The Club

by Lauren Rowe

“Wrong idea? No, she said amazing things—beautiful things.” Her voice lowers. “Things that made me see you in a whole new light.”

  “That’s what I mean. I’m not that guy.” I exhale, trying to figure out how to explain myself without pushing her away. “I’m not myself when it comes to Trey and Georgia. The Jonas Faraday I am for them is the exception, not the rule. Those two just bring something out in me I can’t control.” I clear my throat. A lump is rising up there.

  Her eyes are shining.

  I roll my eyes. “Stop looking at me like that. Seriously, I can’t run around trying to be everybody’s hero all the time—and I don’t. I’m vastly under-qualified for the job of hero.”

  She pauses. “Well, I think you’re vastly underestimating yourself.” She squints at me. “And I think you’re in the process of transforming into Georgia’s Jonas Faraday as we speak, even if you don’t realize it. And, if you must know, I think the rock climbing gym is happening right now for a reason—it’s not a coincidence. In fact, I don’t believe in coincidences at all.”

  She flashes me a know-it-all look that makes it clear she’s the smart one here and I’m just along for the ride.

  “Well, I think you’re a pain in the ass,” I say, but I’m smiling broadly.

  Damn. I wish I had the courage to say what I’m thinking, but I don’t. It’s too much. If I did, though, I’d blurt, “You are everything I never knew I always wanted.” But it’s one thing to say that kind of thing in a Valentine’s Day card, and a whole other thing to say it out loud—especially when I’m not even sure what the hell it means. So, instead of saying it and sounding like a total sap, I just kiss her. And I kiss her and kiss her and kiss her again. My heart’s racing. If we were alone, I’d rip her clothes off and kiss every inch of her, including her glorious pussy and suck on her clit and make her come right now, to hell with everything I’ve meticulously planned in Belize. So it’s a good thing we’re not alone. Because, with God as my witness, I’m going to do everything according to plan from here on out. No fucking around this time.

  Oh man, our kissing is turning passionate. Too passionate. If we continue this way, I’m going to be tempted to drag her into the airplane bathroom—and that absolutely cannot happen. I promised myself I’d lead her outside the cave in a way that’s worthy of her. I’ve got it all planned in Belize. And, God knows, fucking this gorgeous creature in an airplane bathroom would most definitely not be part of the plan.

  She pulls away, licking her lips. “I have more to tell you, Jonas.”

  “Okay, okay.” I sigh. “What’s the second horrible thing?”

  She gathers herself. “I spent six hundred and change of the money you gave me for shopping. And, thank you so much, by the way. I had so much fun. I felt like a princess.”

  I grunt. “Aw man, I really wanted you to go crazy—”

  “No, no, that’s not the bad part. I’m not gonna apologize for not spending three thousand dollars. That was too big a budget—totally ridiculous. I mean, thank you so much, you made me swoon—but I’m not gonna spend money just to spend money.”

  I smile. I would have been thrilled if she’d spent every last cent of that money spoiling herself—but I’ve got to admit it turns me on that she didn’t. “So what’s the big confession, then?”

  “I gave all the leftover money on the card to that nonprofit I was telling you about. They provide shelter for battered women, and they also donate suits and work clothes to women going on job interviews.”

  Before I can speak, she continues. Clearly, she’s nervous.

  “And there’s something I didn’t tell you before. It’s my mom’s charity.” She clears her throat. “She started it ten years ago. She runs it. Oh my God, Jonas, it’s her life, her passion.” Her face is bursting with pride. “So, yeah, technically, I gave the money to my mom, but not to run off and get her nails done or whatever. She’ll use it to help a lot of women in need.”

  There are no words to describe the way I’m feeling right now, so I kiss her again. And again.

  She pulls away. “So you’re not upset about any of that?”

  “Upset? Of course not. In fact, when we get home, I’ll make a proper donation to your mom’s charity. I’m sorry I didn’t think of doing it when you first told me about it. See? I told you, I’m vastly under-qualified to play hero.”

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “You thought I’d be upset about that?”

