this guy I slept with. One of Mia’s ridiculous games. But she’s asleep. Maybe I should text Drew now?”
I pull out my phone at the same time Slater places his hand over mine, stopping me. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he warns, placing the coffee in front of me.
“Why? It’s just a hello.”
“And if he asks you where you are, what will you say?”
I didn’t think about that. Drew would be livid, although I’m not doing anything wrong, and Mia is sitting in the same apartment. It’s not like I’m in bed with him.
“I’m gathering he’s not fond of you and me working together.”
“What makes you think t-that?” I stammer.
“Your mood, it shifts each day. One minute you’re friendly, and the next minute you’re giving me the cold shoulder. You’re not the first colleague to do that,” he admits.
“I’m sorry, Slater. He doesn’t know you, that’s all.”
“And I’m spending more time with his fiancée than he is.”
“Yes,” I sadly admit.
“Well, Zoey, I enjoy spending time with you. I won’t argue that.”
At a loss of what to say, I look at Mia who’s fast asleep. I need her to drive me home since I’ve drunk too much.
“She’s knocked out,” he comments as we move toward the living area taking a seat on the plush leather sofa. Mia’s stretched out forcing me to sit beside him.
“Yeah, I kinda need her to wake up.”
“Stay a while. Let her rest, and then I can drive you home.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why? We’re not doing anything wrong.” His voice says something else, and his expression is shadowed as he leans over to grab the remote off the coffee table.
“Because, Slater… I don’t need another headache in my life. I’ve over-committed myself with this wedding, and no one seems to understand. Mia keeps pushing me to make it a big circus, and Drew couldn’t give a goddamn shit. Now my mom is stuck back at home and everything feels overwhelming.” I begin to cry, the
anxiety and stress building up and finally tumbling out.
“Hey.” Slater puts his arm around me rubbing the side of my arm. I feel myself calming down, slowly, but the touch of his hand against my skin leaves another feeling that I choose to ignore. “You’ve got to learn to slow down. I get this is stressful, but is it really worth this?”
“Are you asking me if marrying Drew is worth it?” I pull back, waiting on his response.
“I’m asking you if this is how you envisioned your life to be. You’re running around planning this wedding and forgetting about the most important thing.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not one to answer, only you can. To be honest, you seem uncertain. Is he the right man for you?”
“Yes.” I gulp, annoyed that my hesitation could be interpreted as uncertainty. “I think so. I just feel so disconnected right now.”
“I think so doesn’t mean walk down the aisle,” he says the words softly but loud enough to stick with me. “Think long and hard about what you want, what’s right for you. Not what’s comfortable.”
“Tom Cruise would make a nice husband,” I tell him, watching the screen paused at the scene where he’s at the bar shaking the canister and eye-fucking the sexy woman.
Slater chuckles pressing play on the movie. We watch it to the end, chatting animatedly about how much we both love Bryan Brown with his quirky Aussie personality. He reminds me a lot of Drew’s dad. A man so influential in Drew’s life that things haven’t been the same since he passed.
As the credit rolls, Mia stirs, waking up. She notices us watching her and is quick to apologize for falling asleep suggesting we leave. A few steps ahead, she presses the button to the elevator as I linger at the door.
“Thank you for tonight. For just letting me be me.”
“Anytime.” His eyes dart toward Mia and then back to me. “Think about what I said, Zoey.”
Slater said many things. And as I’m walking toward the elevator, his words drum into me like a dagger stabbing my heart a million times over. He is right. I am comfortable. Everything about Drew is comfortable.
The question remains, though. Am I still madly in love with Drew—a man with a completely different view of life than my own? Or am I just settling because I’m comfortable?
And to make it ten times worse, I hate the fact that it’s taken another man—someone so fitted to my personality—to make me doubt my relationship.
Chapter Seven
Drew
I should have known that Troy had elaborate plans to make this a memorable night. To be honest, I thought strip joint downtown or a road trip to Vegas. Never in my wildest dreams did I think we’d be spending the night in a sex club.
“I had to pull a lot of favors to get us in,” Troy discloses.
“Dude, I don’t care how you did it.” Isaac, a good friend of mine, rubs his hands together with a pleased smile.
“What does this mean?” Robert, another friend asks. “Do we get to fuck the women? And does everyone have to watch?”
“You don’t fuck anyone. You’re not a member of the club just a bystander. So, don’t get us kicked out, okay?” Troy warns the three of us.
Troy quickly explains the rules, and the most important rule is no cell phones allowed. They are to be ‘checked in’ like a coat restricting perverts who come in to take photos and blast them all over the Internet. We also aren’t allowed to participate in any activities. It piqued my interest, a much-needed relaxation after a very stressful day at work. I’m more than happy to watch other people have sex and lose myself in their inhibitions rather than think about the man who died on the operating table or the fact our bank statement arrived, and our balance has taken a massive hit with all the wedding costs.
The club is in an upscale part of town down the street from expensive townhouses and neighboring restaurants. From the outside, it’s a simple brick building with a few trees and a sconce against the wall. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if the clientele are locals, money to be splashed around to feed their fetishes.
