Thirty Days: Part Two (A SwipeDate Novella)

by BT Urruela

  I can feel Angela’s eyes on me and it draws my focus back.

  “Did I lose you again?” She smiles, lifting the drink to her mouth but her eyes remain on me, looking right through me.

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” I reply, and she chokes back a laugh, setting her martini glass down, spilling some over the edges.

  “Well, I’m not used to hearing that so soon,” she jokes in between coughs.

  “Yeah, I tend to do that. It’s why I’m a writer. I need that extra time to edit the bullshit that comes out of my head.” I chuckle, a nervous smirk forming.

  “Hey, it made me laugh. That’s a plus.”

  “Feel free to laugh at my expense at any time. I’m on twenty-four seven.”

  “That’s very good to know,” she says, her voice now low and taking up a seductive tone; her eyes trail over my arms as our food is delivered. I smile nervously, my eyes falling to the incoming plates, and I realize I may have gotten myself into some trouble here.

  After finishing up with our meals, engaging in a bit more light banter, and paying the bill, I help her with her coat. We head out the front door onto the busy sidewalk, and I wave down a passing cab for her.

  “I had a great time,” I say with a smile as the cab comes to a stop next to us. She just stands there for a moment, silent, though her eyes and the slight smirk on her face speak volumes.

  “You know…” She lets her voice trail as she takes a few steps toward the cab before glancing over her shoulder at me. “I’m not usually so forward, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time with you. Do you maybe want to hop in the cab with me and head back to my place? I have quite the liquor selection and some charcuterie to die for.” She raises an eyebrow, her gaze still fixed on me as she waits for a response. I search for the words, but can’t find any suitable for the scenario. Any other time, under any other circumstance, I would be very intrigued by her offer; I may even think about taking her up on it, knowing full well where she’d like things to go. With the way her body looks wrapped in those skin tight pants, my dick is shouting ‘yes, yes, yes!’ But I don’t operate under the guidance or pressure of my dick. Maybe when I’ve been doing some serious drinking, as with Megan but, more than likely, a guy like me would wind up fucking a situation like this up. Regardless of that, my thoughts and interests are too dominated by Megan, and the potential of really finding out who Sami is, to go searching for more complications to add to the situation.

  “I—I’d love to, but I have other obligations this evening,” I manage to say, frowning and passing her an uncertain shrug.

  She shrugs as well, analyzing me for a few brief moments before saying, “Maybe next time,” and hopping into the cab. She closes the door behind her just as I’m about to respond and with that, the cab pulls away with a screech of the tires. I’m left in the wake of the Crown Vic’s exhaust as I let the date process through my mind, my dick retreating in disgruntled fashion, and my mind running rampant with thoughts of women, first dates, drunken makeout sessions, and the insatiable desire to kill a beer or twenty.

  It’s the usual vibrancy you’re likely to see on a Friday night just off Times Square. I rarely come down here due to the overpriced drinks and plethora of dumb-fuck tourists, but this was Sami’s call, and as my eyes wander from scantily clad women, to confused foreign tourists, to the homeless and their jingling cups, I can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten me into. And whether she’s even aware herself. These don’t look like the kind of spots a quiet elementary school teacher from farm country New York would be familiar with.

  I check my phone again, bringing up Sami’s text and matching it with the neon Chasers sign jutting out above the sidewalk. The windows are blacked out and a professional wrestler-looking dude sits on a stool at the door, with a booted foot perched up and a don’t-fuck-with-me look on his face. I check the text once more to ensure I have the right spot before pocketing my phone. I pull out my wallet and walk hurriedly toward the door, the frigid breeze willing me inside, despite the uneasy feeling this place gives me.

  After a few nervous words with Hulk at the door, I make my way inside and down a short dark hallway that leads to a mess of lights and noise on the other end. Passing a few undesirables with tattooed heads and disparaging looks leaning against the hallway wall, I reach the bar and hook my head around, scanning for Sami. The bar is cluttered with a rougher-looking type like my friends down the hall, so it’s not hard to spot Sami tucked away at the end of the bar, her jacket laying over the stool to her left and her hands cradling a beer. I approach her from behind, resting a hand against her shoulder, causing her to jump.

  She sets a hand to her heart as she whips her head around, then breathing out a sigh of relief. “Hey there,” she says, a light laugh following. “Damn glad it’s you.”

  I motion to her coat. “Mind if I sit?” I ask, and she quickly collects up her jacket and folds it over her knees.

  “Of course, sorry about that.” She gestures down the bar without looking. “A few tried to sit there, so I had to lay claim.” She looks back toward me, a glow about her that makes me think she’s had a few already.

  “Yeah, I was wondering,” I mutter, shrugging as I take a seat beside her. “This doesn’t seem like a place you’d hang out.”

  “No, it’s certainly not,” she says, laughing lightly before taking a sip of her beer.

  “Been here awhile?” I ask, arching an eyebrow as I motion to the receipt hanging out of a whiskey glass in front of her. There’s noticeably more than a few drinks on the ticket. She turns a few shades of red and hides her face.

