by Donna Alam
The door to the café opens, a cute guy in jeans and t-shirt entering.
‘You ready, June,’ he asks, all dimples.
‘I am, Sam, my chicken hen.’ She pats his hand as he grasps the handles of the wheelchair I didn’t realise she was sitting in.
And how did I not realise it? Born to be Mild emblazoned across the back, it also has purple wheels and glittery streamers hanging from the handles.
‘Good luck, hen,’ June calls. And with a wave over her shoulder, Sam wheels her out the door.
I don’t exactly take her advice, but I do eventually have to go back home. It’s all well and good sitting in a café alone, even if you do meet the strangest of characters, but it’s not quite as scary as eating dinner by yourself. On a Friday night, of all nights.
I know, it’s not very forward thinking of me. But I just feel like a sad sack sitting amongst families and couples. Oh, look at that poor lady. She can’t even get a dinner date.
So home I go. And as Will’s car is still in a parking bay as I enter, I consider crossing the road and slashing his tires for all it represents.
I’m not good for you = We’re too different.
We’re too different = I’m the son of a lord. And you’re an American peasant.
And apparently, a petty American peasant because though these might be my equations, they aren’t how Will makes me feel.
He’s like the boy in fourth grade pulling m pigtails. Or the same boy a couple of years later pinging your bra strap. It’s an annoying kind of attention, but it’s the only way he can express himself.
I say hi to George, the porter, as I pass, my running shoes then making quick work of the stairs. I’m almost home, my keys in the lock when a deep voice says my name.
‘Creeping Jesus! Don’t do that,’ I exclaim, swinging around to face him.
‘You haven’t answered any of my texts.’
Will stands on the staircase behind me looking more handsome than he has any right to be. Dark pants and a gleaming white button down, sleeves folded almost to the elbow. Not that I’m staring too hard or anything.
‘Oh, today’s texts?’ As in not the dozens of invisible ones. ‘I have answered them. In my head.’
‘As a means of communication, I find telepathy isn’t a particularly good one.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Will. Maybe you just need to concentrate harder,’ I reply, hiking my purse higher a little too aggressively. ‘And I bet if you tried hard, you’d be able to tell what I’m thinking right now.’
Please ask to come inside.
Please tell me you’ve missed me. That you’re sorry for leaving me for days and days without saying anything at all.
I’m able to hide my internal turmoil, fixing my expression to read, “I give no fucks”.
‘I’m sorry.’ His tone is chastened and he ducks his head. ‘There really isn’t an adequate excuse for leaving you the other day. But I had to get to work. Babies and nature are a law unto themselves. I certainly didn’t feel good about leaving you as I did.’
‘It’s not that you left. It’s that you didn’t come back.’
‘I know.’ He nods again, though this time shoots me a flirty half grin. ‘You know, you’re really good at this chastising thing. If I didn’t know better I might think you were a teacher.’
‘Don’t get cute with me. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Cute?’ he says, full of faux astonishment. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, except that it’s ingrained. I don’t know how to switch it off, really.’
‘I can think of a couple of ways,’ I reply, sarcastically.
‘And I can’t wait to experience them.’ His index finger traces his full bottom lip like I need reminding of its kissable-ness.
For the record, I don’t. And, forgetting my snarky answer, I opt for honesty instead.
‘What do you want, Will?’
‘I want to take you out tonight.’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ I begin, stopping as he speaks again.
‘Hear me out, please. I want to say sorry. Take you out somewhere you’ve never been—somewhere off the tourist list. Look at it as one more experience to add to your vacation list.’
‘How do you know I won’t already have done whatever it is you’re talking about?’ Over the course of the last week, I’ve checked quite a lot of experiences off said list. Though I still haven’t braved the Tube.
‘I guarantee this is one place you haven’t been. One place you’d never find without the help of someone like me.’
There’s a note of something strange in his voice. A tension around his eyes? But whatever, all that is forgotten the moment Sir Lancelot’s deep woof sounds from the stairs below.
