The Club: Ethan

by Jenna Elliot

  The ringtone of my cell goes off, and she slices a gaze inside to where I left my iPhone on the charger.

  “You want to go grab that?”

  I shake my head. I finally have Emme in person, and I’m not wasting a second. “I don’t want happily ever after. If I wanted conventional, I’d still be with Dylan.”

  She frowns. “Then what’s bugging you so much? You hooked up with a gorgeous guy and had great sex. One rocking rebound, if you ask me.”

  She’s right. I know she’s right. But I played Ethan’s game, submitted to everything he asked of me, told him I’d officially be his pet . . . God, there’s just something so pathetic about that, I cringe inside.

  I can’t tell Emme what he did to me, let alone that I liked it. I’m having trouble even admitting it to myself.

  But Ethan was right. Submitting really did heighten the pleasure, turned me into a quivering ball of begging sensation. How do I even wrap my brain around that? I really don’t understand it. Is something wrong with me, or is there something about only having to react, to put the responsibility on him? I only had one thing to worry about—not giving in to an orgasm. And I did that.

  But he cut me loose anyway. Because I was disrespectful and forgot to call him sir.

  Jerk. No way can I tell Emme any of this. She’d understand better if I could.

  The phone rings again.

  She glances inside again. “What if it’s him?”

  “Then he can fucking call back. I’m busy.”

  She frowns. “He has your car.”

  “I am very well aware, thank you.” I’ve been relegated to trips to the bodega on foot for supplies. I considered a rental, but I don’t have anywhere to go that can’t wait. And I am not calling my parents to ask to borrow one of theirs . . .

  The ringing fades to silence, and Emme tries again. “Amelia, by definition, ‘hooking up’ is temporary, no strings attached. That’s what makes it so fun. If you impose normal expectations on a night spent with a hot, sexy guy, then you’re bound to come away disappointed.”

  “I know you’re right.” I sigh. “But we had such a good time together. It just feels like there should be more.”

  “Like what—a fling?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I mean, come on. That club was a trip.”

  She slides her feet from the railing and drops her face into her hands, muffling laughter. “OMG. I still can’t believe you found Mr. Bad Boy and the kinkiest place on the planet.”

  Okay, that makes me feel like smiling, a little at least. “Are you saying I’m a late bloomer?”

  This is an old, old joke between us, and she cracks up.

  “Amelia, you’re heading in a whole new direction for your life. Ethan only proved that every day can be an adventure. You should be excited, not trying to hang onto some guy who isn’t designed to be hung onto. Think of him as a going-away present.”

  “Going away from what?”

  “Everything. Law school. Dylan. Trying to get your parents to notice you. Smile when you remember the night you had with that gorgeous, long-haired sex toy. We’ll still be laughing about that club when we’re rocking in our chairs at the nursing home. I promise.”

  “If we don’t become members, right?”

  That busts her up entirely. And I finally laugh with her. Okay, I do feel better. Fuck Ethan. I did what he asked. If it wasn’t good enough for him, then I’m just going to take my orgasms and say, “Sayonara, buddy!”

  “His loss, right?” I say.

  She reaches over and pats my knee. “Fucking loser of the first water, honey. Guys like that are meant to screw. Period. Do not let them open their mouths. You’ll be disappointed.”

  “Damn straight.” But I think about the cars he paints, and his studio.

  And all the women he has painted there.

  “You think Kevin will go pick up my Jeep when it’s done?” I ask, thinking her biggest brother—not the oldest, but the biggest—will spare me the agony. “He can even say he’s my boyfriend, so Ethan’ll think he’s already been replaced.”

  “Of course Kevin will do it.” She fist pumps the air. “Good for you.”

  I’m sure she means it. Emme will never say it, but I know she’s got to be tired of listening to me angst.

  She reaches for her coffee cup again, and raises it in a toast. “Now, enough with the brainless boytoy. Since you’re turning your life around, you need to tell me what you’ve got planned. Law school went bye-bye, so what’s next?”

