The Club

by Lauren Rowe

  “You’re hiking so well. And here I thought your ass was just for show, but it turns out it’s functional, too.”

  I laugh.

  “Must be all that dancing,” he says.

  “How do you know about my dancing?”

  “I saw your undergrad transcripts.”

  I turn back and glare at him.

  “Hey, if I’m gonna hack into a major university’s server, I’m gonna damn well get my money’s worth. You majored in communications, minored in dance. Graduated magna cum laude.”

  I don’t know what to say. No man has ever researched me before. But, hey, tit for tat, as he always says—I’ve certainly researched him more than I care to admit.

  “I bet every single guy in every one of your classes wanted to take a big bite out of that delectable ass, too.”

  I scoff. “I took a lot of dance classes, remember? Not every single guy.” I smirk.

  He laughs. “Touché.” There’s a beat as he traverses a slippery mud pit. “What kind of dance?”

  “When I was young, anything I could find at the rec center. In college, lyrical contemporary, mostly.” Under normal circumstances, I could probably talk for hours about dance, but it’s hard to chat while concentrating on not falling on my face, getting eaten by a dinosaur, or being strangled by a boa constrictor.

  “Do you still dance?”

  I smile to myself. I still can’t get over how chatty he is with me. “No. I realized it’s not what I want to do with my life. Nowadays, I mostly run or do yoga with Kat. There’s hardly time for much else between classes, studying, and work.”

  Oh crap. Work. I didn’t mean to bring up The Club. He was in such a good mood, too. Damn. I glance behind me, dreading the look on his face, but he looks unfazed—or, at least, not about to hurl like on the plane yesterday.

  He’s about to say something, but Miguel holds up his hand—our agreed upon signal for silence—and we stop dead in our tracks. Miguel looks up into the jungle canopy for a moment. He silently points. I look up, trying to zero in on whatever he’s focused on, and I gasp. No less than six monkeys are perched in the dense rain forest above—and one of them is leaping from one tree to the next, screeching as he does.

  I turn back to Jonas, my face blazing with excitement. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He nods and whispers, “Awesome, huh?”

  I can’t contain my excitement. Real monkeys in a real jungle? I never thought I’d see something like this in my entire life, ever.

  Jonas grabs my hand and we watch the monkeys for a full twenty minutes, whispering to each other, laughing, gasping, cooing, our hands comfortably clasped, until, finally, Miguel whispers, “You ready to move on?”

  “Let’s do it,” Jonas says, slapping my ass again.

  We hike silently for a good ten minutes. I’m curious where we’re headed, of course—and yet, it doesn’t really matter. Wherever Jonas is leading, I’m following.

  “You know, I was so caught up in my own bullshit yesterday,” Jonas says out of nowhere, “I didn’t stop to think about how this whole Club thing has affected you. I mean, damn, looks like you’re unexpectedly out of a job.”

  I wasn’t expecting him to bring up The Club, and certainly not to offer his condolences about me losing my pathetic job. “Oh, I’ll figure something out,” I say, stepping carefully over a gigantic vine. “I always do. I’m just pissed about the whole thing. It’s gross. People joined to find other, consensual, compatible people—not to be lied to. It just boils my blood to think how they’re taking people’s money and not delivering on what they promise. It’s just a scam, a gigantic fraud.” My blood is boiling just thinking about it. “And some of these guys—granted, not lots, but some of them—join The Club looking for love—I know you don’t believe it, but they really, really do—and they’re being totally scammed. They have a dream—maybe it’s naïve or stupid or whatever—but they do. And The Club exploits that.”

  Jonas is quiet behind me.

  “So, yeah, big deal, I’m out of a job. I haven’t been robbed of a dream.” I think of Mr. Software Engineer’s face when Stacy told him she only follows college basketball except during NBA play-offs. It was total and complete bullshit. I grunt. I’m pissed. “I mean, I’m not the one who had sex with a prostitute when I thought I’d met the woman of my dreams.”

  Jonas sighs audibly behind me on the trail.