‘Looks like your charge is home,’ he says, his tone lightening again as Sir Lancelot drags Katie, the doggy daycare delivery driver, up the last few stairs.
‘Lord alive, he’s—’
Her gaze flicks upwards to Will’s presence standing at the foot of the next flight of stairs.
‘Hello, Katie,’ he says amiably.
Katie’s face turns six shades of red immediately.
‘You know Katie?’ I ask. Through my teeth.
‘Katie and I have seen a lot of each other,’ Will answers smoothly. ‘Or at least, Katie has seen a lot of me.’ He winks in my direction before turning to climb the stairs. ‘Towel’s don’t leave much to the imagination, do they, Katie?’
Katie shakes her head rapidly.
‘I’ll be back for you up at nine,’ he calls over his shoulder.
‘I haven’t said yes,’ I call back.
‘No, but you will.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WILL
‘What’s so special about this place.’
‘You’ll see,’ I tell her, opening the passenger side door to my car. As Sadie slides in easily, her black cocktail dress flashes a little too much thigh. She turns her face up to me, all kind eyes and trusting smiles as she wiggles it back down.
I am a bastard of the first order as I try not to stare down at the valley of her cleavage, fixing a smile on my face.
Until I close the door and it falls.
My stomach twists as I round the car, the knife of betrayal delivered by my own hand. I climb in, belt up, and start the car, all the while repeating my incantation of this is the only way. The only way to protect her. The only way for her to see me as we really are. The only way to ensure she never wants to see Julian again.
‘What’s funny,’ I ask, catching her smiling to herself. The Friday night traffic is a bitch, adding to my woes. Because of it, I can’t keep my gaze on her for very long, despite her thrall.
‘I was just thinking about the last time I was in this car.’ Her cheeks pink slightly in the dusky light.
‘Haven’t you ever fooled around in a car before?’
Well, sure,’ she says, turning her whole body to face me. ‘But a little kissing and over the bra high school kind of fumbling just isn’t the same.’
‘Explain what you mean.’ I shouldn’t be asking these questions, but I can’t seem to stop myself, or my cock from hardening. I want her to tell me about all the things that make her tick. Her hopes and her dreams. And the things she thinks of when her hand is slick between her legs. Fuck my life. ‘Well?’ I prompt.
‘You’re awfully demanding tonight.’
My heart thumps once loudly in my chest. But I don’t answer. I can’t afford to. Not now.
‘You were here,’ she says on the breath of a longing sigh. ‘You saw how it affected me when you got all growly and demanding. God,’ she adds, twisting her body to face the front again. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t let you do this.’
‘Do what?’ I ask genuinely curious.
‘Get me all hot and bothered. Let you sexually abuse me with your gaze.’
‘It’s only abuse if you’re not into it,’ I reply, struck suddenly by the parallels. I demean girls who are looking for the
experience. I rouse myself, chasing the notion away.
‘So you like me growly and demanding?’
‘Damn,’ she says softly, her gaze lingering for a moment on my lips. ‘I thought you’d missed that.’
‘I’d hope there isn’t much I miss.’ But I will. I know I’ll miss her after tonight.
‘I won’t say I’m surprised. You seem to know what I’m thinking the minute before I open my legs.’
True. Hasn’t she roused to my less than tender touch? Taken what I’ve given her without complaint. My cock aches with the memory of her, so much so that it feeds ideas into my brain.
Because the little head controls the big head in the sexual running of things.
‘Oh my God, I meant mouth—open my mouth, not my legs!’
I smile but don’t say that either works for me.
‘How brave are you feeling?’
‘What are you up do?’ she asks with suspicion.
‘Give me your panties, plum.’
‘Sure,’ she answers. ‘Just as soon as you give me yours. Swapsies.’
‘I would, as you know, if I had any on.’