  I’d like to tell her I have a plan. She does. She studies accounting. She doesn’t love it, but it plays to her strengths, and will give her a career with a great income. We’re different that way. I want a career I feel passionate about. Then again, I’ve never had to worry about keeping a roof over my head.

  “I’m not sure. I can’t do much with my pre-law degree, so graduate school might be my best option.”

  Emme screws her faces up. “I told you to major in economics. You could have done something with that.”

  “Yeah, like pull my hair out. Your forte, not mine.”

  “Seriously, if you’re thinking about going for a master’s, you should totally come to the University of Miami. We can meet in the library, or you can come into the Starbucks when I’m on shift to study. I’ll give you my freebies. We’ll hang out more often.”

  I open my mouth to tell her I like the idea, but my phone starts ringing again. I squint through the glass doors as if I can see the caller ID from here. “I’m not usually so in demand, and I haven’t heard from Ethan since I left the club. Why would he all of a sudden call—”

  “Your car’s ready?” she suggests.

  “Then leave a message. Why would he keep calling?”

  “He’s OCD?”

  Now I screw up my face. I don’t really know if Ethan is OCD. He never gave me that impression. Of course, I didn’t really take the time to know him.

  But if, by some miracle, it is him, I’m not going to be easily available. Not the way I was at the club. Or on the side of the road. I’ll let him keep calling, like maybe a dozen more times. Until I’m damn good and ready to take the call.

  “Maybe I should catch a ride with you, and go talk to an advisor.” State university . . . My parents will freak.

  “I open the shop again in the morning, but my class isn’t until two. Plenty of time to swing by and get you if you don’t have your car back yet.”

  “Thanks, I—” The phone rings again. I put to my feet. “Honestly. This is getting ridiculous.”

  I slide open the doors and charge straight to the dining room.

  Emme follows me. “Who is it?”

  I glance down at the display. Whoa. Not Ethan. “My father.”

  We both just stare. My father never calls me. My mother, sometimes. My father never. And never four times in a row. Something’s wrong.

  “You should probably call him back,” Emme suggests.

  I press redial and brace myself.

  He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, Daddy. Is everything all right?”

  “You tell me, Amelia.”

  I instantly recognize the we-have-to-have-a-talk-young-lady voice. “I’m not sure what—”

  “I want to know what’s going on,” he demands. “I understand your car’s in an auto body shop being repaired.”

  “Oh. It’s okay. Just a fender bender. Literally.” I’m flustered. This isn’t what I expect. “I didn’t even think to mention it . . . Wait, how do you know?”

  “Your credit card statement.”

  For one shining moment, everything inside of me melts. He’s calling because he’s worried. “I’m so sorry. I should have said something. I didn’t realize you monitored my card.”

  “My assistant came across the charge,” he says matter-of-factly. “It ran through at five forty-five in the morning, Amelia. And don’t tell me the card company runs charges then. My assistant confirmed that’s when the charge came through.”

  He
thinks I’ll lie? I don’t get a chance to wrap my brain around that before he’s off and running again.

  “I want to know why you were running into ditches at that time of the morning. Were you inebriated? I’m shocked by this kind of behavior, young lady. The last thing your mother and I want to deal with is your mug shot online when our team is representing the senator.”

  Emme’s watching me, clearly worried, and so many things hit me at once, I just stare at the phone, unable to reply. He hasn’t even asked if I’m all right. And how does he know I was in a ditch? My credit card statement didn’t serve up that detail. That much I do know.

  His assistant.

  Of course, my father isn’t monitoring my credit card. Not the man who couldn’t be bothered to show up and watch me accept my diploma and give my valedictorian speech when I graduated first in my high school class.

  “I’m the head of the firm, Amelia, and have a reputation to uphold. It’s business. You understand.”

  Good old dad. Same excuse as always . . . business. My graduation should have been more important than business. My car accident and well-being was more important than business. I didn’t understand then. I still don’t. And I really don’t know why I feel surprised, and hurt. I’m used to him.

