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I laughed as Sage winked and Amelia ripped Sage’s cell from his hand. She read the photo caption aloud. “Rumored couple Lady Louisa Samson and the Viscount of Surrey, Henry Sinclair III, attend Cheltenham races.” Amelia looked at me. “Viscount?”
“That must be his title now,” I said. Viscount. Good Lord. That sounded even more conceited than duke.
Amelia passed me the cell. I studied the picture and the statuesque blonde linked to Harry’s arm. Her hair was cut into a long bob, and she sported a true English rose complexion and a patronizing smirk on her dusty pink lips that I instinctively wanted to slap right off her face. How did someone simply exude the attitude of “I’m better than you” from a picture?
“She looks just as pompous as he does,” I said and beamed a huge smile. “Match made in heaven! They deserve each other. Now…” I gave Sage his cell back and got to my feet. “Are we hitting the club or not? I’m dangerously low on alcohol, and in this bra my breasts are shoved up so high that they touch my chin. If we don’t get to the club soon, I’m afraid it’ll be dangerously close to cutting off my capacity to breathe. I’m not wasting another second on Duke Dumbfuck, his bobblehead blonde, and their many acquaintances with terrible teeth.”
I held up my glass of wine like a warrior leader giving her speech before a major battle. “Tonight, I want to shake my shimmy like my ass working for tips and, preferably, drag a hottie into the bathroom to rehydrate the stark desert my poor little vagina has become. And I want to make so many bad decisions I’ll have my priest rolling out of his confessional booth on Sunday from sinful exhaustion.” I brought my glass to my lips. “Cheers, hookers! Let’s get wasted!”
As we stepped out of the apartment building, I breathed in deeply. New York was firmly in spring; the blistering cold of winter a distant memory. I smiled as the warm breeze kissed my face. Sage threw his muscular arm over my shoulders and pulled me in the direction of the club. As we walked down the streets of Brooklyn, I asked, “So, Sagey-baby, any news on your love life?”
Sage sighed. “I’ve exhausted the many fuckboys on Grindr and my Prince Charming hasn’t found me yet, so that would be a huge fat zero on love-life news.” I patted Sage’s arm and laid my head on his shoulder. When Amelia and I had moved into our Brooklyn apartment two years earlier, Sage had quickly become our honorary roommate. He lived in the apartment opposite us. He’d come over for drinks one night and had been our third musketeer ever since.
“He’s out there. I know he is,” I said and kissed his cheek. Sage was eternally hopeful that his soulmate was out in the world just waiting to meet him.
Ten minutes later we were in the club and walking into the main room. I loved this place. We did clubbing two ways: down and Brooklyn dirty, as we called it, or bougie and boogie. Tonight was the latter. The music was epic, as were the drink prices. But we had that solved.
Tapping the bar, the bartender nudged his chin my way. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, licking his lips as he scanned me from head to foot. It was a nice try. He looked about twelve, and babyfaces just didn’t float my boat.
“Barkeep!” I called. “We’ll have four of your best Diet Cokes.”
“Diet Cokes?” The bartender frowned. “That’s it?”
I firmly nodded my head. “And make sure it’s the good stuff.” Babyface walked away and I cast my gaze around the club. Smoke filled the air like the fog over London, green laser beams cut through the dance floor like peridot blades, and the highly expensive DJ spun his tunes, the clubbers surrounding him like rats to the pied piper. I glanced up, seeing the darkened VIP balcony starting to fill with people. We’d never been up there, of course. It was for the rich Manhattan types who slummed it down in Brooklyn a few nights a month.
“Four Diet Cokes,” the bartender said behind me. I handed him the cash. “Keep the change.” I winked, feeling like a baller, and walked back to my friends, who had bagged us a table at the back. It was strategic. This wasn’t our first bougie rodeo.
“Drinks!” I said and placed them on the table.
Amelia checked to see that the coast was clear. “Now,” she said hurriedly and I reached into the top of my dress.
My friends watched me as I felt along my breasts, along the side seams of my bra, until… “Gotcha!” With a wide smile, I unscrewed the secret spout in the bra, pulled one breast from my dress, and began pouring.
