The Club

by Sophie Starr

  The Club

  Naughty Fairytales

  Sophie Starr

  The Club

  By Sophie Starr

  This is a work of fiction.

  All names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright 2013 Tara Brown

  Text Copyright © 2013 Tara Brown

  This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This work may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written consent of the publisher.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted.

  Published by Tara Brown.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover Art by Dark Tree Designs

  Edited by Andrea Burns

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781370910229

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  Foreword

  This book is an adult fantasy novel, an erotic novel. It is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 or those who are sensitive to erotic novels.

  Please find other books of mine that have a lesser rating if you are in those two categories.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  The End

  Other Books by Sophie Starr

  About the Author

  1

  The clock on the wall ticks, echoing in the silence of the room and attempting to drive me crazier by the second. I swear I can hear it echoing in my head along with the sound from my anxiously tapping Jimmy Choo. All of it is bouncing off the walls in the office. There is no way it could get any quieter in the room beyond the small noises I am making. I feel like the walls are encroaching on me, pushing the intensely awkward energy in the room at me.

  There should be wine or vodka served when you sign papers ending something as emotional as a marriage. I can feel the pieces of my heart flaking off, landing on the floor around us, like a dandelion losing its wisps in the wind.

  I tug at the neck of my sweater vest, glancing about for a fan or a window.

  Forget the vodka, even just a cigarette or two.

  Anything would be better than the stark emptiness of the room I am ending my life in.

  My life from before.

  My before.

  The word before never meant anything to me, until this moment. Now it is everything. It is the happiness I thought I had and the life I thought I lived. It is the sick feeling of fullness in my stomach that prevents me from eating now. It is the revolt I feel inside of me.

  Mr. Monotone, the court-appointed mediator, drums on through the rules of my impending divorce. It’s like the theme song to the end of the world. The world from before is slowly disappearing, crumbling away like it’s falling off a cliff I can’t see. I just see the dust and the end and the lack of detail. Because over that cliff is my future and it’s so bleak I don't think I can bear to look.

  Instead, I glance at Mr. Monotone, wondering if it would be rude of me to yell at him to hurry the hell up. I just want this nightmare to end. I want the lies on those papers to be gone. Our marriage is a lie, it always was.

  I make a mistake, scanning the room for anything to look at, to focus on so the world around me will stop spinning.

  But my eyes catch his as they search the modern space. My sweater vest feels as if it’s closing around my throat. The blurring in my peripheral and sweating is a sign that my anxiety is about to get out of control; it’s a bit touchy these days.

  His dark-brown eyes, which as of late have been soulless and hardened, slowly fill with emotion. Remorse lingers in there with the indifference I have seen from him.

  It isn’t enough remorse to stop the divorce or the lies or the love of another woman.

  Is she a woman? I would go with child.

  It isn’t enough to change the fact I am getting robbed of my money because I have to pay HIM alimony.

  It’s really no wonder my anxiety is back again.

  No, his dark eyes are filled with just enough to show me he feels bad about the way he’s treating me and taking advantage of me.

  Asshole.

  It has been a year of getting everything in order and although it’s finally here, I don't feel any comfort that I am about to sign my marriage away. I am about to undo something I imagined could never be undone.

  I assumed my love was forever, like the never-ending symbol of the ring he gave me.

  Now it saddens me that we let it slip away.

  Not that it was we as much as it was him.

  Sort of like how it didn't just slip away as much as he slipped inside of a twenty-five-year-old. He fell and landed inside of her, in our house.

  That was the end of the marriage.

  No warning.

  No symptoms that things were bad and that we were having issues. He was smiles and waves and kisses right to the bitter end.

  The best part was that I was smug.

  I had it all and he let me think that.

  Life was never perfect—we had fights but to me they were nothing. Petty things, like he wanted kids and I wanted to wait a little longer. He wanted them now and I wanted the big promotion at the consulting firm I am a consultant for. I had busted my ass day and night and I was just about to get the promotion when Evan decided we should start to have kids because we both weren’t getting any younger. I asked him to wait a couple years and he said no.

  I didn't know that was the end for him. I thought it was a fight.

  I know it now, and if I could have gone back, knowing it would drive a wedge between us, I might have changed my mind.

  Looking back at before, my before, I can see now why he left me for her—she’s twenty-five. She’s tight and gorgeous. She doesn't say no or think for herself. She’s his. She even calls him Daddy when they have sex. I only know this because I caught them in the act. It was how I discovered we were having problems and how I found out my marriage was over. He knew it was over. He was just waiting to tell me when the time was right. Or waiting it out in hopes I got another promotion so his alimony would be higher.

  The image of it all creeps through my mind, forcing me to see it perfectly. The clarity improves the moment I close my eyes. The image tears at my guts, burning my insides.

