“I’ve been to it like fifty times. There’s one about an hour out of the city. I sometimes take vacations at this little B&B about five miles from it. I eat there every day when I stay.”
“You stay at Lolita’s?” His brow perks up.
I chuckle lightly, twirling my hair with a big smile. This is awesome talking to someone about my life and things I enjoy other than with Becka. During the holidays every year after I visit my parents, I stay at Lolita’s. If I get a free weekend night, I stay there too. I love that place. It’s amazing, with three guest bedrooms and attached baths. Total seclusion, country atmosphere with big queen sized Victorian style beds. Homemade breakfast every morning and it screams relaxation to me. I found it online about three years ago and I try to make it up there every few months. I’ve only ever visited it by myself. I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever been there, before now.
“Of course Lolita’s. I love that place. I go there every year after Christmas and I try to stay a weekend or so every other month. If I get time. I’m busy with work a lot. But I love that place. It’s so comforting.”
He smiles rubbing his fingers across the edge of the table. “Yeah, I love it too. I’ve not met anyone who’s stayed there. Unless I’m visiting the area myself. It’s off the beaten path. My sister’s the one who bought the place about seven years ago. That’s the only way I’d ever know about it.”
My eyes widen. “Amy’s your sister?” I ask excitedly. I know Amy, she’s my favorite person to see when I visit. We chat and sit on a couch in the living room together sipping hot chocolate by the fire. She knows I’m an escort and my real name. I never disclosed my career choice until I met her about twenty times but she’s rather worldly and hip for being in her late thirties. We text every so often and she always emails me the month’s specials. This is great.
He sips on his Sam Adams in the bottle. Tilting it to his lips by the neck with two fingers. He swallows and licks his lips. “Yep, my older sister. I’ve got a brother too.”
“Don’t tell me you share the same mother? Because that would mean Ruby is your mom.”
We’re so engrossed in our conversation I hadn’t even realized the waiter standing attention to take my drink order.
“Tylah, what would you like?” Andrew asks.
Hum, that’s a good question. This date is uncharted territory for me. I typically drink whatever my date suggests even if I don’t like it. Or I order whatever he’s having. It makes for commonality. Champagne with Joseph is probably the only alcohol I’ve enjoyed regularly with a date. Most of the time I’m stuck drinking foo-foo drinks or cognacs which are disgusting, no matter the kind.
“You know what, I’d really like a glass of ice water with a lemon and a Corona with a lemon too, not a lime. Please,” I order, carefree. This is fun picking out what I really want. Instead of fitting into an image I need to uphold.
“Certainly madam.” The waiter bows and exits the room.
“Sorry, yes Ruby is my mom. I can’t believe you’ve met her.” He’s obviously shocked. Not that I can blame him. This is a bit odd.
Ruby, his mom, is the sweetest and loudest, most boisterous woman ever. She’s adorable in every sense of the word and I prefer to visit the B&B when she’s there because it makes for more excitement.
“Of course I have. I’ve played cards with her, she kicks my ass in poker and we’ve had a campfire or two. She loves smores.” I feel my eyes light up at the memory. So many mom chats I’ve had with that sweet older woman. She’s a great conversationalist. “So in the winter if she’s there when I visit we make them in the microwave. Ok, I take it back. We don’t, Amy does and we just enjoy the fruits of her labor.” I chuckle.
My drink arrives and I stuff the lemon down the spout and hand the tall pilsner glass back to the waiter. If Brads going bottle, I’m doing it too. It tastes better anyhow. Corona is the only beer we stock at home. That and vodka because I love vodka cranberry’s.
He sits back into his chair rubbing his chin with his fingers through his close cut goatee. He appears to be contemplating something. Maybe he thinks I’m lying. But I couldn’t make this up if I tried. I gaze over to Becka, who’s cuddled up to Andrew; he’s playing with her hair, but they don’t appear to be talking much. Maybe there’s not much to say.
“Are you sure you know my sister and mother? Andrew or somebody else didn’t put you up to this, did they? This just seems like too strange of a coincidence,” he asks through narrowed eyes. He’s definitely not a very trusting man; that’s clear as day. I’m happy for once I’m not making this up.