  Or should be.

  Maybe it’s all the tension and upheaval of the past few days. Hell, the past few weeks as I’ve been jettisoning fiancés and schools and trying to figure out what’s going to make me happy. But something inside me just snaps.

  “I had an accident, Daddy, and you don’t even ask if I’m okay. Do you really need me to tell you what’s going on? I didn’t tell you I had an accident, because it never occurred to me that you’d care. I should have known that all you’d be worried about is the fallout for you and Mom.”

  Emme sinks down to sit on the arm of the sofa, hands clamped over her mouth and eyes wide. She can’t believe what she’s hearing. Neither can my father, judging from the silence on the other end of the cell connection.

  “Young lady,” he finally says, and I can hear emotion in his voice. Inconvenience. He’s probably being detained from some meeting by making this call. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but your mother and I aren’t happy with you. In the past few weeks, you’ve made some life-altering decisions without any input from us whatsoever.”

  “I’m re-evaluating, Daddy. I want—”

  “You’re throwing away opportunity, Amelia. That’s what you’re doing. And we don’t understand where all this rebellion is coming from . . .”

  A long time in coming, actually.

  “Your mother and I have given you everything . . .”

  Except what matters most to me.

  “But we’re not helping you throw your life away. Not when you’re partying at all hours and wrecking cars. Until you come to your senses, you’re on your own, young lady. I’m putting a hold on your trust. I’m calling the bank right now. Your mother and I will be available to discuss the situation if and when you’re ready. Just contact my assistant, and we’ll make time for you.”

  Click.

  I slowly set the phone down on the counter. It’s another moment before I can face Emme, before I shake off the panic and anger that’s sending waves of ice and heat alternately down my spine. My chest is so tight, I don’t know if I’ll burst into tears or scream.

  “Honey, you okay?” she asks in a whisper. She’s afraid to move, too.

  My eyes flutter shut for a second as I try to find my breath, try to regroup. I can’t think this through just yet. I can’t. I know my father’s angry, but I’ve never heard him so . . . cold.

  “Amelia?”

  Finally, I manage a solid breath. “I’m okay.”

  One look at her and I know she knows I’m lying.

  “What’d he say?”

  “He’s cutting me off, stopping my trust.”

  Emme clamps her hands over her mouth again and stares at me with wide eyes. She knows what no trust means.

  I can only nod.

  We stand there in silence forever. I have no words. Neither does she. We both know what my father wants—to force me into returning to law school. To come to my senses. And he’s using the purse strings to bully me.

  “Can’t you go talk with them?” she suggests hopefully. “Reassure them that you have a plan. It’s just a little different from the one they made for you.”

  “Yeah, right.” I snort. “No, I either stand on my own or let them keep manipulating me. It’s that simple.”

  She can’t argue that. Not when it’s the truth.

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  I have no earthly idea. None. I don’t have a job. I spent the past three years working internships in law firms between classes at school. Cultivating my options, which I’ve just thrown away, apparently.

  “I’ll figure things out.” If I reassure her, then maybe I’ll feel reassured. “I just have to take one thing at a time.”

  Ethan.

  My stomach sinks, and I exhale hard. “I have to call him. He can’t fix my fender because I can no longer pay for it.”

  18

  Mia

  I’M THINKING MY day can’t get any worse as I walk to the bodega for a paper to look for a job the old-fashioned way—in the newspaper classifieds. My father wasn’t playing around. He must have gotten off the phone with me and told his assistant to get to work cutting me off.

  Within twenty-four hours, life as I’d known it shut down one agonizing convenience at a time.

  Access to bank accounts went first. Then my ability to check them via the Internet. The apartment super informed me he’d received notice that the direct withdrawal of my rent wouldn’t take place next week unless I provided a new account number. I told him I’d have it to him ASAP.

  Now I’m flipping out.