‘You can’t seriously expect me to get out of this car without my underwear again—and not at the end of the date, but the beginning!’
I don’t correct her assumption of the evening. This isn’t a date, though the experience may stick out in her memory for years to come. That day when Will fucked it all up.
As the car slows to a stop in the traffic, I lean back and slide my hand into my sports bag on the back seat, beginning to rummage around.
‘What an earth are you doing?’ Sadie asks, her gaze following my arm.
‘Looking for a pair of boxer briefs.’ I always keep the thing packed for every eventuality.
‘Well,’ she says, arching her back and pushing her tits out in the motion. ‘I look forward to tonight’s mysterious excursion.’ Discomfort twists in my gut. ‘But no way am I taking my panties off. Not even for you.’
Clever girl.
I park, open her door, and take her hand.
‘Where are we going, Will?’
‘Here,’ I respond, knocking on the foreboding black door.
Once inside, I hand over my phone and encourage her to do the same.
‘This is a little strange,’ she murmurs as I take her hand again and lead her to the main salon. So strange I can’t even begin to explain.
I try to see the place through her eyes. The potted parlour palms, the heavy drapes, the pianist playing something gentle. The welcoming fire burning at the hearth. It could be the foyer of an exclusive boutique hotel. So long as you don’t notice the smell of sex permeating the air. Or the rapacious looks as you lead a new girl into the fray.
Thankfully, the owner, Dan Masters, recently issued a call for restraint in the main salon. Hopefully, that translates tonight to no one getting it on in here.
The crowd tonight is . . . eclectic. Some dress for an evening at the theatre, some for the club. The odd couple here and there are huddled together, quietly observing. Voyeurs or newbs, at a guess.
We take a seat by the fire; a leather love seat meant for two. The waitress takes our order. Vodka tonic for both of us. Our one and only tonight.
‘This place looks nice.’
There’s a question in her voice and I’m thankful it’s early, and that the surrounding sofas aren’t covered with squirming bodies. Exhibitionists really don’t give a fuck in these walls. And while I might’ve once been enthralled by watching a beautiful woman get off, or be spread across then eaten out on the bar, I find I’m no longer interested in watching that sort of affair. When did that happen. Only recently, I think.
‘So, what is this place? What’s the big secret.’
The waitress returns with our drinks, Sadie’s trusting green gaze lifting with her murmured thanks.
‘About Julian.’
She holds up her hand, her words sharp. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Or him.’ She seems ready to speak again but I cut her off.
‘I know him from here, and from growing up. But we reconnected in this building just recently. And Sadie, I’m sorry, but he’s up to no good.’
‘I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Why must you keep mentioning him? Do you think I can’t read people’s intentions myself?’
‘Darling,’ I say with an arrogant shrug. ‘You haven’t read me very well.’
She looks like I’ve slapped her, but strangely, my face also feels the sting. I pick up my glass, my fingers white and bloodless as I squeeze it hard enough to crack.
‘Julian wants to fuck you because you’re beautiful.’
‘What’s that got to do with you?’
‘Because I won’t let him,’ I answer in a growl. ‘Because he also wants to fuck you to get to me.’
‘You really do flatter yourself.’
‘You don’t get it.’ I won’t tell her the things he said about her at the airport. But I’ll hurt her in other ways. ‘The man is an addict and a sociopath, and he’s got it in for me because he thinks I fucked his wife.’
‘His wife!’ She brings her hand to her mouth like she’s physically ill. ‘He has a wife?’ Her words are pure breath and she looks so innocent. ‘Oh my God, I came all this way for a married man.’
Pain twists in my gut. She came for him.
‘Honestly, I don’t know if he is married, and I don’t know if I . . . I’d’
‘Slept with her?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But if I have, I did, it would’ve been in here. All kinds of fucked up shit goes on inside these walls.’ With my glass I indicate our surrounds. ‘Sadie, please forgive me. But the Den is—’
‘A sex club.’