  The sounds of the shouting and panting fill my head as if fresh in the air, instead of Mr. Monotone. Her squeaky voice grunting and shouting, “Harder, Daddy.”

  It has scarred me for life.

  The next images blur a little as my memories mix with the emotions still lingering inside of me. I kicked the door open and they scrambled off the bed.

  I turned and left.

  I didn't fight her for him.

  I didn't scream at them.

  I didn't stay in the house as they dressed or finished or whatever.

  I just left, ran actually.

  He found me at the park down the road, sitting on a bench. My eyes were locked, staring at the trees. The sound of children filled the air from the playground next to me.

  It was ironic that the music my marriage died to was the laughing of children. The children, in his mind, we would never have. His reasoning for having the affair on me was she wanted kids and I didn't. Not that I had ever said I didn't want kids, I just wanted to wait.

&
nbsp; I open my eyes, fighting the tears that fill my throat as Mr. Monotone continues. My eyes dart to the right, to the man I used to believe was my soul mate. But now he is in love with her, they’re engaged and getting married as soon as we sign these papers. I am the only thing in his way from being with his soul mate. Like a speed bump, slowing him down from the life he wants to live.

  I notice Evan looking at his watch, the one I gave him. It surprises me he still wears it. I thought he sold it or pawned it off to buy her that engagement ring. The fucking ring is twice the size of mine.

  I glance to where she’s in the hallway waiting for us, and I swear I can see the light from the hallway glint off of the damned ring as she turns it. It looks like a nervous habit, but I swear she’s fidgeting with the damned rock on her finger to mock me, flashing it in front of me. My small ring now sits on the table near his hands. The circle of lies he told me when we married.

  I wish I could tell her to enjoy his small dick, I know I never did. I bought a vibrator the first year we were married. I still use it, less now though. It’s as if getting off is conflicting with the feelings inside of me.

  My only saving grace was that God did gift him with a magic tongue. He could make me come in about three minutes flat. I used to call it the magic ride. Now it’s her magic ride. She gets my money. My house. My husband. My car. She gets it all. I pay less alimony this way, or so my lawyer says I do.

  As the sun shines in the window, I notice something odd. Evan looks different than before. He’s wearing skinny jeans, a t-shirt with a tiger on it, some canvas shoes, and a jean jacket. The beanie hat is like moron icing on the Gap-commercial cupcake.

  If he wasn't thirty-eight he might look like a real hipster. This must be what happens when you get engaged to a twenty-five-year-old vegan. I wonder if they shop at thrift stores? He has always been a little artistic. I thought it was adorable before.

  Of course, Daisy is wearing a flowered maxi dress and cardigan. I’m terrified to really look at her through the window of the office. I know it looks like I’m hating on her but the outfit really is just making me wonder if she’s wearing Birkenstocks under that dress. My mother wears maxi dresses and Birks in the summer at our beach house.

  The very best part about Daisy though—the only detail about her that makes me feel even slightly better about myself—is Daisy’s long honey-blonde hair is braided with an actual daisy in it.

  I want to hit her with her sandal. Or his canvas shoe.

  It’s like I don't even know him.

  My eyes hunt down the clock, creating an inward moan when I realize it’s been nearly two hours of Mr. Monotone.

  I need a smoke.

  He nods and smiles and hands us both pens and paper. I sign where my lawyer points. She smells like cinnamon and soap. I close my eyes as I sign the paper, taking in a huge inhale of her.

  The moment it’s done I sigh, sliding the paper back and dropping the pen.

  It’s done and I can move on from this stressful nightmare. Maybe I should go on a vacation somewhere. Make sure it is hot so I can live in my bikini and drink. Hot places always make it seem so much more acceptable to be drunk at noon.

  I jump up, basically running for the elevator. My brain has two thoughts: firstly, escaping out of this office so I don’t have to ride down with them, and secondly, drinking. Something strong and heady. An Irishman maybe?

  I sigh again as the doors on the elevator start to close, as if my brain is shouting for joy because we made it. But then like in a horror movie, Evan stops the doors and gets in alone.

  I panic, looking away from him. Signing these papers was a lot harder than I thought it would be, but riding in the elevator with him feels like it might be some sort of water torture.

  He leans his larger frame again the wall beside me, twitching and clenching his fists, something he only does when he’s nervous. “I have something to tell you, and I want you to hear it from me.”

  My stomach drops. “I don't care. Whatever it is, it’s your business now.”

  He ignores me, speaking softly, “Daisy and I are pregnant.” His face is one that might dare to suggest he pities me. I want him to pity me for about a second, then I just want to throw up but I push past it.

  “Oh, that is awesome. Congratulations, Evan. I am very happy for you two. It's just awesome. So awesome.” I nod as the lump rises in my throat more. They’re having a baby, the baby I wanted with him. My baby. Fucking awesome.