“Scouts honor.” I hold up my fingers with a purely genuine trust-me smile.
“Ok, so then why haven’t I heard of you? I know of two regulars at the B&B and Tylah isn’t one of them,” he states, pushing his seat back and defensively crossing his arms over his thick chest. The muscles in his arms making a sexy bold statement. Brad’s not a man I’d want to mess with.
I sigh and bite my inner cheek. Damn-it, I don’t give up my real name often. But the jig is up. I glance at Becka and she gives me the nod to proceed. It can’t hurt much anyhow. Maybe this way he’ll trust me.
“I know, because my first name isn’t Tylah, its Alexis.” I push back in my chair reading him. But he’s stony and certifiably unreadable. “I’m sure you’ve seen two of my sketches in the pink room and the last name’s Monroe for validation. I do know your mom because she snorts when she laughs and sucks chocolate from her fingers rather loudly. Your sister has read all the classics and has tattoo on her left thigh of a rather large family tree.”
“You’re Alexis? Why did you same you’re name’s Tylah then?” His eyes in are tiny slits. He looks angry. This isn’t going how I expected.
“It’s my middle. I have a few stalker ex-boyfriends so I’ve come accustom to using my middle name as my first for the past four years. At least until I trust somebody,” I explain. It’s pretty convincing because he relaxes his shoulders and sucks back another sip of his beer. I follow suit and do the same with my Corona. Damn it tastes good.
We eat our steak, which is amazing. Becka complains that it’s too rare. Little does she know that rare steak is the best kind. I’ve been telling her that for years. She’s a well-done kind of gal. Our conversation stays light and Brad with his amazing eyes, seems to loosen up and mesh with me. He’s very relaxing to be around. Maybe it’s because I feel absolutely no pressure to screw him or make him like me. I’m being myself. It’s likely the last time I’ll ever meet him unless I bump into him when I go to Lolita’s to stay and he happens to be there. But according to him, he lives in Manhattan and Miami. So that’ll be a fat chance. I don’t think I’m his type either. He keeps eyeing Becka. So by my guess, he digs blondes. That would have been helpful when booking us if Andrew knew that. Even though from my understanding they are relatively new friends. By bringing me along tonight, I think it was his way to smooth over a casual encounter and maybe get his single business partner laid. Little does he know, that’s not going to happen. And if Andrew wouldn’t have suggested business attire I would have come dressed in jeans, heels and a normal t-shirt. That’s what you wear when you hang with friends and Brad radiates the friend vibe. Which I am completely cool with.
“So where to?” Andrew says, throwing his cloth napkin over his empty plate.
I rub my stuffed belly. I’m bloated. I don’t usually finish my meals because it makes a woman appear to be fat or over indulgent. Tonight, though, I’m breaking all the client rules.
“Oh, I dunno sweetie. Alexis?” Becka asks. I know she’s confused as to where this is going. I think she should leave with Andrew, it’s obvious he’s about to fuck her right at this table. He can’t stop touching her or complimenting how beautiful she is. I can make it a relatively early night and hit the hay at a decent hour without a sore pussy. That’ll be a first.
“Listen, everyone, this was great, I’m down with whatever you three are wanting to get into,”
I add nonchalantly. I want to go with the flow.
“I say we get a hotel room and have a foursome,” Andrew blurts, like this is no big thing, pulling Becka into his lap.
Forward much?
Brad’s head rears back like he’s just been slapped and shakes his head, disgusted.
“Listen, if you three want to do that, by all means. But I’m not into four ways. Or screwing a woman I barely know,” Brad says, the deep bellowing in his voice vibrates through me.
I can’t believe he said no, without hesitation. Now that’s a shocker. Most men are enthusiastic about getting laid right away. At least that’s my extensive experience.
“How about we hit up a club? We can dance and have a great time,” Becka suggests and kisses her man lightly on the cheek.
