The Club

by Lauren Rowe

  She thinks everyone lies to me—and that I want it that way? What does she mean? Is she calling me a liar—or, at least, a self-deluding prick? Fine. Maybe she’s right.

  I sit at the table, rubbing my face.

  I remember how she looked over at me from the bed, her blue eyes frantic. Don’t move, her eyes commanded me. Stay hidden. And I did. I stayed hidden. I didn’t move. I didn’t do a damned thing. And she paid the price for my worthlessness.

  No upside, huh? Is that what she thinks about me? Well, guess what? She’s right. I’m all downside, baby—I’m a fucked-up pile of shit without a single redeeming quality. You want to play with Jonas Faraday? Be prepared to get hurt, then. Boom. Because that’s all I’ve got for you. A big, steaming pile of hurt.

  Fuck it.

  I pull the box toward me. Let’s see what “all my fantasies becoming reality” looks like when delivered to my doorstep by FedEx. Hopefully, the rest of the box will be kinder to me than Sarah’s brutal note.

  There’s an iPhone pre-loaded with an app, a welcome booklet, and a rubber bracelet. According to my brief skim of the booklet, if I’m in the mood to meet up with a female Club member, any time of day or night, anywhere in the world, I check-in on the app and register my current or future location with an anonymous pin number. “You have been meticulously matched with other members within The Club, and only compatible members will have access to your posts and check-ins,” the instructions say. When I show up at the meeting spot, I’m required to wear my color-coded bracelet—I’ve been assigned purple, whatever that means (“self-deluding prick,” maybe?)—and then wait for all the purple-coded women in The Club to flock to my registered spot and descend upon me like purple moths to a purple flame.

  The instructions go on to explain, “Male members are required to wear their assigned color-coded bracelets at all check-ins. Women may choose to wear their bracelets or not—at their sole discretion—ensuring them the opportunity to assess the situation before identifying themselves. After much experimentation, we have determined this system maximizes satisfaction and safety for all involved.”

  Apparently, I can also send requests and invitations to specific members, soliciting their attendance at my check-in spot, or, I can just roll the dice and see who shows up. “No matter how you decide to check in, however, rest assured that only compatible persons, pre-selected for your preferences specifically, will respond. Persons outside of your color-code cannot access your posts and check-ins.”

  She sees no upside to me, huh? Fine. She’s sure I’ll get everything I want out of my membership? Damn straight I will. I spent two hundred fifty thousand dollars on this goddamned membership, might as well fucking use it. Why not? Why fucking not? Apparently, that’s what she expects me to do. Apparently, that’s what she wants me to do.

  I unlock my Club-issued iPhone and open the pre-loaded app. I look at my watch. 3:06 p.m. Using the pin number assigned to me, I check myself into one of my favorite bars, a nearby place called The Pine Box, at 5:00 p.m. Fuck it. Let’s see if someone besides My Beautiful Intake Agent—Sarah—can see an upside to me. Maybe some woman besides Sarah—whoever the hell she is—will be able to see an upside to a guy who can give her the best fuck of her life.

  Chapter 7

  Jonas

  The Pine Box is packed, as usual. I take a seat at the bar.

  “A Heineken.”

  The bartender nods.

  I touch the purple band on my wrist. It feels like a neon sign flashing “pervert.” I look at my watch. I’m a few minutes early. How long does it usually take for the purple moths to descend, I wonder? I scan the bar. I don’t see any purple bracelets out there in the crowd. But, apparently, under the rules, I might never see one. Any one of these women could be a member, I suppose—and many of them are attractive. Highly attractive, actually.

  Two women tucked into a booth in the far corner catch my attention. One of them is exactly the kind of woman I’d usually make a beeline for—tall and honey blonde with an athletic frame. Vintage Christy Brinkley. She’s what anyone would go for—anyone who watches Hollywood movies or football or porn. But for some reason, it’s the woman sitting across from her who’s peaked my interest the most. And that’s weird because I can’t even see her face. She’s intently studying a menu, and her face is completely hidden. All I can see is the top of her forehead poking out from behind the menu, and her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders. Her hands are particularly striking—long, slender fingers, natural fingernails and a simple silver band on her right thumb. Sexy.

  But the thing that pulls my attention to her the most is her skin—what little I can see of it, anyway, on her hands and forearms and that tiny sliver of forehead peeking out from the top of the menu. Her skin is the exact same olive tone I imagine Sarah’s would be, and it looks smooth and soft, too, just like Sarah’s looked in the two photos she sent me. I can’t peel my eyes away from the woman behind the menu. I just want to see her face. If I could just see her face, just once, maybe it’d give me something—anything—to imagine when I’m in the shower, lathering myself after a workout and fantasizing about making Sarah come.

  The bartender puts my beer on the counter in front of me. I nod at him and throw down a ten.

  But what am I thinking? I’m not going to think about Sarah anymore. That’s the whole point of me coming here tonight wearing my pervert-purple bracelet, isn’t it? I’m here to rid myself of her. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me? Fine. I’m done with her, too. Tonight, I’m going to give my undivided attention to my new purple fuck buddies, whoever they may be.