  The thought is fleeting and hateful, but it’s there and I can’t take it back. The words, my baby, linger for seconds and then disappear.

  “I am sorry about everything. I know it’s a bit late. We made such a mess of things and I’m sorry for my part in it all.” He grabs my sweaty hands, probably feeling the water pooling in them as he grips tighter.

  “It’s fine, Evan. We wanted different things.” I smile as the damn doors finally open. But just as I yank my hand from his, I am faced with her staring at me. She’s glowing and smiling at us, like we didn't just sign fucking divorce papers.

  He walks past me, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips the way he always did mine. I can’t move, so I am standing there like an idiot when he turns and waves. “Bye, Hannah!” He smiles as he leaves me in the elevator. I just let the doors close, leaving me there to cry alone.

  The pain in my chest is too much to bear—it hurts so much. They’re pregnant with the baby I wanted—eventually.

  My purse vibrates, bringing back the reality that I’m sobbing in an elevator. “Hello?”

  “I’m out front. I just saw him leave.” My best friend, Rebecca, speaks softly into the phone. I don't know if I have ever felt rescued before in my life, but the sensation of being rescued fills me when I hear her voice. The elevator doors part and my feet start their sprint across the tile floor.

  I need a stiff drink.

  I run as fast as my heels will carry me, diving into the SUV’s open door that feels like the embrace of my mother when I was a child. I close it, letting the feeling of being safe wrap itself around me.

  “Wanna get drunk?”

  I nod. “In a couple hours. Meet me at our bar. I have to go back to work now.”

  She doesn't talk about it. She doesn't ask a thousand questions. She leans in, taking me in her arms and holds me tightly, whispering one thing. “Fuck them both.”

  My eyes and heart are closed, pressing shut to block out the world, and yet she finds her way in.

  We sit there for a moment, waiting for the storm of bad feelings to leave the SUV.

  “You don't really have to work?”

  I wipe my face and straighten up. “I do. I have a huge file to finish before I can get as trashed as I am planning on getting.”

  “I would have called in sick, Hannah.” She starts the vehicle, heading for my office building a few streets over.

  It makes me smile through the bitter taste in my mouth. “Probably the reason I’m divorced.”

  She shakes her head as she makes a turn, not turning her head to look at me. “No, that would be because you married a giant douche nozzle.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  She shrugs. “I couldn't let you do this alone.” She parks and gives me a look. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t cried for a year, literally a year and now the stupid tears won’t stop.”

  She hugs me again. “I’ll wait here ten minutes. Just come back out if you have to.”

  I kiss her cheek, lingering there and savoring the smell of her. It’s always the same, some French perfume I can’t pronounce properly. “Thanks.” But I don't stop myself. I grab the handle and jump out, hurrying inside to pretend the whole world didn't just land on me with a giant thud.

  When I hit the main floor button I force my tears back as I pull out my mirror to see my mascara and tear-stained face.

  “Damn.” I drag my fingers under my eyes but it needs more of a plastic surgery fix than anything else. So when the doo
rs open, I duck my head and hurry to my office. I pull my bag out, grabbing my mirror and face wipes. It takes ten full minutes before I even come close to human and under sixty, but when I’m done the red-rimmed eyes look a little better.

  Brandon ducks his head in, narrowing his gaze. “You all right?”

  I nod. He’s the only person in my office who knows.

  “So it’s done then?”

  “Yup.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Wanna get a drink or smash shit?”

  I shake my head. “I’m meeting Bec.”

  He offers me a wry grin. “What is it straight people say to each other in this moment? Don't hesitate getting back in there, Hannah. You aren’t getting any younger. I think those are the right words.” He offers a wink before leaving me, mouth agape, at my desk.

  I resist the urge to Google what my odds are at finding happiness after a divorce in my mid-thirties with no children as I finish the file. If I am anything, it’s professional.

  2

  Finishing my work just in time, I run from the office before I have to talk to anyone. I have never wanted a Friday to come so badly.

  I flag a cabbie and head for the bar called The Grind. Realizing I’m at the bar early, I end up with twenty free minutes to sit alone and rehash all the details of my day as I wait for Rebecca. Normally we come here because it is the best bar to eat at after work, but today I have a horrid feeling she wants me to start taking my dating more seriously, and is using this as a starting-off point.

  Like most nights, the bar is filled with the elite, all wearing suits and laughing while they get drunker than they intended. It’s not the sort of place I want to pick up or be picked up at. I don't need someone to compete over career success with.

  It’s actually a bit depressing to see all the single businessmen hang out after work. It’s a complete sausage fest with the odd woman sitting alone. She only ever lasts a few seconds before being attacked by the rabid hounds. I can see that tonight that is me. I have to assume the bags under my eyes and blank stare on my face is what is keeping them from coming over tonight.