  Oh shit. How I wish I could stuff those last words back into my mouth. I was thinking of that poor software engineer who thought he’d found the woman of his dreams—but it sure sounded like I was talking about Jonas. I glance back over my shoulder. Yep, he’s scowling. Damn, I’m an idiot.

  We’re quiet for a minute, listening to our hiking boots clomp and slosh in the mud.

  Jonas doesn’t say anything.

  I shouldn’t have said that. Was I subconsciously taking a jab at him? I don’t think so. Dang it. “I’m just looking at the whole thing as a massive life lesson and leaving it at that,” I say carefully, hoping positivity will help ease my foot out of my mouth.

  “What’s the life lesson for you?” he asks. I’m relieved to hear him speak again. His voice sounds calm.

  I step over a large rock in the trail. “That I should always listen to my gut.”

  “Your gut was telling you something and you ignored it?”

  “Absolutely. I knew deep down something wasn’t right. I mean, I never saw a single application from a woman, not once—but I just convinced myself some other intake agent must have been in charge of processing female applicants. And I kept thinking there was no way in hell a woman would ever join a club like that—but I ignored my instinct the minute those fat paychecks started rolling in. It serves me right.”

  “Hmm,” he says, considering what I’ve said.

  We continue hiking in silence again for several minutes.

  I glance behind me to get a read on him, but he’s looking down, his features scrunched in deep concentration.

  “You know what, Sarah?” he finally says.

  I don’t reply. My heart is racing.

  “You’re so smart,” he says. “But even more than that, you’re wise. You know that? I just ... wow, Sarah, I just genuinely like you.”

  I instantly stop walking and turn to look at him. My heart has leapt into my throat. I can’t suppress the huge smile breaking out across my face. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says. He smiles at me. And then he blushes. Mr. I’m-Gonna-Lick-Your-Sweet-Pussy blushes like we’re in fourth grade and he’s just asked me to go steady.

  “Hey, Miguel, can you give us a minute?” I call out over my shoulder.

  “Sure,” Miguel says. And because he’s obviously a smart man, he traipses ahead into the jungle and out of sight, leaving Jonas and me alone.

  I turn back to Jonas. “That’s the best thing you could ever say to me. I like you, too. A lot. A lot, a lot, a lot.”

  “Well, I like you a lot, a lot, infinity,” he says. His grin stretches from ear to ear. He looks like a kid right now. Like a glowing, happy, carefree kid.

  I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  I go in for the kiss, but he pulls back. “Well, actually, I should clarify one little thing. When I said I like you, I was talking about your ass. I really, really like your ass.” I laugh and smash my lips into his.

  His tongue enters my mouth and, holy hell, my entire body ignites like a matchbox lit with a blowtorch. He’s instantly inflamed, too, quite obviously, because without hesitation, he grinds his hard-on into me as his hand claws at my T-shirt, untucking it indelicately from my pants and hiking it up. His hand burrows under my shirt and quickly reaches into my sport bra. His fingers are inside my bra, groping me, as his tongue explores my mouth.

  That familiar throbbing has returned between my legs, with a vengeance. I’m practically gyrating in his arms like a fish on a line. How we went from feeling like grade school crushes a moment ago to rav
enous nymphos, I’ll never know. It happened in the blink of an eye.

  He moans. “I’m going out of my fucking mind, Sarah.” He claws at my pants, and I quickly unbutton them for him. He slips his hand down my waistband and his fingers plunge desperately into my wetness. I let out a loud, low groan and so does he. He’s kissing me, touching me, making my knees weak. My body has gone from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds as his fingers slide in and out of me and his tongue explores my mouth. Every inch of my skin is vibrating with my sudden desire for him.

  “I’m fluttering,” I breathe. “Jonas, ooh, I’m fluttering.”

  I whip my head behind me to see if Miguel’s still out of sight. “You wanna do it?” I whisper in his ear, pressing my palm against his hard-on. I nip at his lower lip and reach for his waistband, fumbling to unbutton his pants. “Jungle sex,” I breathe, struggling with his fly.

  He pushes my hand away as his finger continues to slick back and forth from my wetness to my tip. “I don’t come ‘til you do,” he breathes, continuing his fingers’ expert exploration.

