Page 23 of His Turn

“Does that mean I’m invited?” Nadia asks.

Usually this is a great big no. None of the girls we keep in that apartment are allowed to participate in Club business.

But fuck it. She doesn’t even count. And she won’t be living in the apartment.

“Sure,” I say. “As long as you’re prepared for what will happen when you get there.”

She waits to see if I’ll explain. But I don’t. I just pour myself another drink from the bottle the waiter left after we finished dinner, and enjoy leaving her hanging.

“Well, is it a secret? Or are you going to tell me?”

“It’s…” Jordan begins, but stops. “It’s Club stuff, Nadia. You don’t want to participate in that.”

“Sure she does, Jordan,” I say. “She’s a dirty fucking whore.”

“Nice,” Nadia says. “Is that how you refer to all your female members?”

“We don’t have female members. But yes. The men in my Club join because their wives are addicted to dirty sex and want to be fucked by more than one man at a time. You get us. Do you need more than two, Nadia?”

She glares at me.

“I can arrange another player. In fact, most of the games I play involve three men.”

“This isn’t your game, Elias,” she says.

I lift my drink to her in a mock cheer. “No, it isn’t.”

She ignores me after that. And when we leave, it’s Jordan who helps her on with her coat. It’s Jordan’s arm she hangs on as we walk to the valet. It’s Jordan who drives—I’m well on my way to drunk. And it’s Jordan who walks her up to her apartment.

I wait in front of the building in the passenger seat of my own fucking car until he comes back and gets in with me.

“Well?” he says. “What do you think?”

I shrug. Eager to get home and do some more drinking. “She’ll do.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Jordan asks as we make our way through the nearly empty streets of downtown towards the club. I stare at the gold dome of the capitol building, lost in my own thoughts. “Well?” Jordan prods. “You gonna answer me?”

“Nothing,” I say.

What I don’t say is… I’m thinking about Rochelle and Adley living their little happily ever after with Quin. I’m thinking about Chella and Smith and when that announcement will come. The one when Smith says, “We’re pregnant.” I’m thinking about how they’ve moved on and I’m still here… alone.

Because I’m not thinking about any of that.

“I like her,” Jordan says as we pull up to Turning Point. “I think she’s… interesting.”

“Well, good for you. Do you need a ride home? Tell the valet to give you a car.”

And then I get out, slam the door, and walk inside without saying goodbye.

I don’t know why I’m so pissed off, but I am.

I don’t talk to anyone in the lobby. I don’t stop and have a drink at Smith’s bar on my way upstairs.

I just disappear.

My apartment is… God. I need to get the fuck out of this place.

I walk into the kitchen, get the bottle of brandy and a glass, and sit down on the couch. I stare out the window, just fixated on the capitol building, wishing I could turn back time one year. One year and a few weeks, anyway. Back to when Rochelle was just a weird mystery and Chella, Smith, and Quin were still mine.