Troy enters a passcode on the keypad which opens the door into a compact lobby. It’s the size of a cloakroom—small and tight—as we pack ourselves in at the mercy of the large bodyguard standing in front of an iron door. Troy hands him his cell. We all follow, the guard handing Troy a ticket explaining to him that if he loses it, there will be no other way to retrieve our cells. With the ticket like gold in his hand, he squeezes it into his sock sliding it down until it’s tucked securely into his shoe.
The guard leans into Troy whispering a few words before opening the door. I don’t ask Troy what he said nor do I care. We follow Troy’s lead which ends just a few short steps later at a bar area. It’s quaint with a few occupied tables. There’s a small dance floor with soft music playing and a couple dancing the tango gracing the dance floor with their moves. Taking a seat at the bar, Troy orders us a round of shots.
“To Drew, get ready to lose your balls. Marriage is many things, but lots of sex isn’t one of them,” he roars, clinking glasses with the three of us.
The smile on my face covers my growing fears. I have quite a sexual appetite and a partner who feels the same, I hope. But last week taught me many things I have yet to learn about Zoey. Aside from the wedding planning and her so-called busy work life, she’s quick to push aside our intimacy in exchange for what she called a ‘special’ wedding night. I thought it was one of her silly jokes to tease me relentlessly so I would take her hard and fast, giving her a mind-blowing orgasm. But I was wrong. To boost my dampening confidence, I tried many things to entice her, things as simple as walking around the house naked or wearing my glasses more often because she has a thing for men with glasses.
Nothing.
Nada.
Then, I took the matter into my own hands jerking off beside her, hoping she would succumb to her desires and ride my cock like a wild cowgirl while realizing her ideology of the perfect wedding night was pure rubbish.
She just sat there unaffected while typing an email as if no one else was in the room. I managed to finish, but afterward, I was even more frustrated than when I began. I turned over and ignored her. The next day, I avoided her like the plague, kissing her cheek and wishing her a good day, keen to go to work and keep my mind occupied.
Rob interrupts my thoughts telling us a story about his ex-girlfriend and how she almost cried after they had sex every time. It was comical and urged us to drink more before Troy tells us we should visit the rest of the club.
Behind the second iron door is where the action happens. We’re forced to go through another checkpoint, and this time, the guard’s a bit friendlier. Walking through the door and down the hallway, we see a sign on each door. Troy leads us to the first room, and much like an operating theater, we sit on these leather benches watching through the glass window as two ladies are eating each other out. I didn’t expect it to be so forward, hell, I didn’t really believe these places existed. I can’t peel my eyes away from the girls gawking like a hormonal teenager. They’re going at it pretty hard, the petite one leaning back with her head hanging off the table. The voluptuous woman with the nice big tits is running her tongue along the tip of her clit teasing her slowly while sliding her finger in and out of her pussy.
Fuck me.
Inside the room sat an older couple holding hands and watching intently. Trying not to appear obvious, my eyes wander sideways to catch a glimpse of them. Definitely in their fifties and dressed impeccably. On the other side sits a man—alone. He watches the girls intently, his facial expression no more than a blank stare.
Back when I was single, this would have been a treat. I’ve been with two women before, and it was a great experience, but sitting here with the boys left a different feeling.
Somewhat awkward. Like watching porn in a group. Hilarious but not a turn-on.
The boys mumbled something to me about visiting another room. I tell them to go ahead as I stay here watchi
ng. Despite the salacious act happening behind the glass window, my mind drifts to Zoey. I’m kind of glad that Mia switched the party to tonight. I can hang out with the boys in peace knowing she will be equally busy probably watching some gay guy play straight on a stage dancing to Madonna.
With Mia pregnant, they will hardly get up to much mischief. I miss Zoey, though, and want to text to her, but without my cell—combined with my stubborn attitude—I brush it aside and enjoy my surroundings.
Surprisingly, I lose interest rather quickly and join the boys in the threesome lesbian room. It’s mildly entertaining, but my head isn’t in the right space. I rarely drink but feel the urge to loosen my tense muscles. Something which could easily be fixed by Zoey blowing me off.
Oh, that’s right—she’s off-limits for another few weeks.
I tell the boys I’m going to the bar heading back down the hall to a less-crowded area. The bartender is quick to serve me a scotch which goes down smoothly. I don’t remember how many I order, but when I struggle to focus on the glass in front of me, I slow it down and let it all sink in.
Tonight is supposed to be my last night of freedom according to the ritual of the bachelor party. But at what point was I free before? Zoey and I are in a committed relationship. Neither one of us has cheated, at least, I haven’t cheated. With that dickhead Slater around, who fucking knows? And the more I think about it, the clearer the picture becomes. She’s always busy at work and never has time to stop, and he’s always at work with her. When I call her at lunch, she never answers the first or second time. Supposedly, she has lunch with him. She’d been hitting the gym and exercising nonstop claiming she needs to fit into her expensive dress. She did that exact thing the last time she was trying to put herself back on the dating market.
And then, she holds back the sex.
If that isn’t a dead giveaway.
It all makes sense. The scotch clears the incessant rambling in my head. Fuck. Could she really do that to me?
My chest tightens, my posture falling over as I cradle the glass of scotch in my hand. I want to crawl into bed and smell her beside me. Taste the Cola-Cola Chapstick on her beautiful lips.