“Didn’t you say that a certain someone likes her vodka drinks?”
That boyish snort tickled Bree right in the heart. No, I’m not falling for Kyle. I’m falling for the universe! Could it be? Did Kyle know something that Bree didn’t? And how would he know, hm?
“I may have let that slip. You know what else I’ll tell you?”
Bree gave him her undivided attention.
“I’ve seen your lady with a woman or two over the years. Her and the husband were the occasional swingers, though it always looked pretty one-sided to me. Anyway, she always hung out with the really femme types. I’m guessing that was her husband’s persuasion at work. Now, my whole point behind telling you this isn’t to crush your dreams, but make one suggestion, based on what I’ve seen.”
“Get the fuck on with it. I’ve got a night ahead of me.”
“Talk to me like that, and I might not tell you anything.”
He was bluffing, but it worked. Bree reached into her wallet and slipped him part of the bribe she had offered Donna. The whole of Kyle’s face lit up, and he went to work making that lemon drop, talking while he mixed. “Even those femme women she ran around with had something else in common. They liked keeping shit beneath their skirts. You ask me, the lady has a powerful fantasy at work.”
It took Bree a few seconds to gather what he was saying. When it finally hit her, she nearly cackled into the bottom of her drink. “Isn’t it lucky I’ve got a locker here?”
“Of course you do. Spare clothes, spare deodorant, spare towel…”
“…Spare dick.”
“I wouldn’t know about having one of those.”
“Mm, bet you wish you did, though.”
Kyle presented the lemon drop, complete with garnish. “The thought terrifies me, honestly. You get used to seeing all sorts of things around here, though.”
“Imagine if you worked the third floor bar.”
“I have, you know, but there are more tips to be had down here, and Donna likes me, so… I work whichever bar I want around here.”
“Speaking of the third floor…” Bree pointed to the stairs. “I am needed at room 307. First, I need to get some things from my locker.” She then pointed to the drink.
“No worries. I’ll watch over it for you.”
“You’re a peach, Kyle.” Finger guns fired in his direction. “Wish me luck!”
“I always wish a woman with a dick in her locker all the luck in the world.”
Didn’t he know the half of it! As Bree politely pushed her way toward the locker room and showers, the possibilities expanded before her. Maybe it really is Amelia upstairs. Waiting for me… how about that? How did Kyle know, though? He said that Donna liked him… had she said something to him? Seemed like that would go against their privacy agreements. Except Bree wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She bounded into the locker room, where the steam from showers and hooting mischief of people having way too much fun echoed against tiled walls. Bree fished her keys out of her jacket pocket, fumbling for her small 12x12 locker that she rented on a monthly basis. Like Kyle had insinuated, it was a great way for regulars to keep things on hand in the club that would be too much of a pain – and a challenge to their aesthetic – to bring with them every time they visited. Most kept spare changes of shirts and underwear, lube, towels, or even makeup. Others, like Bree, found it a convenient place to keep things that were too personal to borrow from the club. She was far from the only woman who kept a spare vibrator in a sleek black case, but she may have been one of the only ones who had other toys kicking around another case that barely fit into the small locker.
She locked it up and turned around in time to see a man walk by with nothing but a towel around his waist.
“Uh… hi,” he sheepishly said, grabbing something from a locker behind him. “Don’t mind me.”
Bree hardly had time for him. Maybe it bruised his ego a bit when she tore out of the locker room with a satchel at her side, but why should she care? She had her own fun to go have!
She almost forgot the lemon drop, though. Kyle flagged her down as she hustled past the bar, and Bree had to course-correct until she had a satchel in one hand and a drink in the other. Passing people on the stairs up to the third floor was a lesson in balance and patience. Few people paid her any mind until she was on the third floor, where the bouncer recognized her and didn’t think twice about admitting her to a VIP area without checking her credentials. He did, however, question why she was carrying up a drink from the first floor when they had a perfectly good bar there on the third.
Nobody stopped her until she made it to the hallway of private rooms currently reserved for that night’s key party. The woman in black mask and red corset asked to see Bree’s membership card and the key bearing the number 307. “You are awaited in your room, ma’am,” the woman said. “Have fun. Simply ring the bell in your room and someone up here will help you procure whatever you need.”
The subtext was in an emergency situation, but Bree had a different one of her own right now.
“Thanks.” Bree made no further eye contact as she jetted down the hallway, stopping only when she found the number 307 on a door.
She reoriented herself – and ensured the drink wasn’t about to spill – before pulling out her fateful key and inserting it into the lock. Now was not the time for shy Bree. Now was the time for cool, confident, sexy Bree, bearer of good times and a cure for the broken heart.
Leave it to her to put that much pressure on herself, honestly.
Chapter 4
AMELIA
She hadn’t been nervous until she reached her room, where she scoped out the queen-sized bed wrapped in simple red sheets and two fluffy pillows. Above the wire-frame headboard was a sensual print of a couple embracing, their clothes hanging loosely on their smudged bodies and their expressions meaningless. Amelia slowly traced the perimeter of the room that was barely big enough for two, maybe three people to comfortably sit in and have a conversation – let alone do anything else.
When did these rooms get so small? She didn’t remember these walls closing in on her after two steps. Nor did she recall how easily she sank into the bed when she sat atop it. Have I used this room before? Had Roger and I ever used it? Fine thing if she got back in the post-divorce game only to be back where her marriage began.
She hated how quiet it was. The walls were padded to offer privacy to the occupants – and to keep them from having to hear the neighbors. Two panic buttons that summoned security were easily located. Looking at them reminded Amelia that she was about to sleep with a stranger. I hope I don’t have to press either of those buttons… Dating was gambling, especially with what Amelia liked. Sure, there was security beyond the doors. Sure, the club knew her tastes well enough, but from the moment she decided to come to that month’s key party, she imagined sleeping with a man who could be… anyone. A one night stand, probably. Get it out of her system. Ripping off a Band-Aid that would allow her to date again with more confidence.
Or so she desperately hoped.
There was no better place to wait than on the bed. The one chair in the corner of the room was barely big enough to drape a jacket over, let alone hold someone who “just wanted to watch.” Amelia eased into the center of the bed, readjusting her mask and taking out her phone for the first time since entering the club. There was no signal in the back rooms. She often wondered if they were jammed on purpose. They take a no cell-phone rule super seriously here… Amelia didn’t know what else to do, though. It was either scroll through her phone while she waited, or stare at the bowl full of condoms on the small table by the bed. Or stare at the mosaic chandelier above her. Beneath the bed was a chest of straps, buckles, and cuffs. Hand-sanitizer was proudly mounted on the wall by the door.