  “I think I’ll come,” I whisper into his ear. “I’m losing my mind.”

  With one final kiss, he pulls his hand out of my pants and embraces me. He’s instantly in complete control. “I can’t risk it.” He pulls me to him and whispers in my ear. “This is just prelude, baby, sweet prelude.” He smirks when he sees my glare. “I made a solemn vow, remember? I don’t come ‘til you do. It’s my new religion.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re my religion.” He suddenly grabs my butt with both hands. “I love this ass,” he whispers. He whips his head over his shoulder. “Miguel!” he yells. “Let’s go!” He releases me unceremoniously, leaving me dizzy and confused and raging between my legs.

  Miguel appears out of nowhere within seconds.

  “You see?” Jonas says in a low voice, scolding me. “If I’d let you have your bossy way, we’d have given Miguel quite a show.” He laughs. “I told you—no more fucking around. I’ve finally got my head on straight.”

  I’m so aroused, I feel like rubbing my crotch against a goddamned tree—and I wouldn’t even care if it’s one of those prehistoric ones with the spikes. If he’d only give me the match to light my fuse, I’d go off like a rocket; I know I would.

  “You ready?” Miguel says. He looks amused.

  “Yup,” Jonas says. “What do you think? Fifteen more minutes or so?”

  “Yeah, ‘bout that,” Miguel says.

  The minute Miguel turns his back to me to continue down the trail, I reach down and touch myself over the fabric of my pants. I just want to know if the outrageous throbbing I feel on the inside of my panties is palpable on the outside, too. It doesn’t seem to be. I glance back at Jonas. He’s looking at my hand between my legs, his face illuminated with arousal. I smile at him and wink. Tonight’s the night, big boy.

  We hike for a few more minutes, drenched in sweat, swatting at the occasional mosquito, quietly taking in the sights and sounds of the jungle around us. I still have no idea where we’re going, and I’m really starting to wonder.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jonas says out of nowhere, huffing and puffing with the exertion of our hike—or maybe thanks to his current state of sexual frustration. “This whole thing with The Club. It really threw me for a loop yesterday. But now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, I’m feeling kind of philosophical.”

  I remain quiet. I’ve learned not to break the spell when he’s opening up—and especially when he’s being Philosophical Jonas.

  “The way I see it, I dodged a bullet. God only knows what would have happened if I’d gotten what I thought I wanted. I’m grateful.”

  I stop and look back at him. Grateful? For getting scammed? For unknowingly having sex with a prostitute?

  “If it weren’t for The Club,” he says, smiling sheepishly at me, “I wouldn’t have found you. So, when you look at it that way, it’s the best money I ever spent.”

  Chapter 25

  Sarah

  “Wow,” I say. That’s the only thing my brain can come up with.

  Miguel, Jonas and I are huddled inside the mouth of a gigantic, breathtaking cave, complete with rock formations and stalactites, as rain pours down mercilessly outside the cave, just a few feet from where we’re sitting. The sheer volume of water pounding down from the sky is as if God is standing above, pouring out a humongous bucket of water onto the jungle beneath Him.

  I’m shaking from nervousness. Now that we’ve trekked this long and far into the deep jungle, what the heck are we going to do in this cave? Or maybe I’m shaking because I’m soaking wet from head to toe. The torrential downpour started sheeting down from the sky about ten minutes before we reached the cave, and within seconds of the waterworks, I was as drenched as if I’d walked into a shower, fully clothed.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of,” Jonas assures me, securing the strap on my helmet. “Tilt your chin up.” I do. He bites his lip as he adjusts my helmet strap and I’m struck yet again by his sheer beauty. When he’s finished with the strap, he places his hands on my shoulders and smiles at me. “There’s another opening to the cave about four miles in. It won’t take us more than three hours to get there.”

  “Three hours?” I say, shocked. “To hike four miles?”

  “Yeah, the trek isn’t exactly a straight shot.” He smiles. “It’s a bit of a hike.” He turns to Miguel, and they both laugh, sharing some sort of inside joke.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. What the hell is so funny?

  “Hey, Miguel, why don’t you tell Sarah about the cave?”