  I have a bit of cash in my purse, but I resent having to spend even the fifty cents it’ll cost me to buy a newspaper.

  Emme told me I can stay with her, so I won’t be homeless. But that’s not a long-term option. Not much of a short-term one, either, since she rents a mother-in-law suite that’s a studio attached to her landlord’s house. Her rental agreement is for one tenant who drags the trash to the street on Mondays and Thursdays. Not the greatest arrangement maybe, but it gets Emme out of her house at a price she can afford.

  I’m considering liquidating my stuff to buy me a little time, but my most valuable asset—my Jeep—is in my father’s name. Just the thought starts me fuming all over again.

  He knows I’m freaking. He’s counting on it, so I agree to go back to school. I don’t know where he is on Dylan. But I don’t care. I resent that he’s treating me this way. I resent my mother’s silence. Not that she’d ever go against him. Not in this lifetime, and certainly not for me.

  My cell phone rings. I pull it from my pocket, but it goes dead before caller ID comes through. Looks like my phone’s gone now, too. And I’ll never know if Ethan tried to call me back.

  Doesn’t matter anyway. Kevin agreed to give me a lift to the auto body shop. He’s nearly as big as Ethan and way more invested in me than Mr. Sex Pervert.

  I’m still pissed at him. Pissed at the world. But mostly at myself.

  Why didn’t it ever occur to me to set aside some money in an account that wasn’t joint with my parents? I’m so spoiled by my trust fund allowance that I spend whatever I need. There’s always another check on the first of the month. Until now.

  But just because my father controls the purse strings, doesn’t mean he controls me.

  I am not crawling back to him. I’m more determined than ever. Now that I know what it means to feel alive, I refuse to go back. If I’ve learned anything since meeting Ethan, there’s more to life than safe and predicable.

  I certainly don’t need him. South Beach is full of hot guys. Shirtless guys on skateboards, muscled kite surfers off the beach. Maybe I’ll backpack across Europe, and meet some foreign guys, and put all thos
e years of French class to use. If I sell everything in my apartment, I should be able to afford airfare and have some money to pay for a hostel until I get a paycheck. I’ll wait tables, teach kite surfing, or something like that. I’ll meet tons of guys in a bar.

  As if just my thoughts can conjure up a studly type, a helmeted rider in a black leather jacket and black helmet with a dark faceplate roars down the street. He pulls up to the curb right beside me.

  “Sweet bike,” I say, my admiration sincere. The lines of his bike all futuristic and polished chrome are to die for. Even the streaks of crimson and pink over black on the paint job is pretty wicked.

  Those artful streaks should have been my first clue.

  “You flirting with me, baby doll?” I recognize that sexy voice. The rider flips up the faceplate . . . Ethan.

  My pulse freaking kicks into gear. Shit.

  I don’t even try to hold back my annoyance. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  He hands me a helmet. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” I fold my arms over my chest and stand my ground. I’ve had about enough of men telling me what to do. “Last I heard, you dismissed me, so I’m not going anywhere with you on that death trap.”

  “This is a Ducati Multistrada 1200 S Granturismo, babe.”

  Does he seriously think a sexy Italian accent and studly leathers will win me over?

  What the hell is wrong with the men in my life? Every one of them is trying to bully me, make me submit . . .

  Not what I need to be thinking about. My insides are already melting like lava. Anger. Arousal. A combo of both. I only know I will not so much as waste one more fucking second thinking about this man.

  “No way am I going with you, sir.”

  No reaction, much to my disappointment. He just shrugs and asks, “What’s wrong, babe? Don’t you love me anymore?”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  “Been there, done that. And you’ve got the sweetest-tasting little ass.” He leans over and snags my wrist as I move away. He yanks me so close that his big body blocks the sun from my eyes. I can’t see much of his face because of the helmet, but it doesn’t matter. Just being close to him kicks up memories I don’t want to think about. Stalking me at the sex club. Licking me into the hottest orgasm of the century.