  “Just a bit,” she murmurs. “I was nervous. I am nervous.”

  “Nervous? What do you have to be nervous about?” My eyes roam the leather-clad clientele seated around the bar in loud conversations, and then I lean in toward her. “Other than making it out of here alive?”

  “Ehhhh,” she groans, shaking her head slightly. “The more I think about my plans for after this, the sicker I become.”

  “After this?” I ask, my eyes roaming the bar. It looks as if it’s been here for a few decades, and cleaned in about the same. There’s a thick coat of dust on everything, from the aged bottles to the tin garage signs on the wall. The felt on the two pool tables that line the back wall on the other side of the bar is sun-faded and torn in places. “There’s more?”

  “Yeah,” she squeaks, barely audible. “Maybe. I found this place when I was searching for the next one and figured it would be good to grab a few drinks before…”

  “Before what? Now I’m really intrigued.”

  “No, I think we may just play the tourist game or something instead. Go check out Times Square and grab a slice. This was a terrible idea.”

  I bat her arm lightly with the back of my hand as the aged bartender with the ZZ-top beard approaches in my peripheral.

  “Hey, let me be the judge of that,” I say, smiling, before turning toward the barkeep.

  After ordering a beer, I turn back to see Sami still shaking her head in defiance.

  “No.” She shakes her head, repeating, “It was a terrible idea.”

  “Seriously, you have to know, curiosity is my kryptonite. I can’t even tell you the amount of times per day I Google something I’m curious about. You must tell me.”

  The bartender trades me a five for the beer and places it before me as I nod in appreciation, my attention still on Sami and how fucking adorable she is when she’s apprehensive.

  After giving her head a few more shakes, she turns to me, a nervous furrow in her brow.

  “You don’t understand,” she says in her most convincing tone. “I got super self-conscious after you called me out for not being very adventurous in my life. And I just…I overcompensated, I think.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t trying to call you out at all. Everybody’s diff—”

  She puts a hand up to stop me.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, you had these crazy stories and you’
ve lived this super interesting life, and I’m just…I don’t know…I’m vanilla. I am.”

  “You are so not vanilla,” I say, chuckling.

  “No, I am. I really am. And that’s okay. I’m still young. But I just thought a lot about it since we last hung out and, I don’t know. It’s true. I haven’t really experienced a whole lot.” Her eyes trail to the bar top and her bottom lip slips between her teeth. I admire, for a moment, the strong line in her jaw, the silkiness to her complexion, and that cute little wrinkle in her brow; the same one I get when I’m overthinking everything.

  “It’s never too late.” I grin, drawing her beautiful eyes back to me. “So…what is it you’ve been thinking about?”

  “Can we do a shot?”

  “We can after you tell me.”

  “Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It just got me thinking about all the things I haven’t done that I’ve wanted to do. It got me thinking about why I haven’t ever ventured out and tried them all.”

  “And what was the verdict?”

  “I just get in my own way. I make up a million reasons why not to do something instead of just doing it.”

  “Kind of like what you’re doing right now,” I joke with a wink and a tip of my bottle. Tossing the beer back, I can feel her eyes still on me in my peripheral.

  “How do you figure?” she asks as I lower the beer back down to the bar with a clink.

  “Well, you made these plans, did you not? You obviously wanted to do this. And now you’re trying to talk yourself out of it.”

  “No.” She waves me off with her hand and shakes her head firmly. “This is so different. Seriously, this was just a very bad judgment call. I mean, it’s only our second date.”

  “Oh, now I’m really intrigued. Tell me!”

  She shakes her head, motioning to the bartender and then throwing up two fingers before pretending to take a shot. He throws up an okay sign and she nods; her eyes falling back on me.

  “I can’t say it out loud. If we do it…and that’s a big fat if…you’ll just have to see it for yourself.”

  “See what?”

  After we pay the tab, Sami throws her jacket on and I follow her to the front door; she’s yet to speak of where we’re going. My mind formulates a few hypotheses—strip club, speakeasy, what have you—but she hasn’t given so much as a hint.

  “Should I be concerned here?” I call out, as I jog a bit to get to the door before she does. I smile, my forearm against the glass door and holding it there until her eyes meet mine. “You aren’t like a serial killer or anything, are you? Gonna lead me down some dark alley.”

  She smirks, her eyes falling to the scummy floor and she shrugs. “You’ll just have to see, huh?” She pushes forward, past my arm and out the door; there’s a newfound confidence in her stride.

  I follow behind her and stop when she does, smack dab in the middle of the cluttered sidewalk. Collections of people walk around us in both directions as she turns on her heel and smiles, extending her balled hand out for me, only her pinky left out.

  “Pinky swear you won’t judge me?” she says, her red lips in an all-out smile now, her head tilted just slightly, in the most adorable way.

  I wrap my pinky around hers and nod. “Pinky swear,” I agree, but as I go to pull my hand away, I feel her pinky lock down onto mine, keeping it in place.