  “Of course. The ancient Mayans, who lived all throughout what is now Belize and Guatemala, believed this cave to be the entrance to the Kingdom of Xibalba—the underworld. This cave, like others in Belize, too, is where the Mayans brought sacrifices to the gods to ensure their continued prosperity.”

  “Well said, Miguel,” Jonas says.

  “I’ve given that speech a time or two.” Miguel laughs.

  “But, Miguel, what kind of sacrifices did the Mayans make in this cave?” Jonas asks the question as if he and Miguel are doing a comedy routine for my benefit. Clearly, Jonas already knows the answer to his question; he just wants Miguel to say it out loud.

  “Human sacrifices.”

  “But exactly what kind of humans, specifically, Miguel?”

  “Virgins. Female virgins.”

  Jonas’ eyes are dancing. Oh, brother, he’s so proud of himself right now. I can’t help but smile broadly. Oh, how Jonas Faraday loves his metaphors. Obviously, I’m his virgin—his orgasm-virgin—and I’m about to be sacrificed to the gods. Or, rather, to one almighty god—Jonas Faraday.

  Jonas flashes me a wicked grin.

  I laugh. “You proud of yourself, Jonas?”

  “So proud.”

  “You really, really like your metaphors, don’t you?”

  He laughs like a kid on Christmas and pulls me into him. “Yeah, I really, really do.”

  “You truly are a poet at heart, you know that?” I say.

  He leans into me and places his lips right on my ear. “‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.’” He pulls back out and winks. “Plato.”

  My heart is instantly racing. Did Jonas just tell me he loves me? I bite my lip. He did, right?

  He grins at me. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  I nod. When we took cover in the cave, Miguel laid out a beautiful picnic for us. But I don’t want to talk about food. I want to talk about what Jonas just said to me. Did I understand him correctly?

  He slaps my ass. “Good.” He turns to Miguel. “You got our headlamps?”

  “Yes, sir,” Miguel replies.

  Yeah, I’m pretty sure Jonas just told me he loves me. I didn’t imagine that, did I? I didn’t just wish it, right? I said, “You’re a poet.” And he said, “At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.” How else could I interpret that comment, other than to conclude he’s
been touched by love? By his love for me? Or does he mean he’s been touched by my presumed love for him? Do I love him? My mind is reeling. My heart is racing. Oh, if only Miguel weren’t here. If only we were alone right now. There’s only one thing I want right now—and it’s not a three-mile hike into a blackened cave with Jonas and a guide (sweet as that guide seems to be).

  Jonas pulls me to him, but not for a kiss—he’s securing a headlamp onto my helmet with great care. “Once we get twenty yards into the cave, there’ll be no natural light. It’s as dark as ink in there—you can’t even see your hand an inch from your face without a lamp.”

  My jaw is still hanging open. Yes, I’m almost positive Jonas Faraday, the man, the myth, the legend, the Adonis, the Woman Wizard himself, just told me he loves me. Unless, of course, he’s telling me he feels loved by me—touched by my love—which wouldn’t be a shabby thing for him to say, either. But do I love him?

  He presses into me and his erection nudges against my leg. “Now come on, baby,” he says quietly, grabbing my ass for the hundredth time today. “Let’s go sacrifice your virgin ass to the gods.”

  This is insane. This is utterly, totally, and completely insane. He wants me to climb up what? For the past two hours, Jonas and I, with Miguel leading the way, have ventured deeper and deeper and deeper into the jet-black cave, hiking higher and higher along the bank of a winding, underground stream, past stalactites and swarms of bats and dripping cave walls that look like movie sets, wading deeper and deeper into the stream where the bank narrowed and narrowed and ultimately disappeared, climbing higher and higher over wet boulders and through jagged openings, sometimes having to drag ourselves through low rock hangings on our bellies. At one point, Jonas insisted we turn off our headlamps, just to experience absolute darkness, and it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—truly, the eeriest and most disembodying thirty seconds of my entire life. The cave was so dark as to be disorienting. So dark as to invite panic. The minute I started shaking, though, Jonas sensed it and turned his lamp back on.

  “I’m here,” he said. “Sarah, I’m right here.”