  I glance at my watch. Five minutes past five o’clock. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

  Once things get rolling with The Club, I surely won’t have time to think about Sarah ever again. I’ll be too busy making all my new purple partners lose their minds and then serenely saying goodbye to them without the tiniest need to feel remorse. And they’ll be content and satisfied, too—because that’s exactly what they’ll have signed up for. Nothing more. There’ll be no thoughts of soul mates and some sort of “deeper connection.” We’ll both be sexually satisfied, and that will be enough for us. No hurt feelings. I’ll be like a kid in a candy store. Why did she say everyone lies to me and that’s what I want? That’s exactly the opposite of what I want. What did she mean?

  I suddenly find myself wishing the woman behind the menu would turn out to be one of my new purple playmates. It seems quite possible, because it sure feels like she’s been secretly staring at me every time I look away. Or maybe it’s the blonde that’s making me feel that way—the blonde’s not even hiding her repeated glances and smiles over at me. Hey, maybe they’re both up for grabs. But, no, that can’t be. I didn’t write anything about wanting a threesome in my application. Been there, done that. It’s not my thing. Both times I tried it, I wound up focusing on one woman to the exclusion of the other, and the “extra” woman started getting all pissy and insistent and overcompensating, until finally she became a downright hindrance to me accomplishing my mission with the woman I wanted to focus on. I realized pretty quickly that I strongly prefer to give one woman my undivided attention.

  To be honest, even if the blonde were wearing a purple bracelet right now, I’m not sure I’d be all that interested, even though she’s exactly what I usually go for. For some reason, I just don’t want my usual tonight. Tonight, I want to witness an olive-hued beauty writhing around on my white sheets. Hell, even if the woman behind the menu isn’t a member, maybe I’ll take her home anyway and give her the night of her life.

  But that’s just stupid. If I came here to pick up a random woman in the bar, why the hell did I just pay two hundred fifty thousand dollars for The Club to set me up with “uncannily compatible” women? I need to just cool my jets and focus on the task at hand.

  I take a large gulp of my beer and look around the bar. There are a lot of good-looking women here. I still don’t see anyone wea
ring a purple bracelet, though. I feel like the hunted, rather than the hunter, and I’m not used to it. I’m not sure I like it. In fact, I’m sure I don’t. I like being in control at all times.

  Maybe I’m supposed to check the app to see if someone else has checked in? And then go on some sort of wild goose chase, looking for her in the bar? Yeah, I bet I’m supposed to do that. I couldn’t concentrate on all the instructions and materials The Club sent me—I was so fucking out of my mind about Sarah—I figured I’d just wing it.

  Sarah.

  Why’d she give up on me like that—without giving me a say in the matter? I thought things were going so well between us. I’ve never wanted a woman so much in all my life—and I’ve never even seen her! What the hell did she expect from me? What kind of upside did she expect me to promise her just to meet her in person? Talk about demanding. Unreasonable. I probably dodged a bullet there.

  No, even in my anger, I know that’s not true. The only one who dodged a bullet here was Sarah. She ran like hell because she’s so damned smart. Even though I’m pissed, I can’t help smiling, thinking about our email exchange. “You did not just ask me, ‘What’s your sign?’” she said. “Smooth, you woman wizard, you,” she said. Even when she kicked my ass, I loved it. If only she would have let me see her, things would have been different. I know they would have. The kind of chemistry we have—via fucking email—doesn’t happen every day. It pains me to wonder how off the charts our chemistry would have been in person. It sure would have been nice if she’d have let me decide what I was or wasn’t willing to give her, rather than her deciding that, whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Shit, I can’t even think straight just thinking about her.

  I look over at that corner booth again. Menu Girl’s still hidden behind that damned menu. How long does it take to decide what to order? The skin on her arm is luscious. Yeah, I don’t know if I can resist going after that woman behind the menu tonight, a quarter-mill spent on membership fees or not. I’ve got a whole year to dabble in The Club’s offerings, after all. Why rush? Tonight, maybe I’ll partake in Sarah’s olive-skinned double. Yeah, Menu Girl can be my Sarah stand-in. What better way to help me lose interest in Sarah? I’ll imagine that woman in the corner is Sarah, take her home, taste her, make her come, fuck her brains out, and then let the usual wave of complete disinterest wash over me. If Menu Girl gets her feelings hurt, that’s her problem. It’ll be classic aversion therapy—A Clockwork Sarah—and I’ll be cured of Sarah forever.

  I stand up from my stool. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Whoever she is, her feelings be damned tonight. If I can’t get Sarah off my mind, then I’ll fuck someone else’s brains out until I can.

  “Hi there.”

  It’s a fair-skinned brunette with startling blue eyes. She’s stunningly attractive—a real head-turner. She grins at me and pushes a lock of dark hair behind her ear, plainly showcasing the purple bracelet on her wrist as she does it. She smiles broadly when my eyes lock onto her bracelet. Her teeth are white and straight.

  “Hi,” I reply, glancing over at the corner, but a lingering group of people has moved between us and I can’t see Menu Girl. Shit.