  “No, not really upset, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how you’d feel about me giving your money away without asking first.” She sighs. “And, well, Jonas, I didn’t buy a single item of lingerie, either—that’s the most appalling part of the whole confession.”

  I feign indignation. “Don’t speak to me ever again.”

  She laughs. “I just figured lingerie would be pretty useless. Why not just go buck naked and give you unimpeded access to every inch of me, instead?”

  “I like the way you think,” I say.

  So far, her supposed mountain of bad news has turned out to be a whole lot of nothing. Damn, from the way she was looking so nervous a minute ago, you’d think she had something genuinely horrible to tell me.

  “So what’s the third horrible thing?” I ask. “It’s the worst one, right? Should I brace myself?”

  She furrows her brow. “Yeah, this one’s really, really bad, Jonas. Really bad.” She’s shaking again.

  My stomach instantly twists into a huge knot.

  “Remember that software engineer I told you about?” she begins slowly. “The one who joined The Club, looking for love?”

  “Yeah, the one who joined for a month,” I say, nodding. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know—he’s a romantic and I’m a fucking sociopath looking for nothing but endless coochie. She already made that abundantly clear.

  “He checked in for the first time last night at a sports bar. So Kat and I went to spy on him.”

  I don’t know where this is heading. Something in her eyes is making me dread whatever’s coming next. Jesus, did she go home with him or something? Please, God, no.

  She sighs. She’s trembling. She shakes her head, unable to go on.

  “Sarah, just tell me.” I’m officially about to fucking freak out.

  She shakes her head again.

  I pull back from her to look into her eyes. “What’s going on? Whatever it is, it’s okay, I promise.” Unless you fucked him. That would most definitely not be okay. I’m about to lose my fucking mind here. “Sarah, tell me.” There’s an edge in my voice I can’t suppress.

  “Jonas, the guy couldn’t have been more opposite you in every way—talk about being brainwashed by Lifetime and Disney. Seriously.”

  My cheeks blaze. Yes, I know. He’s sweet, I’m an asshole. He signed up for a month, I signed up for a year. He applied to The Club to find love, and I applied to find a year’s worth of no-strings-attached fuck buddies who wouldn’t make me feel like an asshole when I sent them packing night after night. I got it. Is she still judging me based on my application? I thought we were all done with that. Did she have an epiphany that she wants a guy who wears his romantic heart on his sleeve—that she needs a guy like that? What is she trying to tell me?

  “So, anyway, the guy came to the bar wearing a yellow bracelet—which, like I say, made perfect sense. If you were assigned purple, then I knew that guy had to be whatever color is the opposite of purple. Kat and I were just dying to see what kind of Miss Yellow was gonna be this normal, boring guy’s one true love.”

  Okay, I’m oddly reassured by that last part. If I know anything about Sarah by now, it’s that she doesn’t want normal and boring. She wants fucked up and abnormal and sometimes pretty fucking dirty—she wants an asshole she can redeem. So, really, she’s complimenting me in a twisted kind of way. My heart slows slightly. I wait.

  She pauses a ridiculously long time, obviously getting up the nerve to blurt it out, whatever it is.

  “Sarah, rip off the Band-Aid,�
�� I huff, verging on exasperation. “Come on.”

  She exhales. “When Miss Yellow showed up in her yellow bracelet ... ” She sighs again. “Jonas, she was your Miss Purple. Stacy the Faker.”

  I’m floored. “What?” My head is reeling. What the fuck?

  She proceeds to tell me every last detail about the night, including exactly what Stacy said when she ambushed Sarah in the bathroom.

  I run my fingers through my hair, my mind reeling.

  Tears have pooled in Sarah’s eyes. “I’m sick about it,” she chokes out. “I swear I didn’t know.” She puts her hands over her face. “I work for a frickin’ whorehouse,” she whispers.

  My heart is beating a mile a minute. If I could punch a hole in the wall, I would—but that’s a non-starter on an airplane. I run a hand over my face. I can’t even process what I’m hearing.

  Sarah puts her hands over her face and begins to cry.