  “It doesn’t count unless you connect the thumbs,” she says with a smile, connecting her thumb with mine before letting go. Her shoulders drop a bit and her focus shifts to the buildings behind me. “So, you ready to do this?”

  I laugh, shaking my head and shrugging. “I’m not sure what exactly it is I’m supposed to be ready for, but yeah, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Okay then,” she says, turning abruptly and working her way past me and through the passersby, back to the bars behind me. I follow suit, a slight buzz of excitement and nervousness growing inside my chest, which could very well be attributed to the shots, too. This girl sure knows how to build suspense.

  She walks up to a small inlet that leads to a black door with no handle, camouflaged by the equally black walls surrounding it. After a light knock against the door, she looks back at me nervously as I settle in just behind her.

  “What are we doing?” I whisper. “We look fucking crazy.”

  She turns back with a finger to her lips. “Shhhh.” Tapping the same hand against the door once more, it’s met this time with a peep door, at eye level and about the size of a nameplate, sliding open and a deep set of steely gray eyes staring back.

  “Password?” A voice in a Russian accent carries out from the slot, causing both of us to take a step back. Sami looks around a bit, biting her lip as if in thought.

  “Um… Shit, she just told me it…” she stammers, grabbing her phone from her purse.

  “I need password now,” the Russian insists, causing her hands to shake inside her purse. She abruptly pulls out her hand and snaps her fingers.

  “Octopus illusions!” she says excitedly and he responds with a grunt, the peep door sliding shut. She looks back at me and flashes a confident smile as the door opens to expose a dimly lit room and the behemoth Russian who guards it. Behind him is a coat check with an equally intense but much smaller man operating it, and beside that is an entrance framed by velvet curtains, which block our view completely, but hip hop music pours in from the other side. He motions for us to enter and we oblige. Removing our coats, the big Russian gestures for me to spread my arms and I do as I’m told. He grabs a metal detecting wand from the wall and pans it over my upper body, waist, and ankles, before nodding toward the coat check and motioning for Sami to approach him. I take her coat from her as she goes through the security check herself and hand them off to the other Russian, who seems to be about two seconds from killing everyone in the place and has a highly discernable nervous tick.

  I turn just as Sami drops her arms and makes her way over to me, a nervous smile on her face.

  “This was a terrible idea,” she murmurs. “Just terrible.”

  “I’m guessing an ‘illegal’ speakeasy or a casino. Am I close? Or am I about to get hacked into a hundred different pieces, or auctioned into sex slavery?” I ask, nodding to the guy at coat check as the massive Russian points to the velvet curtains.

  “You go in or you leave. No hang out area here,” he grunts, crossing his thick arms. Not wanting to push my limits with either of these two, I take Sami gently by the elbow and nudge her forward toward the entrance, though her heels seem to be digging in a bit.

  “So, one of the teachers at my work…” she whispers and I can barely hear her. We meet the drapes and she stops, putting an arm out for me to stop too before she continues. “She talks about this place all the time. About how crazy it is and how good a time she always has here. And secretly I’ve always wanted to come myself. Just to see if it were actually real. I just…” Her eyes trail to the entrance from which we came and she points. “Let’s just go, please. This is crazy. I thought, if I got drunk enough, this would make sense, or I wouldn’t overthink it at the very least, but it seems to have just made things worse.”

  “Oh please,” I respond, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’m a hard guy to shock. As long as I make it out of here alive and with all my limbs, I can handle it.”

  “You say that now,” she squeaks, her eyes going big and lips curling in uncertainty.

  “C’mon, let’s see what the big deal is,” I say, winking and inching forward.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she replies, shrugging and taking my outstretched hand. I guide her in, past the velvet curtains and into an infusion of lights and sounds very indicative of night clubs in NYC. There’s a massive bar in the shape of an L along the left wall, and scattered booths and tables taking up the rest of the room. Scantily clad go-go dancers work small stages set strategically throughout the club. People are everywhere, some scattered around the bar, coupled u
p, with drinks in their hands, and nearly every table and booth is taken. I don’t lock my focus on anyone in particular but generally speaking, this seems to be an older crowd. The first thought that crosses my mind is this place is far nicer than the outside makes it out to be. The bar is solid wood and immaculately clean. Though the carpeting and decor is a bit outdated, it’s all very well kept. The other thing I’ve noted is I don’t see anything strange or out of the ordinary about the place. I look back down toward Sami and she’s hiding her face.

  “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? Beyond the two Putin cronies at the door, I don’t see anything wrong here.”

  She looks at me, wide-eyed, her mouth gaping just a bit.

  “And just how closely did you look?” she asks, a light giggle following and I pull my head back in confusion, frowning as I scan the room more intently this time. Before I can get much in, she tugs me toward the bar.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, shuffling behind her, her hand gripping my sleeve.

  “Let’s just get a drink first,” she responds as my focus shifts behind me again toward the mess of people in the place.

  “But I wanna—” I’m cut off as I run into the back of her, and she then runs into the bar.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking,” I plead, lifting her poor face from the bar top and setting my hand against her cheek. “Are you okay?”