  “I’m Stacy,” my new friend says, putting out her hand. “You’re a brand new member, right?”

  “Yeah.” As I take Stacy’s hand, I glance back to the corner again. I’m startled to see Menu Girl’s big brown eyes glaring at me over the top of her menu. The minute our eyes meet, she abruptly looks away and raises the menu again. What the hell? She was glaring at me just now.

  Every hair on my body suddenly stands on end. Oh my God.

  I look back at my would-be purple companion. “Would you excuse me for just a minute?”

  Her face falls. “You’re not going to buy me a drink?”

  “I’m sorry, yes, of course, I am. What would you like?”

  She stops to think about it for a moment and I feel like I’m going to explode with nervous anxiety. Come on. Please. Make up your mind. It’s not a life-changing decision. It’s a drink order.

  “A glass of chardonnay would be great,” she finally says, flashing me her most alluring smile, and I quickly place her order.

  A growing urgency is swelling inside me. I’m having a crazy thought right now.

  Stacy puts her hand on my arm. “You never told me your name.”

  “Jonas.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jonas.” She licks her lips. Her features are ridiculously well put together. “What a pleasant surprise you are, I’ve got to say.”

  I try to smile back, but I’m too distracted to focus on her. I’m having an insane thought, a maniacal and self-deluding-prick thought. I’m thinking that Sarah came here tonight. I’m thinking Sarah, my beautiful Sarah, is sitting in this room right now, forty yards away, watching me from behind a fucking menu. I’m thinking that, despite her handwritten note, she can’t stop thinking of me any more than I can stop thinking of her.

  “You, too, Stacy. I’ll be right back. Just enjoy your wine for a minute.” I turn away from Stacy, without waiting for her reply, and instantly lurch toward the corner booth, my heart clanging in my chest all the while.

  “Excuse me,” I say, making my way through the lingering crowd, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  She’s not at the booth anymore.

  I look around frantically, but she’s nowhere to be seen. The woman behind the menu and her supermodel friend are both long gone.

  Chapter 8

  Sarah

  “This is a bad idea,” I say, looking at my watch. It’s twenty minutes before five o’clock. My stomach is flip-flopping. He could walk through the door any minute.

  “Why?” Kat sniffs. “You said yourself he has no idea what you look like—well, other than your boob.” She laughs. “That was so badass of you, Sarah. I can’t believe you did that.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know. It was so unlike me—I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what got into you.”

  I blush.

  “Just relax, okay? He won’t even know you’re here. And the bar’s plenty crowded, too. You’ll have plenty of time to watch him and gather your courage.”

  “Courage to do what?”

  “To say hi to him.”

  “There’s no way I’m saying hi to him.”

  “Then why the heck are we here?”

  “I just want to look at him.” I sigh. “I can’t resist. When you see him, you’ll understand.”

  “You dragged me to The Pine Box on a moment’s notice just to spy on him?” She looks at me dubiously.

  I nod. “I’ve only seen him in photos—well, and for a split-second when he was speeding past me in his car. I just want to get one good, long, lingering look at him in the flesh.” And, truth be told, I can’t resist seeing what kind of woman The Club deems his perfect match.

  “Sarah, I still don’t understand—why not just sleep with the guy, even if it’s just once? If he’s as hot as you say he is, why not have one amazing night you’ll always remember?”

  “I don’t know if I’m capable of enjoying ‘one amazing night’ with him,” I say. I don’t know how to explain my unexpected feelings toward this guy. He’s awakened a yearning inside of me like nothing I’ve felt before. Somehow, I know, deep in my bones, if I play with this fire, I’ll surely get burned to a blackened crisp. Or at least my heart will. I’m exactly the kind of girl he joined The Club to avoid. I know I am. And I can’t change any more than he can. So what’s the point? There isn’t one.

  Kat shrugs. “Well, then, why are we here? You just want to torture yourself? I mean, come on, you know what he’s looking for, and it ain’t a relationship. This is a guy who joined ‘The Club,’ after all.”

  “Shh,” I say. “Please.” I’ve told Kat a thousand times that the very existence of The Club is über confidential. But she loves the whole idea of a secret underground club for rich fre
aks and always wants to know every juicy detail. “I just have to see him in action. Maybe it’ll help me get him out of my system.” I shrug. “What time is it?”

  “Quarter to five.”

  My stomach flip-flops. I’ve imagined this man licking me and smiling up at me from between my legs countless times, for goodness sakes, and even imaginary sex with him has been the best sex of my life. I can only imagine how my nerve endings will react to seeing the genuine article in person. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep myself from screaming his name like a groupie at a rock concert.

  “Oh my God. Is that him?” Kat whispers, cricking her neck toward the front door. I follow her glance and immediately throw a menu in front of my face.

  I feel my cheeks flush. “Yes,” I whisper.

  I peek at Kat around the side of my menu. She’s openly gawking at him.

  “Holy shitballs,” she says. “Wow. He’s ... wow. I thought you were exaggerating. But, no, not at all. He must have made a deal with the devil or something.”

  “Don’t look at him,” I hiss. “Act natural.”