  I know I should comfort her right now, I know that’s the right thing to do, but I want to kill someone. So much adrenaline is coursing through my body it’s a good thing I’m strapped down by a seatbelt. I look out the airplane window, trying to corral my racing thoughts, but it’s no use. My stomach is flip-flopping and my fists are clenched. Holy shit, I fucked a prostitute. I licked a fucking prostitute’s cunt. It doesn’t matter that it was for twenty seconds; I tongued a fucking pay-to-play pussy. I physically shudder at the disgusting thought. My tongue suddenly feels like it’s covered in a thick grime. I can practically hear my father’s ghost laughing in my ear.

  I unbuckle my seatbelt. My head is spinning.

  “I’ll be right back,” I mumble over my shoulder as I bolt to the bathroom. I know I shouldn’t run away, shouldn’t leave her crying and all alone. I know I should be reassuring and compassionate, tell her we’ll figure this out. I’m not mad at you, I should say, I just need a minute alone. But I’ve got to get the hell out of here. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  I slam the bathroom door behind me.

  I fucked a goddamned hooker. I’ve become my fucking father. Fuck me.

  In the bathroom, I put cold water on my face. I rinse out my mouth. I stand over the toilet, ready to puke my guts out. But nothing comes up.

  After a minute, I rinse my face again.

  This is karma, really. Bad things happen to bad people. And, anyway, what did I think I was getting into when I signed up for The Club? Who did I think was out there in the universe, eager to fuck me with no expectation or even desire to feel anything, ever? What kind of woman did I think I’d find matching those criteria? Seriously, what kind of woman yearns for nothing but a good fuck followed by a swift push out the door? I knew there was no such woman—deep down, I knew it. And I just ignored what I knew to be true. Ha! I convinced myself I was looking for brutal honesty, but the whole time, I was looking for lies. And I got what I deserved. I got what I fucking deserved.

  I look at myself in the mirror. Water’s dripping off my brow.

  I licked at Stacy for five seconds before she started howling like I’d blasted her to the moon. I’m good, but I’m not that good. And I knew it. And then I fucked her so hard I practically tore her in half, and she pretended to love every minute of it. So what fairytale did I tell myself to continue believing Stacy had signed up for The Club the way I did? Oh yeah, a woman who looks like that wants nothing more than to get fucked and tossed aside? I knew something was wrong when she left without a word. I knew I was deluding myself. But I didn’t care. Josh told me his membership was the “best money he’d ever spent.” What the fuck Club did he join? Because I knew all along I’d paid The Club to lie to me. Deep down, I knew. Well, now I’m getting exactly what I deserve.

  An image floods me—a vision I’ve tried my whole life to forget. He’s binding her arms and legs to the bedposts. Blood is trickling from her nose.

  I grip the cold metal sink, trying to steady myself, trying to keep the rest of the images from leaping into my mind, but I can’t stop them. They’re slamming into me.

  He’s forcing himself on her, his pants around his ankles, his hairy ass hanging out. He’s grunting like an animal. She’s screaming. I’m burrowing myself deeper behind her dresses in the closet, but I can’t look away. I cover my ears, but I can still hear her blood-curdling screams. He whacks her across the face and bends down to pull up his pants. As he leans over, she peeks over at me in my hiding spot. Her blue eyes are wild. She shakes her head frantically at me. Don’t come out, she’s commanding me. Stay where you are. But she doesn’t have to command me to stay put—my legs have been frozen since he first dragged her into the room, kicking and screaming.

  I run water through my hair and let it drip down my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. I can see my eyes staring back at me now. Those long-ago images are gone, at least for now.

  Well, I guess I can’t hide from the truth about myself forever. Yeah, I can wear the custom suits Josh always insists I should wear, even though I hate them. I can work out three hours a day and sculpt my body into a façade of perfection. I can read and read and aspire and reach for enlightenment all I like, but I’ll never be able to change what I did.

  Tears are threatening, but I won’t let them come. Even if I were a fucking pussy-ass crier, which I’m not, even if I were “soft,” like he always said I am, I’d never let myself cry in a fucking airplane bathroom. But, anyway, I’m not a fucking pussy-ass crier and I’m not soft, so it’s a moot point.