I expect her to stand—to throw her drink in my face. I’d even imagined she’d storm out of the place. Instead, she picks up her own drink, sipping from it contemplatively.
‘So you brought me here to what ends?’ She glances down, her eyelashes closing over her emotions, hiding her thoughts from me.
‘To show you what kind of men we are. We’re not the kind of people for you. You’re too good.’
‘Excuse me while I climb down from my pedestal,’ she says, her voice a regular conversational tone as she leans forward in her chair. ‘Because, fuck you, Will.’ It pains for me to see her hurt. To see the pulse of her anger tripping in her bare throat. ‘What kind of vacation fling is this,’ she mutters to herself.
‘The dangerous sort. The kind not good for my heart.’
‘You’re not on vacation,’ she says through gritted teeth.
‘You’ve been like a holiday to me.’ The best kind of experience.
‘And everyone has to go home, right?’ Tears glisten in her eyes as I agree.
‘Because I’m wrong for you Sadie.’
‘You mean I’m not good enough?’ she says, challenge now shining in her gaze.
‘Because of the title? The car? How about the fancy apartment? It’s all a sham. I’m indentured to my family crest. I’ll never settle down, because who the fuck would want to be saddled with my issues? My debt? I’ll never have what good people have.’ A partner. A family—Like Ella and Mac. ‘This is all I’ll ever have. Fucking without a connection. Fucking for the sake of release.’
I drain my glass and place it down. ‘I can take you home now, or you can stay. Maybe you don’t believe the things I’m telling you. Maybe you need to see them for yourself. But I warn you, this shit isn’t always pretty.’ And yet I’m desperate for her to stay. I didn’t want her here—didn’t want to partake in her debasement. And yet here I am, tempting her into the parlour like the spider who enticed the fly.
I know what the answer is before she even speaks.
Every step I take this evening will pull us farther apart, stretching the tether between us until it snaps like a piece of elastic, stinging us both. And the longer I put this off is another moment I ignore the inevitable. So, standing, I
hold out my hand.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SADIE
You were the seal of perfection. Perfect in beauty.
As Will stands above me, holding out his hand, an old passage from the bible flits into my mind. Something tells me it’s a description of the devil, which seems pretty apt. And the devil is in the detail of the tension showing in the pinched corners of his eyes, and in the way his jaw flexes and how he doesn’t smile.
‘You don’t want me here,’ I say, taking as I stand.
‘What ever gave you that idea,’ he sort of growls.
‘Why is it okay for you to be here, and not me?’
‘I haven’t been for weeks. I haven’t stepped through the door since the moment you opened yours, all elegance and attitude.’
‘Don’t flatter me.’
‘I didn’t mean to. It just happens to be the truth.’
‘It’s also not an answer to my question.’
My hand still in his, he turns from me, but I see his hard expression anyway. ‘Why don’t you get it?’ he growls—a definite growl this time. ‘There has only been you since that day. Not that it matters. Nothing good can come of this.’
He pulls on my hand and I stumble into his side, though he rights me quickly, separating our bodies. As though my presence burns.
‘You’ll keep hold of my hand,’ he warns. ‘And you won’t stray from my side.’
‘Or else?’
‘Or else I’ll put you over my knee and spank your arse until you’re sobbing.’ He makes to step away, pulling me by my hand again as he mutters, ‘Unless some fucker beats me to it first.’
I’m too stunned to form a response, trotting mindlessly behind him.
We don’t speak as we walk a warren of hallways filled with door-less entrances to darkened rooms. Noises rise from some of them. Voices. Moans. Flesh hitting flesh. There’s a peculiar atmosphere around the place. Something familiar. Yet something I can’t place.
‘The fug of sex,’ answers Will without turning. So I guess I’d said that out loud. Down a set of stairs, we descend into a basement. A basement with something of a stage. And a crowd. Even stranger is the fact that they’re sitting in red velvet cinema seats.