I haven’t been dancing with her in forever. Most of the time we drink at home and watch TV, vegging out on our couch. Working four days a week with your legs open is hard on the body and mentally exhausting. I have to have a journal to write down each man’s information so I don’t forget key points. It keeps the mental folders for each one at bay. I’d hate to say the wrong thing. It makes for bad business. The journal thing was Brian’s idea. Another one of his seminars was based on it. I’ve stuck with it. I know Becka hasn’t but I’m not sure about the rest of the group.
***
We take the limo to Club Zane, it’s a hot mixed music scene. Andrew and Becka spent the entire trip here making out in the backseat of the limo as Brad and I sat and stared out of the tinted windows, minding our own business. I’m not dressed for this club scene. I’m a hot secretary not a club rat. Or hood rat. Or whatever the hell I’m supposed to look like. It’s not like we’re attending a classy joint. This place smells of sex and alcohol. I’m sure some of my best clients could be selected in here if they made bank.
Andrew with his hot looks and business owner pull, got us right in.
The club is one of the hottest in town. It’s dark with bright lights and cages for dancers. The ceiling has industrial pipes and the floor is smooth concrete. The bar wraps around in a circle with ten skimpily dressed bartenders, including the men. And a bunch of women are running around as shot girls in bright green crop tops and black miniskirts. I’d hate to work here. Getting pawed at all night long and the tips would be good but not enough to keep me satisfied. Brian should come here to recruit. I see some promising candidates. Anyone is better than Lulu.
We all hit the packed bar first. If I dressed like I normally do, the stupid bartender would have addressed me first and not passed me by three times. So much for classiness. Being an escort has its perks.
“Just put all the drinks on my tab, you’re doing great,” Andrew yells into my ear over the music while Brad orders the drinks. He draws the attention of a slutty bartender.
Brad hands me a Corona and we perform a celebratory clink.
Suddenly Wobble Wobble blasts over the speakers and Becka grabs my hand, pulling me from our dates to the dance floor with my beer in hand. Leaving them at the bar to entertain themselves. It’s girl code for ‘dance with me now’. No words need to be spoken and you can’t say no.
Holy shit, how long has it been since we’ve done this? I have no idea. It’s been forever. The club is packed. Alright let’s down. Hell yeah.
I swirl my body, popping my hips. Dropping low when it the song calls for it. I can get down pretty well. Although dancing in a crowd this congregated is difficult. I rub my ass all over the man behind me when I drop. Not that he’s complaining but his date is getting pissed. Giving me the stank-eye.
A tall sexy man in a black tee, cloaked in tats and spiked blue hair comes up behind me and wraps his long thick fingers around my waist to grind. His cock perfectly level with my round cheeks. Escort training 101; do not dance with another man in the presence of your client unless A. They’d like you too or B. They become jealous and it makes them want you more. Men love what they can’t have. Now the question of the night is do I let this sexy beast of a man rub his hot fingers all over me or do I shoo him off?
I reach out and grab Becka by the boob and pull her to me. She giggles, liking my attention.
“What should I do? You know the rules,” I yell next to her ear.
She keeps dancing and places both hands on either of my shoulders rocking to the beat of the next song. “Let me see if I can spot the men and I’ll let you know,” she yells back and gives me a friendly peck on the cheek.
Her eyes roam the crowd to spot our dates. We’re herded like a bunch of cattle and peering through the throng of horny intoxicated adults is a pain. I help her with my peripheral, not wanting to draw more attention to my handsy dance partner.
Her eyes lock and I know she’s located our party.
“They’re drinking at a high table to your right. And they are intently watching us. It’s your call.” She yells.
I shrug and nod, mouthing ‘Thank you.’ And she goes back to dancing and shaking that fine ass of hers. I’m surprised Andrew hasn’t joined her. His hands were roaming all over her body. So the question is to dance or not to dance with blue haired sex machine? I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I turn around to dismiss him and a hand lands on my shoulder. Oh, hell!
“Ty! Oh my god I haven’t seen you in forever,” a man that I’ve escorted before shouts over the music, his hand clamped onto my arm. I shoot the help-me gaze to Becka and she picks it up. Coming to my aid and shooing off blue hair.