  If I’d known he had that knife, maybe I would have done something differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have stayed in the closet, hiding behind her dresses, frozen with fear. Maybe I would have at least tried to pull him off her. Maybe then everything would have turned out differently.

  I unzip my pants and take a whiz.

  I’m getting exactly what I deserve. I wanted brutal honesty, huh? Something real? I scoff at myself. I was lying to myself. I wanted a quarter-million dollars’ worth of pussy, plain and simple. I just wanted to numb the pain, just like my father always did. Where did I think all that pain-killing pussy was gonna come from? Pussy heaven? The Pussy Fairy? I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anybody or anything but numbing the pain. It serves me right. What kind of sick fuck joins a sex club for a fucking year, anyway? Josh joined The Club for a fun-filled month—just a little vacation—and I’m the sick fuck who joined for a fucking year? What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m not normal.

  I zip my fly back up.

  I wash my hands.

  I wipe at my eyes.

  I’m getting exactly what I deserve.

  As I take my seat again, she looks at me expectantly, tears streaming down her face. She looks half her age—so small and vulnerable. Even before I buckle my seatbelt, even before she can speak, I take her face in my hands and kiss her deeply. She sobs into me, returning my kiss.

  After a moment, she pulls away from me. “I should have told you everything before you were stuck on an airplane with me—so you could cancel the trip if you wanted to.”

  I exhale with exasperation. That’s the last thing in the world I’m thinking right now. “Nothing in the world could make me want to cancel this trip with you. Not what you just told me, not the world crumbling down, not the fucking apocalypse. Nothing. I want to be here with you right now, headed to paradise, more than I want anything in the world—and now more than ever.” I kiss her again, and her body melts into me.

  “Just give me a little time, okay? I don’t know how to explain everything I’m thinking right now—everything I’m feeling. It’s complicated.”

  “Okay,” she says meekly. She’s hiccupping, trying to suppress her sobs.

  “Sarah, I’m not upset at you. I promise.” I smooth away a lock of her hair that’s stuck to her wet cheek. “I’m disgusted, furious, ashamed. But none of it at you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know. I never would have taken that stupid job if I’d known.”

  “I know that. Just give me a little ti
me to think. I can’t talk to you about everything right now. I just can’t.”

  She clamps her mouth shut into a thin line and nods.

  “It’s not you. Sometimes, I have a hard time expressing my feelings out loud. I just need a little time to think everything through, that’s all. Maybe listen to some music. Music is what I use to sort out my feelings.”

  “Okay,” she says again. “I totally understand.” Without saying another word, she plants a gentle kiss on my cheek, grabs my hand, and leans against my shoulder. Her fingertips begin lightly tracing the tattooed inscription on my forearm and then, slowly, working their way up to my bicep.

  I grab my phone and ear buds and scroll into my music library. Arctic Monkeys. I put on my headphones and sit back.

  Sarah’s fingers are caressing my forearm.

  The music is calming me.

  Sarah’s touch is calming me.

  My breathing is returning to normal.

  What did Sarah say in that handwritten note of hers, the one she put into the welcome package? “If I were willing to lie to you, like everyone else apparently does—like you actually want everyone to do, despite what you delude yourself into thinking you want—things might have been different.” She sure saw right through me, right from the beginning, didn’t she?

  Her hand has stopped moving. It falls into her lap.

  Yeah, she had me pegged right from the start.

  “My wish for you,” she wrote, “is that someday you’ll realize what you want and what you need are two very different things.”

  Her head flops forward on my shoulder. I glance down at her beautiful face. She’s out like a light. I turn off my music and gaze at her for a moment. I love the shape of her lips. Her eyelashes are long and lush. Her fingers are elegant. That silver band on her thumb slays me.

  I sigh.

  I bring her hand up to my lips and gently kiss her sexy little ring.

  Well, if that’s her wish for me—that I discover what I want and need are two very different things—then her wish is never gonna come true. Because sitting here with her, feeling her body rising and falling rhythmically against mine, a wisp of her hair brushing up against my jawline, I’m suddenly quite certain, for the first time in my life, that what I want and need are one and the same thing. And that thing is sitting next to me, fast asleep.