“Hi, how are you?” I ask politely, attempting to gently tug my arm out of his hold. It doesn’t work. I can smell the whiskey on his breath and if I remember correctly, this man I escorted three or four times and then the stinginess took over and Brian cut him off cold turkey. He was pissed and I think he even sent a bunch of mail to Brian to deliver to me. But being the great pimp he is he intercepted it and discarded of its contents before I could retrieve them. Thank god for Brian. It would be great for him to be here right now. This man isn’t going to leave. I can see the deep darkness of desire brewing in those dark brown eyes of his. They almost appear black in this lighting. Shit!
“I miss you so much, Ty. Brian said I couldn’t see you anymore. Why couldn’t I?” He whines. And I slowly, with him still attached to me, make our way off the side of the dance floor out of the thick of sweaty friction.
“Sir, please let go of my friend; we were just leaving,” Becka says, rubbing her hand sweetly on top of his, in attempt to not make a scene.
He fires a menacing glare at her and returns a gentle gaze to me. I guess her charms don’t work on the drunken imbeciles. Good try, Becka.
“Listen, I’m sorry, Brian said no more. But I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.” I speak slowly and fluidly to get my point across with an even tone. Staring him straight in the eyes. I can’t show that I am on the verge of panicking inside. I hate this feeling of helplessness. I could make a scene but that’s uncalled for when I shouldn’t have to worry about this at all.
He jerks me closer and I rock on my heels and quickly jam my beer into Becka’s hands, so I don’t lose it.
“You were the best sex I’ve ever had Ty, I want to have it right now. You are going to come with me. I’ll pay you more. I got a better job,” he expresses with a dirty smile. I need a bath already. This man is making my skin crawl.
I jerk away and a death grip is placed on my arm. What the hell is with men and grabbing me this week? Twice in a week. How ironic is that? And this shit hurts worse than Johns.
“We’re leaving,” he barks angrily and starts to yank me across the floor toward the front door. I stumble in my heels trying to pull back but I can’t, the floor is slick with spilled drinks and my heels have no tread. I try everything in my power to pull him off but he keeps towing me along. I yell but the music is so loud and the crowd is so thick and it’s so dark that nobody cares. Double damn-it. I’m about to panic. This man has got to let me go!
Suddenly a thick hand lands on my s
houlder to hold me in place.
“Hey!” a familiar deep bellowing voice yells, attracting the attention of a bunch of people.
My captor turns around pissed off. His jaw clinched in anger.
“This is none of your business, fat man,” my five foot ten abductor snarls at Brad, increasing the pressure on my forearm into deep bruising territory. I wince biting my lip, to keep back the urge to yelp like a wounded animal.
Brads hand magically finds its way around my thin waist, anchoring me to him. His warm front pressed against my back. My butt resting on his upper thighs.
“It is my business, motherfucker, because this is my girlfriend. And I’m not liking the fact that some douche bag is trying to kidnap her,” he snaps, tightening his hold around my stomach. He’s not going to let go. And for some reason I feel safe and at peace. Nothing bad is going to happen to me now. Relief fills my veins.
The asshole’s eyes widen with shock. “Whores don’t have boyfriends, dumbass,” he retorts, annoyed. His eyes peering through thin slits. He looks like the devil without the horns.
“You talk about her like that one more time and I will knock your fucking ass out. Don’t think I won’t. Now let up on my girl’s arm or this is going to get ugly. Trust me, I’m twice your size and my fist is the size of your face.”
We’ve gathered a crowd. It’s not good to have this many onlookers.
“This isn’t over, Ty!” my crazy stalker extraordinaire barks, releasing my arm and runs straight for the front door of the club. Bobbing and weaving through the throng of sweaty sexed up drunks. Brad removes his arm from around my waist and takes a broad step towards the door to track my assailant. I snatch up his hand, pulling him back.
Turning to me his jaw is locked and fury is pouring out of his heated ice blue gaze.
“Please don’t,” I coax gently.
“That man just assaulted you, Alexis. He needs to pay,” Brad states unapologetically, rage fueling his actions.
Artful Attractions Page 7